THE BARONS WARS in the reign of Edward the second. WITH ENGLAND'S Heroical Epistles.  
¶ By Michael Drayton.  
AT LONDON, Printed by I. R. for N. Ling. 1603.   

To the worthy and his most honoured friend Ma. Walter Aston.  
I will not strive m'invention to enforce,  
with needless words your eyes to entertain,  
T'observe the formal ordinary course  
That every one so vulgarly doth feign,  
Our interchanged and deliberate choice,  
Is with more firm and true election sorted,  
Then stands in censure of the common voice,  
That with light humour fond is transported,  
Nor take I pattern of another's praise,  
Than what my pen may constantly avow,  
Nor walk more public, nor obscurer ways  
Than virtue bids, and judgement will allow;  
So shall my love, and best endeavours serve you,  
And still shall study, still so to deserve you.  Michael Drayton:  

To the Reader.  
The Quadrin doth never double, or to use a word of Heraldry, never bringeth forth Gemells. The Quinzain too soon. The Sestin hath Twins in the base, but they detain not the Music, nor the Close (as Musicians term it) long enough for an Epic Poem; The stanze of seven is touched before; This of eight both holds the tune cleave through to the base of the column (which is the couplet at the foot or bottom) & closeth not but with a full satisfaction to the ear for so long detention.  
Briefly, this sort of stanze hath in it majesty, perfection, & solidity, resembling the pillar which in Architecture is called the Tuscan, whose shaft is of six diameters, & bases of two. The other reasons this place will not bear, but generally all stanzas are in my opinion but tyrants, and torturers, when they make invention obey their number, which sometime would otherwise scantle itself. A fault that great Masters in this Art strive to avoid. Concerning the division which I use in this Poem, I am not ignorant that antiquity hath used to distinguish works into Books, and every one to bear the number of their order, Homers Iliads, and Vlysiads indeed are distinguished by several letters of the Greek Alphabet, as all the world knows, and not by the numeral letters only, which to jota are digit, and afterward compound, the Alpha being our unit, for the greeks had no figures nor ciphers in their Arithmetic. Virgil's AEneis, Statius Thebais, Silius work of the Carthaginian war, Illyricus Argonauticks, Vidas Christeis, are all divided into books. The Italians use Cantos, & so our first late great Reformer Ma. Spenser, that I assume another name for the sections in this volume cannot be disgracious, nor unavowable.  
Lastly, if I have not already exceeded the length of an Epistle, I am to entreat, that he who will (as any man may that will) make himself a party to this of ours, would be pleased to remember that Spartan Prince who being found by certain Ambassadors playing among his children, requested them to forbear to censure till also they had some of their own. To such I give a sample power and privilege as ever Ius liberorum could in Rome, craving back again at their hands by a regrant, the like of that which I impart, for great reason there is that they should undergo the licence which themselves challenge, & suffer that in their fames which they would wrongly put upon others, according to the most indifferent law of the Talio. Fare you well.   

To Ma. Michael Drayton.  
WHat ornament might I devise to fit  
Th'aspiring height of thy admired spirit?  
Or what fair Garland worthy is to sit  
On thy blessed brows, that compass in all merit?  
Thou shalt not crowned be with common Bays,  
Because for thee it is a crown too low,  
Apollo's tree can yield thee simple praise,  
It is too dull a vesture for thy brow;  
But with a wreath of stars shalt thou be crowned,  
which when thy working temples do sustain,  
will like the Spheres be ever moving round,  
After the royal music of thy brain.  
Thy skill doth equal Phoebus, not thy birth,  
He to heaven gives music, thou to earth.  Thomas Greene..  

To Ma. Michael Drayton.  
THose painful wits, which natures depth admire,  
And view the causes of unconstant strife,  
Do tremble lest the Universe expire  
Through lasting jars, the enemies of life,  
On earthly signs let not such Sages look,  
Nor on the clear aspects of hopeful stars,  
But learn the world's continuance from thy book,  
which frames past Nature's force eternal wars;  
wherein the Muses showing perfect glory,  
Adorn it so with graceful harmony,  
That all the acts of this lamented story,  
Seem not performed for people's liberty.  
Nor through the awe of an imperious King,  
But that thy verses their deep wounds might sing.  john Beumont.  

THE FIRST BOOK of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  
The grievous plagues, and the prodigious signs  
That this great war and slaughter do foreshow,  
Th'especial cause the Barronage combines,  
The Queen's strong grief, whence many troubles grow,  
The time by course unto our fall inclines,  
And how each country doth to battle go;  
What cause to yield, the Mortimers pretend,  
And their commitment perfecting the end.  

1  
THe bloody factions, and rebellious pride  
Of a strong nation, whose vnmanaged might  
Them from their natural Sovereign did divide,  
Their due subjection, and his lawful right,  
Whom their light error loosely doth misguide,  
Urged by lewd Minions tyrannous despite;  
Me from soft lays, and tender loves doth bring,  
Of dreadful fights, and horrid wars to sing.   

2  
What hellish fury poisoned your high blood,  
Or should bewitch you with accursed charms,  
That by pretending of the general good,  
Rashly extrudes you to tumultuous arms,  
And from the safety wherein late you stood,  
Reft of all taste, and feeling of your harms,  
That France and Belgia with affrighted eyes,  
were sad beholders of your miseries.   

3  
Th'inveterate rancour in their boosoms bred,  
who for their charter waged a former war,  
Or through your veins, this raging venom spread,  
whose next-succeeding Nephews now you are,  
Or that hot gore your bows in conquest shed,  
Having enlarged your country's bounds so far,  
Ensign to ensign furiously oppose,  
with blades of Bilbo dealing English blows.   

4  
O thou the great director of my Muse,  
On whose free bounty all my powers depend,  
Into my breast a sacred fire infuse,  
Ravish my spirit this great work to attend;  
Let the still night my laboured lines peruse,  
That when my Poems gain their wished end,  
They whose sad eyes shall read this tragic story,  
In my weak hand shall see thy might and glory.   

5  
What care would plot, dissensions quickly cross,  
which like an earthquake rends the tottering state,  
By which abroad we bear a public loss,  
Betrayed at home by means of private hate;  
whilst us these strange calamities do toss,  
(The daily nurse of mutinous debate)  
Confusion still our Country's peace confounds,  
No help at hand, and mortal all our wounds.   

6  
Thou Church then swelling in thy mightiness,  
Tending the care and safety of the ●oule;  
O nurse not factions flowing in excess,  
That with thy members shouldst their grief condole,  
In thee rests power this outrage to repress,  
which might thy zeal, and sanctity unroll,  
Come thou in pureness meekly with the word,  
Lay not thy hand to the unhallowed sword.   

7  
Blood-thirsting war arising first from Hell,  
And in progression seizing on this I'll,  
where it before near forty years did dwell,  
And with pollution horribly defile,  
By which so many a worthy English fell,  
By our first Edward banished awhile,  
Transferred by fortune to the Scottish mere,  
To ransack that, as it had rauined here.   

8  
Where hovering still with inauspicious wings  
About the verge of th●se distempered climes,  
Returning now, new error hither brings,  
To stir us up to these disastrous crimes,  
weakeneth our power by oft diminishings;  
And taking hold on these unsettled times,  
Forcing our frailty sensually at length,  
Cracked the stiff nerves that knit our ancient strength.   

9  
whose frightful vision, at the first approach,  
with violent madness struck that desperate age,  
So many sundry miseries abroach,  
Giving full speed to their unbridled rage  
That did our ancient liberty encroach,  
And in these strong conspiracies engage,  
The worthiest blood the subjects loss to bring,  
By innaturall wrongs unto their natural king.   

10  
When in the North whilst horror yet was young  
These dangerous seasons swiftly coming on,  
whilst o'er our heads portentous meteours hung,  
And in the skies stern Comets brightly shone,  
Prodigious births oft intermixed among,  
Such as before to times had been unknown,  
In bloody issues forth the earth doth break,  
weeping for us, whose woes it could not speak.   

11  
when by the rankness of contagious air,  
A mortal plague invadeth man and beast,  
which soon dispersed, and raging every where  
In doubt the same too quickly should have ceased,  
More to confirm the certainty of fear  
By cruel famine haplessly increased;  
As though the heavens in their remisful doom,  
took those best loved from worset days to come.   

12  
The level course that we propose to go  
Now to th'intent you may more plainly see,  
And that we every circumstance may show  
The state of things, and truly what they be,  
And with what skill, or project we bestow,  
As our accurrents happen in degree.  
From these portents we now divert our view,  
To bring to birth the horrors that ensue.   

13  
The calling back of banished Gaveston,  
'Gainst which the Barons were to Longshanks sworn,  
That insolent lascivious Minion,  
A Sovereign's blemish, and a country's scorn,  
The signiories, and great promotion,  
Him in his lawless courses to suborn,  
Stirs up that hateful and outrageous strife,  
That cost ere long so many an English life.   

14  
O worthy Lacie, hadst thou spared that breath  
which shortly after nature thee denied,  
To Lancaster delivered at thy death,  
To whom thy only daughter was affied,  
That this stern war too quickly publisheth,  
To aid the Barons 'gainst that Minions pride,  
Thy Earldoms, lands, and titles of renown,  
Had not so soon returned unto the Crown.   

15  
The Lordships Bruise unto the Spensers' past,  
Crossing the Barons vehement desire,  
As from Ioues hand that fearful lightning cast,  
when fifty towns lay spent in envious fire,  
Alas too vain and prodigal a waist;  
The strong effect of their conceived ire,  
Urging the weak King with a violent hand,  
T'abjure those false Lords from the troubled land.   

16  
When the fair Queen that progressing in Kent,  
Lastly denied her entrance into Leeds,  
whom Badlesmere unkindly doth prevent  
who 'gainst his Sovereign in this course proceeds,  
As adding further to this discontent,  
One of the springs which this great mischief feeds,  
Heaping on rage and horror more and more,  
To thrust on that, which went too fast before.   

17  
Which more and more, a kingly rage increased,  
Moved with the wrongs of Gaveston disgraded,  
which had so long been settled in his breast,  
That all his powers it wholly had invaded,  
Giving the Spensers an assured rest,  
By whom his reasons chiefly are persuaded,  
By whose lewd counsels he is only led,  
To leave his true Queen, and his lawful bed.   

18  
That now herself who while she stood in grace,  
Applied her powers these disoords to appease  
when yet confusion had not fully place,  
Nor former times so dangerous as these,  
A party now in their afflicted case,  
A willing hand to his destruction lays,  
That time whose soft palm heals the wound of war,  
May cure the soar, but never close the scar.   

19  
In all this heat his greatness first began  
The serious subject of our sadder vain,  
Brave Mortimer, that ever-matchlesse man,  
Of the old Heroes great and Godlike strain,  
For whom invention doing best it can,  
His weight of honour hardly can sustain,  
Bearing his name immortalised and high,  
when he in earth unnumbered times shall lie.   

20  
That uncle now (whose name this Nephew bare,  
The only comfort of the woeful Queen)  
who from his cradle held him as his care,  
In whom the hope of that great name was seen,  
For this young Lord now wisely doth prepare  
whilst yet this deep hart-goaring wound is green,  
And on this fair advantage firmly wrought,  
To place him highly in her princely thought.   

21  
At whose deliberate, and unusual birth,  
The heavens were said to counsel to retire,  
And in aspects of happiness and mirth,  
Breathed him a spirit insatiatly t'aspire,  
That took no mixture of the ponderous earth,  
But all compressed of clear ascending fire,  
So well made up, that such an one as he,  
jove in a man like Mortimer would be.   

22  
The temper of that nobler moving part,  
with such rare pureness rectified his blood,  
Raising the powers of his resolved heart,  
Too proud to be locked up within a flood,  
That no misfortune possibly could thwart;  
which from the native greatness where it stood,  
Even by the virtue of a piercing eye,  
show'd that his pitch was boundless as the sky.   

23  
Worthy the grandchild of so great a Lord,  
who whilst first Edward fortunately reigned,  
Re-edified great Arthur's ancient board,  
The seat at goodly Kennelworth ordained,  
The order of old Knighthood there restored,  
To which a hundredth duly appertained  
with all the grace, & beauties of a Court,  
As best became that brave and martial sport.   

24  
The hart-swolne Lords with fury set on fire,  
whon Edward's wrongs to vengeance still provoke  
with Lancaster & Hartfoord now conspire  
No more to bear the Spensers' servile yoke.  
And thus whilst all a mutual change desire,  
The ancient bonds of their allegiance broke,  
Resolved with blood their liberty to buy,  
And in this quarrel vowed to live and die.   

25  
What privilege hath our free birth say they,  
Or in our blood what virtue doth remain,  
To each lascivious Minion made a prey,  
That us, and our nobility disdain,  
whilst they triumphing boast of our decay;  
Either those spirits we do not now retain  
That were our fathers, or by fate we fall  
Both from their greatness, liberty and all.   

26  
Honour dejected from that sovereign state,  
From whence at first it challenged a being,  
Now prostitute to infamy and hate,  
As with itself in all things disagreeing,  
So out of order, disproportionate  
From her fair course preposterously flying,  
whilst others as themselves, and only we  
Are not held those we would but seem to be.   

27  
Then to what end hath our great conquest served,  
Those acts achieved by the Norman sword,  
Our Charters, patents, or our deeds reserved,  
Our offices, and titles to record,  
The crests that on our monuments are carved,  
If they to us no greater good afford?  
Thus do they murmur every one apart,  
with many a vexed foul, many a grieved heart.   

28  
Whilst this sad Queen to depth of sorrow thrown,  
wherein she wastes her flower of youth away,  
Beyond belief to all but heaven unknown,  
This quickening spark, where yet it buried lay,  
By the sharp breath of desperate faction blown,  
Converts her long night to the wished day,  
The woeful winter of misfortune cheering,  
As the dark world at the bright suns appearing.   

29  
Yet ill perplexed amid these hard extremes,  
All means depressed her safety to prefer,  
Deprived of those late comfortable beams,  
whose want might m●ke her the more easily err,  
Her hopes relinquished like deceitful dreams,  
which in her breast such sundry passions stir,  
where struggling which each other should control,  
work strange confusion in her troubled soul.   

30  
That now disabled of all sovereign state  
That to her graces rightly did belong,  
To be rejected, and repudiate,  
So true a Lady, goodly, fair, and young,  
which with more fervour still doth intimate  
Her too-deepe-setled, and invetterate wrong,  
what wisdom would, a woman's will denies,  
with arguments of her indignities.   

31  
When to effect the angry Fates pursue  
In heavens high Court that long time did depend,  
when these full mischiefs to a ripeness grew,  
And now the harvest hastening in the end,  
And all these lines into one centre drew,  
which way so ere they seemingly extend;  
All these together in proportion laid,  
Each breath of hope, a gale of certain aid.   

32  
Now is time when Mortimer doth enter,  
Of great employment in this tragic act,  
His youth and courage boldly bid him venture,  
And tell him still how strongly he w●● backed;  
And at this instant in due season sent her,  
when the strait course to her desire is tract,  
(And but upon more certainty doth stay)  
By a direct, what though a dangerous way.   

33  
This dreadful Comet drew her wondering eye,  
which now began his golden head to rear,  
whose glorious fixure in so fair a sky,  
Strikes the beholder with a chilly fear,  
And in a Region elevate and high,  
And by the form wherein it did appear,  
As the most skilful seriously divine,  
Foreshowed a kingdom shortly to decline.   

34  
Yet still recoiling at the Spensers' power,  
As often checked with their intemperate pride,  
Th'unconstant Barons wavering every hour,  
The fierce encounter of this boisterous tide,  
That easily might their livelihood devour,  
Had she not those that skilfully could guide,  
She from suspicion craftily retires,  
Careless in show, of what she most desires.   

35  
Dissembling grief, as one that knew not ill,  
So can she rule the greatness of her mind,  
As a most perfect Rectoresse of her will,  
Above the usual weakness of her kind;  
For all this storm, immovable and still,  
Her secret drift the wisest miss to find;  
Nor will she know what (yet) these factions meant,  
with a pleased eye to soothe sad discentent.   

36  
The least suspicion cunningly to heal,  
Still in her looks humility she bears,  
The safest way with mightiness to deal,  
So policy religions habit wears;  
'tis now no time her grievance to reveal,  
he's mad which takes a Lion by the ears,  
This knew the Queen, exampled by the wise,  
This must they learn that rightly temporize.   

37  
That learnedst Bishop Torleton in the Land,  
Upon a text of politics to preach,  
which he long studying, well did understand,  
And by a method could as aptly teach,  
That was a Prelate of a potent hand,  
wise were the man could go beyond his reach;  
This subtle Tutor Isabella had taught,  
In nicer points than ever Edward sought.   

38  
Rage which no lymmets longer can contain,  
Lastly breaks forth into a public flame,  
Their slipped occasion better to regain,  
when to their purpose things so fitly frame,  
And now discerned visibly and plain,  
when treason boldly dare itself proclaim,  
Casting aside all secular disguise  
Leading proud legions furiously to rise.   

39  
As Severne lately in her ebbs that sank,  
vast and forsaken leaves th'uncovered sands,  
Fetching full tides, luxurious, high, and rank,  
Seems in her pride t'invade the neighbouring lands,  
Breaking her lymmets, covering all the banks,  
Threatening the proud hills with her watery hands,  
As though she meant her Empery to have,  
where even but lately she beheld her grave.   

40  
Through all the land, from places far and near,  
Led to the field as Fortune lots their side,  
(with th'ancient weapons used in war to bear)  
As those directed whom they chose their guide,  
Or else perhaps as they affected were,  
Or as by friendship, or by duty tide,  
Swayed by the strength, and motion of their blood,  
No cause examined, be it bad or good.   

41  
From Norfolk, and the countries of the East,  
That with the long pike best could manage sight,  
The men of Kent unconquered of the rest,  
That to this day maintain their ancient right,  
And for their strength that we account the best,  
The Cornishmen, most active, bold, and light,  
Those near the plain that gleave and pole-axe wield,  
And claim for due the vaward of the field.   

42  
The noble Britton sprung of Illyon race,  
From Lancashiere most famous for their bows,  
with those of Cheshiere, chiefest for their place,  
Men of such bone, as only made for blows,  
That for their faith are had in special grace,  
And as the guard unto the Sovereign goes;  
Those of the North in feuds so deadly fell,  
That for their spear and horsemanship excel.   

43  
For every use experience could espy  
Such as in Fens and Marshlands' use to trade,  
The doubtful foards and passages to try,  
with stilts and loapstaves that do aptliest wade,  
And fittest for scouts and Currers to descry,  
Those from the Mines with pickaxe, and with spade,  
For Pioneers best, that for entrenching are,  
Men chiefly needful in the use of war.   

44  
O noble Nation furnished with Arms,  
So full of spirit, so eminent alone,  
Had heaven but blest thee to foresee these harms,  
And as thy valiant Nephews to have gone,  
Paris, Rouen, Orleans shaking with alarms,  
As the bright sun thy glory then had shone;  
To other Realms thou hadst transferred this chance,  
Nor had your sons been first that conquered France.   

45  
And thus on all hands making for their rest,  
And now set forward for this mighty day,  
where every one prepares to do his best,  
when in success their lives, and fortunes lay;  
No cross event their purposes to wrest,  
where now they stand in so direct away;  
And whilst they play this strange and doubtful game,  
The Queen stands by, and only gives the aim.   

46  
When this brave Lord his foot had scarcely set,  
Into the road where fortune had to deal,  
But she disposed his forward course to let,  
Her lewd condition quickly doth reveal,  
Glory to her vain deity to get,  
By him, whose birth did bear her ominous seal,  
Winning occasion from this very hour,  
In him to prove, and manifest her power.   

47  
As when we see the early rising sun  
with his fair beams to emulate our sight,  
And when his course but newly is begun  
The humorous fogs deprive his wished light,  
Till through the moist clouds his clear forehead run,  
Climbing the noonsted in his gorgeous height,  
His bright beginning fortune hindereth thus,  
To make the rest more rich, more glorious.   

48  
The King discreetly that considered  
The space of earth whereon the Barons stand,  
what were their powers to them contributed,  
Now being himself but partner of his Land,  
And of the strength and Army that he led,  
'Gainst them that do so great a power command,  
In which 'twas well he did so wisely look,  
The task was great that now he undertook.   

49  
And warned by danger to misdoubt the worst,  
In equal scales whilst ethers fortune hung,  
Must now perform the utmost that he durst,  
Or undergo the burden of his wrong;  
As good to stir as after be enforced  
To stop the head whence many evils sprung,  
Now with the marc●ers thinks it best begin,  
which first must lose, ere he could hope to win.   

50  
The Mortimers being men of greatest might,  
whose name was dreadful, and commanded far,  
Sturdy to manage, of a haughty sprite,  
Strongly allied, much followed, popular,  
On whom if thus he happily could light,  
He hopes more easily to conclude this war;  
which he intendeth speedily to try,  
To quit that first, which most stood in his eye.   

51  
For which he expeditiously provided  
That part of land into his power to get,  
which if made good, might keep them still divided,  
Their combination cunningly to let,  
who being conjoined, would be too strongly sided,  
Two, so great strengths together safely met,  
The face of war would look so stern and great,  
As well might threat to heave him from his seat.   

52  
Wherhfore from London strongly setting forth,  
with a fair Army furnished of the best,  
Accompanied with friends of greatest worth,  
with whom there's many a gallant spirit is priest;  
Great Lancaster, the Lord of all the North,  
The Mortimers are Masters of the West,  
He towards mid England makes, the way twixt either,  
which they must cross, ere they could come together.   

53  
And thus inueagled with delightful hope,  
Stoutly to front and shoulder with debate,  
Knowing to meet with a resolved ●●oupe  
That came prepared with courage, and with hate,  
whose stubborn Crests if he enforced to stoop,  
He now must tempt some great and powerful fate;  
And through stern guards of swords & defull flame,  
Make way to peace, and propagate his name.   

54  
When now the Marchers well upon their way,  
(Expecting such should promised succour bring  
which all this while abused them by delay)  
Are suddenly encounted by the King,  
And now perceive their dilatory stay  
To be the causer of their ruining,  
How near their bosoms black destruction stood,  
with open jaws prepared for their blood.   

55  
And by the shifting of inconstant wind,  
Seeing what weather they were like to meet,  
which (even) at first so awkwardly they find  
Ere they could yet give sea-roomth to their fleet,  
Clean from their course, and cast so far behind,  
And yet in peril every hour to split,  
Some unknown harbour suddenly must sound,  
Or run their fortunes desperately on ground.   

56  
The elder peer, grave, politic, and wise,  
which had all dangers absolutely scanned,  
Finding high time his Nephew to advise,  
Since now their state stood on this desperate hand,  
And from this mischief many more to rise,  
with long experience learned to understand,  
Nephew (saith he) 'tis longer vain to strive,  
Counsel best serves our safety to contrive.   

57  
The downright peril present in our eye  
Not to be shunned, what certain end t'assures,  
The next, the weight that on our fall, doth lie,  
And what our life to our design procures,  
Each hope, and doubt, that doth arise thereby  
Proving with judgement how the same endures,  
For who observes strict policies true laws,  
Shifts his proceeding to the varying cause.   

58  
To hazard fight with the Imperial powers,  
May our small troops undoubtedly appall,  
A desperate end us willingly devours,  
Yielding ourselves, by this we lose not all,  
We leave our friends this little force of ours,  
Reserved for them, though haplessly we fall;  
That show of weakness hath a glorious hand,  
That falls itself, to make the cause to stand.   

59  
Twixt in expected and so dangerous ills  
That's best wherein we smallest peril see,  
A course that reason necessary wills,  
And that doth most with policy agree,  
The idle vulgar breath it nothing skills,  
'tis sound discretion must our Pylo● be,  
He that doth still the say rest mean prefer,  
Answers opinion how so ere he err?   

60  
And to the world's eye seeming yet so strong,  
By our descending willingly from thence,  
May urge the show of our opposed wrong  
Rather b'inforcement then forethought pretence,  
Leaving th'advantage doth to us belong,  
May qualify the nature of th'offence,  
Men are not always incident to loss  
when Fortune seems their forward cause to cross.   

61  
Nor give we envy absolute access,  
To lay our fall upon thy forward mind,  
there's nearer means this mischief to redress,  
And make successful what is yet behind,  
Nor of our hope us wholly dispossess,  
Fortune is ever variously inclined,  
And a small vantage to the course of Kings,  
Guides a slight means to compass mighty things.   

62  
which speech so caught his Nephew● pliant youth,  
Fastening upon a dutiful respect,  
which he with such celerlty pursueth,  
(well could he counsel, well could he direct)  
Proceeding from integrity and truth,  
And working with such prosperous effect,  
Shows wisemen's counsels by a powerful fate,  
(Seeming from reason) yet prove fortunate.   

63  
To which they awful Majesty invite  
By the most due and ceremonious way,  
with circumstance, and each conditi'nall rite  
Might win respect unto this new essay,  
Or might opinion any way excite,  
To which the King doth willingly obay●  
Who as themselves in finding danger near,  
Rather accepts doubt, than a certain fear.   

64  
Which he receives in presage of his good,  
To his success auspiciously applied,  
which cools the heat of his distempered blood,  
Before their force in doubtful Arms was tried,  
In his protection when they only stood,  
At his disposing wholly to abide,  
whereon in safety he dismissed their power,  
Sends them away as prisoners to the Tower.   

65  
O all-preparing providence Divine,  
In thy large Book what secrets are enrolled?  
What sundry helps doth thy great power assign  
To stay the course thou steadfastly dost hold  
what mortal sense is able to define  
Thy mysteries, thy counsels manifold,  
By these digressions strangely that extends  
Thy obscure proceedings to apparent ends?   

66  
This was the mean by which the Fates dispose  
More threatened plagues upon that age to bring,  
Utter confusion on the heads of those  
That were before the Barons ruining,  
with the subversion of so many foes,  
The murder of the miserable King,  
And that which came as Epilogue to all,  
Lastly, his fearful, and so violent fall.   

67  
Which to their hope gives time for further breath  
As the first pause in this their great affair,  
That yet awhile deferred this threatening death,  
Trusting this breach by leisure to repair,  
And here awhile this fury lymetteth,  
Whilst in this manner things so strangely fare,  
Horror beyond the wont bounds doth swell,  
As the next Canto dreadfully shall tell.   
The end of the First Canto   

The second Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  
At Burton-bridge the puissant Armies met,  
The form and order of the doubtful fight,  
Whereas the King the victory doth get,  
And the proud Barons lastly forced to flight;  
How they again towards Burrough forward set,  
Where, then the Lords are vanquished outright;  
Lastly the laws do execute their power,  
On those the sword before did not devour.  

1  
THis chance of war, that dreadfully had swept  
So large a share from their full-reck'ned might,  
Which their proud hopes so carefully had kept  
whilst yet their state stood equally upright,  
That could at first so closely intercept,  
That should have screwed them for a glorious fight,  
Musters supplies of footmen, and of horse,  
To give a new strength to their ruin'd force.   

2  
Th'inveterate grief so deep and firmly rooted,  
Yet slightly cured by this short strengthless peace,  
To essay t'remoue, since it but vainly booted,  
That did with each distemperature increase,  
And being by every offered cause promooted,  
Th'effect too firmly settled to surcease.  
When each evasion sundry passions brought,  
Strange forms of fear in every troubled thought.   

3  
And put in action for this public cause,  
whilst every one a party firmly stood,  
Taxed by the letter of the censuring laws,  
In the sharp taynder of his honoured blood;  
And he that's freest entangled by some clause,  
which to this mischief gives continual food,  
For where confusion gets so strongly hold,  
Till all consumed, can hardly be controlled.   

4  
Where now by night, even when pale leaden sleep  
Upon their eyelids heavily did dwell,  
And step, by step, on every sense did creep,  
Mischief (that black inhabitant of hell)  
Which never fails continual watch to keep,  
Fearful to think, a horrid thing to tell,  
Entered the place where now these warlike Lords  
Lay mayld in Armour, girt with ireful swords.   

5  
Mischief, with sharp sight, and a meager look,  
And always prying where she may do ill,  
In which the fiend continual pleasure took,  
Her starved body plenty could not fill,  
Searching in every corner, every nook,  
with winged feet, too swift to work her will,  
Hung full of deadly instruments she went,  
Of every sort to hurt where ere she meant.   

6  
And with a vial filled with baneful wrath,  
Brought from Cocytus by this cursed sprite,  
which in her black hand readily she hath,  
And drops the poison upon every wight,  
For to each one she knew the ready path,  
Now in the midst, and dead-time of the night,  
whose envious force invadeth every Peer,  
Striking with fury, and impulsive fear.   

7  
The weeping morning breaking in the East,  
when with a troubled, and affrighted mind  
Each whom this venom lately did infest,  
The strong effect soon inwardly do find;  
And lately troubled by unquiet rest,  
To sad destruction every one inclined,  
Rumours of spoil through every ear doth fly,  
And fury sits in every threatening eye.   

8  
This done, in haste unto King Edward hies,  
which now grown proud upon his fair success,  
The time in feasts and wantonness implies  
with crowned cups his sorrows to redress,  
That on his fortune wholly now relies,  
And in the bosom of his Courtly press  
Vaunting the glory of this late won day,  
whilst the sick Land with sorrow pines away.   

9  
Thither she comes, and in a Minions shape  
She creepeth near the person of the King,  
warmed with the verdure of the swelling grape,  
In which, she poison secretly doth ●ting,  
Not the least drop untainted doth escape,  
To which intent she all her store did bring,  
whose rich commixture making it more strong  
Fills his hot veins with arrogance and wrong.   

10  
And having both such courage, and such might  
As to so great a business did belong,  
Never considering their pretended right  
Should be inducement to a trebled wrong,  
when misty error so deludes their sight,  
Which still betwixt them, and clear reason hung;  
By which opinion falsely was abused,  
As left all out of order all confused.   

11  
Now our Minerva tells of dreadful Arms,  
enforced to sing of worse than civil wars,  
Of Ambuscadoes, stratagems, alarms,  
Unkind dissensions, fearful massacarrs,  
Of gloomy magic's, and benumbing charms,  
Fresh-bleeding wounds, and never-healed scars,  
And for the sock wherein she used to tread,  
Marching in greaveses, a helmet on her head.   

12  
Whilst hate, and grief, their weakened sense delude,  
The Barons draw their forces to a head,  
(whom Edward spurred with vengeance still pursued)  
By Lancaster, and noble Herford led,  
This long proceeding, lastly to conclude;  
Whilst now to meet, both Armies freshly sped,  
To Burton both encamping for the day,  
with expectation for a glorious prey.   

13  
Upon the East, from Needwoods' bushy side,  
There riseth up an easy climbing hill,  
At whose fair foot the silver Trent doth glide,  
with a deep murmur permanent and still,  
With liberal store of many Brooks supplied,  
Th'insatiate Meads continually do fill,  
Upon whose stream, a Bridge of wondrous strength  
Doth stretch itself in forty arches length.   

14  
Upon this Mount the King's pavilion fi●t,  
And in the town, the foe entrenched in sigh,  
when now the flood is risen so betwixt,  
That yet a while prolonged th'unnatural fight,  
with trybutarie waters intermixed  
To stay the fury doing all it might;  
Things which presage both good and ill there be,  
which heaven fore shows, but mortals cannot see.   

15  
The heaven even mourning o'er our heads doth sit,  
As grieved to see the time so out of course,  
Looking on them who never look at it,  
And in mere pity melting with remorse,  
Longer from tears that cannot stay a whit,  
whose confluence on every lower source,  
From the swollen fluxure of the clouds doth shake  
A rank Impostume upon every Lake.   

16  
O warlike Nation, hold thy conquering hand,  
Even senseless things admonish thee to pause,  
That Mother soil on whom thou yet dost stand,  
That would restrain thee by all natural laws.  
Canst thou (unkind) inviolate that band  
when even the earth is angry with the cause?  
Yet stay thy foot in mischiefs ugly gate,  
Ill comes too soon, repentance still too late.   

17  
And can the clouds weep over thy decay,  
And not one drop fall from thy droughty eyes?  
See'st thou the snare, and wilt not shun the way,  
Nor yet be warned by passed miseries?  
'tis yet but early in this fatal day;  
Let late experience learn thee to be wise,  
Mischief foreseen, may easily be prevented,  
But happed, vnhelped, though near enough lamented.   

18  
Cannot the Scot of your late slaughter boast,  
And are you yet scarce healed of the sore,  
Is't not enough you have already lost,  
But your own madness needsly make it more?  
Will you seek safety in a foreign Coast?  
Your wives and children pitied you before,  
But when your own blood your own swords imbrue,  
who pities them which once did pity you?   

19  
The neighbouring groves despoiled of their trees,  
For boats, and timber to assay this flood,  
where men are labouring as the Summer bees,  
Some hollowing trunks, some binding heaps of wood,  
Some on their breasts, some working on their knees,  
To win the bank whereon the Barons stood,  
which o'er this current they by strength must tew,  
To shed that blood that many ages rue.   

20  
Some sharpen swords, some on their Murrians set,  
The Greaves and pouldrons others rivet fast,  
The Archers now their bearded arrows whet,  
whilst every where the clamerous Drums are bra'st,  
Some taking view where surest ground to get,  
And every one advantage doth forecast,  
In ranks and files each plain and meadow swarms,  
As though the Land were clad in angry Arms.   

21  
The Crests and honours of the English name,  
Against their own opposed rudely stand,  
As angry with th'achievements whence they came  
That to their virtues gave that generous brand;  
O you unworthy of your ancient fame,  
Against yourselves to lift your conquering hand,  
Since foreign swords your height could not abate,  
By your own power, yourselves to ruinate.   

22  
Upon his surcoate valiant Nevell bore  
A silver saltoyre graced on martial red,  
A ladies sleeve hie-spirited Hastings wore,  
Ferrer his Taberd with rich very spread,  
well known in many a warlike match before,  
A Raven sat on Corbets warlike head  
Covering his Helmet, Culpepper inrayld,  
On maiden Arms, a bloody bend engrayld.   

23  
The noble Percy in this furious day,  
with a bright Crescent in his guid-home came,  
In his fair Cornet Verdoo● doth display  
A Geuly fret, prized in this mortal game  
That had been tasked in many a doubtful fray,  
His lances pennons stained with the same;  
The angry horse chafed with the stubborn bit,  
The ruinous earth with rage & horror smit.   

24  
I could the sum of Staffords arming show,  
what colours Courtney, Rosse, & Warren hold,  
Each sundry blazon I could let you know,  
And all the glorious circumstance have told,  
what all the Ensigns standing in a row,  
But wailing Muse, (ah me) thou art controlled,  
when in remembrance of this horrid deed,  
My pen for ink, even drops of blood doth shed.   

25  
Th'imperial standard in this place is pitched,  
with all the hatchments of the English crown,  
Great Lancaster with all his power enriched,  
Sets the same Leopards in his Colours down;  
O if with fury you be not bewitched,  
Have but remembrance on yourself you frown,  
A little note, or difference is in all,  
How can the same stand, when the same doth fall?   

26  
Behold the Eagles, Lions, Talbots, Bears,  
The badges of your famous ancestries,  
And shall they now by their inglorious heirs,  
Stand thus opposed against their famelies?  
More honoured marks no Christian nation wears,  
Relics unworthy of their progenies,  
Those beasts you bear, do in their kinds agree,  
O that then beasts more savage man should be!   

27  
But whilst the King no course concluded yet,  
In his directions variably doth hover,  
See how misfortunes still her time can fit,  
Such as were sent the Country to discover,  
As up and down from place to place they flit,  
Had found a ford to land their forces over;  
Ill-news hath wings, and with the wind doth go,  
Comforts a Cripple, and comes ●uer flow.   

28  
When Edward fearing Lancaster's supplies,  
Proud Richmond, Surry, and ●reat Pembroke sent,  
On whose success his chiefest hope relies,  
Under whose conduct half his Army went  
The nearest way conducted by the Spies,  
And he himself, and Edmond Earl of Kent,  
Upon the hill in sight of ●●●ton lay,  
watehing to take advantage of the day.   

29  
Stay Surry stay, thou may'st too soon be gone,  
Pause till this rage be somewhat overpast,  
Why runnest thou thus to thy destruction?  
Richmond and Pembroke, whether do you hast?  
You labour still to bring more horror on.  
Never seek sorrow, for it comes too fast,  
why do you strive to pass this fatal flood  
To fetch new wounds, and shed your native blood?   

30  
Great Lancaster, sheath up thy angry sword,  
On Edward's Arms whose edge thou shouldst not whet,  
Thy natural kinsman, and thy sovereign Lord,  
Are you not one, both true Plantagenet?  
Call but to mind thy once-engaged word,  
Canst thou thy oath to Longshancks thus forget?  
Consider well before all other things,  
Our vows be kept, we make to Gods and Kings.   

31  
The winds are ●ush'd no little breath doth blow,  
which seems so still as though it listening stood,  
with trampling crowds the very earth doth bow,  
And through the smoke the sun appears like blood,  
what with the shout, and with the dreadful show,  
The herds and flocks run bellowing to the wood.  
when drums and trumpets give the fearful sound,  
As they would shake the clouds unto the ground.   

32  
The Earls then charging with their power of horse,  
Taking a signal when they should begin,  
Being in view of the imperial force,  
which at the time assayed the bridge to win,  
That now the Barons change th'intended course  
T'avoid the danger they were lately in,  
Which on the sudden had they not forecast,  
Of their black day this hour h●d been the last.   

33  
When from the hill the King's main power comes down,  
which had Aquarius to their valiant guide,  
Brave Lancaster, and Herford from the town  
Now issue forth upon the other side,  
Peer against Peer, the crown against the crown,  
The one assails, the other munified,  
England's red Cross upon both sides doth fly,  
Saint George the King, S. George the Barons cry.   

34  
Like as an exhalation hot and dry  
Amongst the ayre-bred moisty vapours thrown,  
Spetteth his lightning forth outrageously,  
Rending the gross clouds with the thunder-stone,  
whose fiery splinters through the thin air fly,  
That with the terror heaven and earth doth groan,  
with the like clamour, and confused woe,  
To the dread shock these desperate Armies go.   

35  
Now might you see the famous English Bows  
So fortunate in times we did subdue,  
Shoot their sharp arrows in the face of those  
which many a time victoriously them drew,  
Shunning their aim, as troubled in the loose;  
The winged weapons mourning as they flew,  
Cleave to the string, (now impotent and slack)  
As to the Archers they would ●aine turn back.   

36  
Behold the remnant of Troves ancient stock,  
Laying on blows, as Smiths on Anuils' strike,  
Grappling together in this fearful shock,  
Where as the like incountreth with the like,  
As firm and ruthless as th'obdurate Rock,  
Deadly opposed at the push of pike.  
Still as the wings, or battles brought together,  
When fortune yet gives vantage unto neither.   

37  
From battered Casks with every envious blow,  
The scattered plumes fly loosely here and there,  
which in the air doth seem as drifts of snow,  
which every light breath on his wings doth bear,  
As they had ●ence, and feeling of our woe;  
And thus affrighted with the present ●eare,  
Now back, now forward such strange windings make.  
As though uncertain which way they ●ould ●ake.   

38  
Slaughter runs wildly through th'afflicted host  
whilst yet the battle strongly doth abide,  
That in this strange distemperature is lost,  
Where hellish fury sensibly doth guide,  
Never suffisd, where tyrannising most,  
That now their wounds (with mouths even opened wide)  
Lastly enforced to call for present death,  
That wants but tongues, your swords do give the breath.   

39  
here lies a heap half slain, and halfly drowned,  
Gasping for breath amongst the watery segs,  
And there a sort fallen in a deadly swoon,  
Troad with the press into the muddy dregs,  
Other lie bleeding on the firmer ground,  
Hurt in the bodies, maimed of arms and legs;  
One kills a foe, his brain another cuts,  
On's fear entangled in another's guts.   

40  
One his assailing enemy beguiles,  
As from the bridge he happily doth fall,  
Crushed with his weight upon the forced piles,  
Some in their gore upon the pavement sprawl,  
That every place so loathsomely defiles,  
The carcases lie heaped like a wall,  
Such hideous shrieks yet still the soldiers breath,  
As though the spirits had howled from beneath.   

41  
The faction still defying Edward's might,  
Edmond of Woodstock with the men of Kent,  
Charging a fresh, revives the doubtful fight  
Upon the Barons, languishing and spent,  
New preparation for a tragic sight;  
when they again supplies immediate sent  
A second battle proudly to begin,  
The noblest spirits but newly entered in.   

42  
As at Troy's fack, fair Thetis godlike sun,  
Courageous Talbot with his shield him bare,  
Clyfford and Mowbray bravely following on,  
Audly and Gifford thrunging for a share,  
These seconding, the former being gone,  
Elmsbridge and Baldsmere in the thickest are,  
Pell pell-mell together fly this furious power,  
when they perceive that death will all devour.   

43  
Mountfort and Teis, your worth I fain would speak  
But that your valour doth so ill deserve,  
And Denuile here from thee perforce must break,  
And from thy praises Willington must swerver,  
Your deeds permit not I your wrongs should wreak,  
Proud Damory, here must thy glory starve,  
Concealing many most deserving blame,  
Because your actions quench my sacred flame.   

44  
O had you fashioned your great deeds by them,  
who summoned Acon with an English drum,  
Or marched before that fair jerusalem,  
with the united powers of Christendom,  
Eternal then had been your Diadem,  
And with Christ's warriors slept about his Tomb,  
Then ages had immortalised your name,  
where now my song, can be but of your shame.   

45  
O age inglorious, Arms untimely borne,  
when now this proved and victorious shield,  
Must in this civil massacre be torn,  
which bore the marks of many a bloody field;  
And lastly in their overthrown forlorn,  
when now to flight the Barons basely yield,  
That since that time the stones for very dread,  
Against foul storms small drops of moisture shed.   

46  
When now those wretched, and unsteadfast friends  
which all this while stood doubtfully to pause,  
when they perceive what destiny intends,  
And his success doth justify his cause,  
Their faintness now more comfort apprehends,  
For victory both fear and friendship draws,  
T' an open smile, convert a covered frown,  
All lend their hands to hew the conquered down.   

47  
That part of power th'imperial seemed to lack,  
whilst yet the adverse bore an upright face,  
when now constrained to give a recreant back,  
Quickly returns to prosecute the chase,  
where now the Barons wholly go to wrack,  
In the just trial of so near a case.  
Enforced to prove the fortune of the Coast,  
when they perceive the glorious goal is lost.   

48  
And to the fortunes of the conquering King  
which well confirmed his long and tendered hope,  
His fair success still more encouraging,  
which now had got so large and ample scope,  
The Earl of Carlell happily doth bring,  
His light-armed bands the valiant Northern troup,  
Armed too lately, and with too much speed,  
To do most harm, even when we least had need.   

49  
when now the Barons making out their way,  
Through parts for safety, and advantage known,  
Keeping their force still bodied as they may,  
Into the depth of this misfortune thrown,  
And in pursuit, devising day by day  
T'offend th'assailant, and defend their own,  
In their last hope the utmost to endure  
To defer the effect, although the end were sure.   

50  
And whilst their fortune ●u●ing sadly thus  
To Burrough-bridge conducted by their fate,  
Bridges to Barons ever ominous,  
And to this place their fall preordinate,  
That ministering such cause of grief to us,  
By the remembrance of their passed state;  
The very soil by deep impression yet,  
Even to this day, doth still remember it.   

51  
New courage now, new fights, new battles ranged,  
New breath (but what might make destruction new)  
They change the ground, but yet their fate unchanged,  
which too directly doth their course pursue,  
Nor from their former misery estranged,  
Their strength decays, their dangers daily grew,  
To shorten that which whilst it did depend,  
Gave a long breathing, to a fearful end.   

52  
Like to a heard of weary heartless dear,  
whom hot-spurd Huntsmen seriously do chase,  
In brakes and bushes falling here and there,  
Proving each covert, every secret place,  
Yet by the hounds recovered every where  
with eager yearning in the scented trace;  
Hemmed on each side with horns rechating blast,  
Headlong themselves into the toils do cast.   

53  
Ensign beards Ensign, sword 'gainst sword doth shake,  
wing against wing, and rank doth rank oppose,  
In on each other furiously they broke,  
And death in earnest to his business goes,  
A general havoc as disposed to make,  
And with destruction doth them all enclose,  
Dealing itself impartially to all,  
Friend by his friend, and foe by foe doth fall.   

54  
This part of life which yet they did respire  
In spite of fortune, as they stood prepared  
with courage charged, with comeliness retire,  
Make good their ground, and then relieve their guard,  
withstand the entrer, then pursue the flier,  
New form their battle, shifting every ward,  
As your high courage, but were your quarrel good  
O noble spirits, how dear had been your blood!   

55  
The Northern bands th'ambitious Herckley led  
On the weak Barons mangled so before,  
That now towards Burrough make a puissant head,  
Encouraging th'imperial power the more,  
O day so fatal, and so full of dread,  
when ere shall time thy ruinous waist restore,  
which to amend although thou shalt persever,  
Thou still may'st promise, but perform it never.   

56  
Pale death beyond all wont bounds doth swell,  
Carving proud flesh in cantels now at large,  
As leaves in Autumn, so the bodies fell  
Under rough steel at every boisterous charge;  
O what sad pen can the destruction tell,  
where scalps lay beaten as the battered targe,  
And every one he claimeth as his right  
That not provides t'escape away by flight.   

57  
Those Ensigns erst, that in the glittering field  
with their curled foreheads threat th'ambitious foe,  
Like wethered foul the drooping pyneons yield,  
Stooping their proud heads to the dust below;  
There sits a helmet, and there lies a shield,  
O ill did fate these noble Arms bestow,  
which as a quarry on the soiled earth lay,  
Seized on by conquest as a glorious prey.   

58  
here noble Bohun that brave-issued peer,  
Herford so high in every gracious heart  
Unto his country; so received and dear,  
wounded by treason in the lower part,  
(As o'er the bridge his men returning were)  
Through those ill-ioyned planks by an envious dart,  
But Lancaster whose lot not yet to die,  
Taken, reserved to greater infamy.   

59  
O subject for some sadder Muse to sing,  
Of five great Earldoms happily possessed,  
Of the direct line of the English King,  
with favours, friends, and earthly honours blest,  
If so that all these happiness could bring,  
Or could endow assuredness of rest;  
But what estate stands free from fortune's power?  
The Fates have guidance of our time and hour.   

60  
Some few themselves in sanctuaries hide,  
In mercy of that privileged place,  
Yet are their bodies so unsanctified,  
As scarce their souls can ever hope for grace;  
whereas they still in want and fear abide,  
A poor dead life this draweth out a space,  
Hate stands without, and horror sits within,  
Prolonging shame, but pardoning not their sin.   

61  
Here is not death contented with the dead,  
As though of some thing carelessly denied,  
Till which might firmly be accomplished  
His utmost fully were not specified,  
That all exactly might be perfected  
A further torment vengeance doth provide,  
That dead men should in misery remain,  
To make the living die with greater pain.   

62  
You sovereign Cities of th'afflicted Isle,  
In Cypress wreaths, and widowed attire  
Prepare ye now to build the funeral pile,  
Lay your pale hands unto this latest ●●re,  
All mirth and comfort from your streets exile,  
Till you be purged of this infectious ●●e.  
The noblest blood yet living to be shed,  
That ever dropped from your rebellious dead.   

63  
When this brave Lord great Lancaster who late  
This puissant force had now thus long retained,  
As the first Agent in this strange debate  
At fatal Pomfret for these facts a●ayn'd,  
'Gainst whom of all things they articulate,  
To whom these factions chiefly appertained,  
whose proofs apparent so directly sped,  
As from his body re●t a reverent head.   

64  
Yet Lancaster it is not thy dear breath  
Can ransom back the safety of the Crown,  
Nor make a league of so great power with death,  
To warrant what is rightfully our own,  
But they must pay the forfeit of their faith  
which fond broke with their ambition,  
when now revenge unto the utmost racked,  
The Agents justly suffer with the acts   

65  
Even in that place where he had lately led,  
As this dark path unto the rest to show,  
It was not long ere many followed  
In the same steps that he before did go,  
London thy freedom is prohibited,  
The first in place (o would the first in woe)  
Others in blood did not excel thee far,  
That now devour the remnant of this war.   

66  
O parents ruthful, and hart-renting sight,  
To see that son thy tender bosom fed,  
A mother's joy, a father's sole delight,  
That with much cost, yet with more care was bred,  
A spectacle even able to affright  
Th'most senseless thing, and terrify the dead,  
His blood so dear upon the cold earth poured,  
His quartered corpse of birds and beasts devoured.   

67  
But 'tis not you that beer complain alone,  
Or to yourselves this fearful portion share,  
here's choice, and strange variety of moan,  
Poor children's tears with widows mixed are,  
Many a friends sigh, many a maidens groan,  
So innocent, so simply, pure, and rare;  
As though even nature that long silent kept,  
Burst out in plaints, and bitterly had wept,   

68  
O wretched age, had not these things been done,  
I had not now in these more calmer times  
Into the search of former troubles run,  
Nor had my virgin impoluted rhymes  
Altered the course wherein they first begun,  
To sing these bloody, and unnatural crimes,  
My lays had still been to Ideas bower,  
Of my dear Ank●r, or her loved Stoure.   

69  
Or for our subject, your fair worth to choose,  
Your birth, your virtue, and your high respects,  
That gently deign to patronize our Muse,  
who our free soul ingeniously elects  
To publish your deserts, and all your dues,  
maugre the Momists, and satyric sects,  
whilst my great verse eternally is song,  
You still may live with me in spite of wrong.   

70  
But greater things reserved are in store,  
Unto this task my Armed Muse to keep,  
Still offering me occasion as before,  
Matter whereof my tragic verse may weeper  
And as a vessel being near t●e shore,  
By adverse winds enforced to the deep,  
Am driven back from whence I came of late,  
Unto the business of a troubled state.   
The end of the second Canto.   

The third Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  
By a sleepy potion that the Queen ordains,  
Lord Mortimer escapes out of the Tower,  
And by false slights, and many subtle trains,  
She gets to France to raise a ●orraine power,  
The French King leaves his sister; need constrains  
The Queen to Henault in a happy bower,  
Edward her son to Philip is affied,  
And for invasion presently provide.  

1  
SCarce had these passed miseries their ends  
when other troubles instantly begun,  
As (still) new matter mischief apprehends,  
By things that incon●id'ratly were done,  
And further yet this insolence extends,  
whilst all not yielded that the sword had wonne●  
For some there were that secretly did he,  
That to this business had a watchful eye.   

2  
When as the King (whilst things thus fairly went)  
Who by this happy victory grew strong,  
Summons at York a present Parliament,  
To plant his right, and help the Spensers' wrong,  
By which he thinks t'establish his intent,  
whence (more and more) his Mineons greatness sprung,  
whose counsels still in all proceedings crossed  
Th'enraged Queen, whom all misfortunes tossed.   

3  
When now the eldest, a man extremely hated,  
whom yet the King not aptly could prefer,  
The edge of their sharp insolence abated,  
This parliament makes Earl of Winchester,  
where Herckley Earl of Carlell is created,  
And Baldock likewise is made Chancellor,  
One whom the King had for his purpose wrought,  
A man as subtle, so corrupt, and nought.   

4  
When now mishapp's that seldom come alone  
Thick in the necks of one another fell,  
The Scot pretends a new invasion,  
And France doth thence our useful power expel,  
Treasons suspected to attend his throne,  
The grieved Commons every day rebel,  
Mischief on mischief, curse doth follow curse,  
One ill scarce passed, when after comes a worse.   

5  
For Mortimer this wind yet fitly blue,  
Troubling their eyes which else perhaps might see,  
whilst the wise Queen, who all advantage knew  
Is closely plotting his delivery,  
(which now she doth with all her powers pursue)  
Aptly contrived by her deep policy,  
Against opinion, and the course of might,  
To work her will, even through the jaws of spite.   

6  
A sleepy drink she secretly hath made,  
whose operation had such wondrous power,  
As with cold numbness could the sense invade,  
And mortify the patient by an hour,  
The lifeless corpse in such a slumber laid,  
As though pale death did wholly it devour,  
Nor for two days take benefit of eyes,  
By all means Art, or Physic could devise.   

7  
For which she Plantain and cold Lettuce had,  
The water Lily from the marish ground,  
With the wan Poppy, and the Nightshade sad,  
And the short moss that on the trees is found,  
The poisoning Henbane, and the Mandrake dread,  
with Cypress flowers, that with the rest are pound,  
The brain of Cranes like purposely she takes,  
Mixed with the blood of Dormice, and of Snakes.   

8  
Thus sits the great Enchantress in her cell,  
Strongly ingert with ceremonious charms,  
Her cleansed body sensed with hallowing smell,  
with Vestal fire her potent liquor warms,  
Having full heat, unto her business fell,  
when her with Magic instruments she Arms,  
And from the herbs the powerful verdure wrong,  
To make the medicine forcible and strong.   

9  
The sundry doubts that incident arise,  
Might be supposed her trembling hand to stay,  
If she considered of the enterprise  
To think what peril in th'attempting lay,  
The secret lurking of deceitful spies,  
That on her steps continually do pray,  
But when they leave of virtue to esteem,  
Those greatly err which take them as they seem.   

10  
Their plighted ●aith for liberty they leave,  
Their love is cold, their lust hot, hot their hate,  
with smiles and tears they serpentlike deceive,  
In their desires they be insatiate,  
There's no restraint their purpose can bereave,  
Their will no bound, nor their revenge no date,  
All fear exempt where they at ruin aim,  
Covering their sin with their discovered shame.   

11  
The elder of the Mortimers this space,  
(That many sundry miseries had past)  
So long restrained within that healthless place,  
Redeemed by death yet happily at last,  
That much avails the other in this case,  
And from this Lord that imposition cast,  
which the dear safety of his uncles breath  
within the Tower so strictly limmeteth.   

12  
But there was more did on his death depend  
Then heaven was pleased the foolish world should know,  
And why the Fates thus hasted on his end,  
Thereby intending greater things to show,  
Brave Lord in vain thy breath thou didst not spend,  
From thy corruption further matters grow,  
And soon beginning fruitfully to spring,  
New forms of fear upon the time to bring.   

13  
All things prepared in readiness, and fit,  
The Queen attends her potions power to prove,  
Their steadfast friends, their best assisting it,  
Their servants seal their secrets up in love;  
And he express his valour and his wit,  
whom of the rest it chiefly doth behove,  
Places resolved where guide and horses lay,  
And where the ship him safely to convey.   

14  
As his large bounties liberally were heaped  
To all deserving, or to those that need,  
His solemn birthdays feastifall was kept  
At his free charge, all in the Tower to feed,  
which may suspicion clearly intercept,  
A strong assistant in so great a need,  
when midst their cates, their furious thirst to quench,  
Mixing their wine with this approved drench.   

15  
Which soon each sense, and every power doth cease,  
when he that knew the strength of every ward,  
And to the purpose sorting all his keys,  
His corded ladders readily prepared,  
And lurking forth by the most secret ways,  
Not now to learn his compass by the Card,  
To win the walls courageously doth go,  
which look asscorning to be mastered so.   

16  
They sound sleep whilst his quick spirits awake,  
Opposed to peril, and the stem'st extremes,  
Alcides labours new to undertake,  
Of walls, of gates, of watches, and of streams,  
Through which his passage he is now to make,  
And let them tell King Edward of their dreams,  
For ere they rose out of the brainsick trance,  
He hopes to tell this noble jest in France.   

17  
The sullen night hath her black Curtains spread,  
Lowering the day had tarried up so long,  
whose fair eyes closing, softly steals to bed,  
when all the heavens with dusky clouds are hung,  
And Cynthia now plucks in her horned head,  
And to the west incontinently flung,  
As she had longed to certify the sun  
what in his absence in her Court was done.   

18  
The glimmering lights, like sentines in war,  
Behind the clouds stand craftily to pry,  
And through false loop-holes looking from a far  
To see him skirmish with his destiny,  
Not any fixed, nor any wandering star,  
As they had held a counsel in the sky,  
And had before concluded with the night  
It should not look for any cheerful sight.   

19  
In deadly silence all the shores are hushed,  
Only the Skreech-howle sounds to the assault,  
And Isis with a troubled murmur rushed,  
As if consenting, and would hide the fault,  
And as his foot the sand or gravel crushed,  
A little whispering moved within the vault,  
Made by the treading softly as he went,  
which seemed to say it furthered his intent.   

20  
This wondrous Queen whom care yet restless kept  
Now for his speed to heaven holds up her hands,  
A thousand strange thought in her bosom heaped  
As in her Closet listening still she stands,  
That many a sigh spent many a warm tear wept,  
And though divided, as in sundry strands,  
Most absent, present in desires they be,  
Our minds discern where eyes do cease to see.   

21  
The small clouds issuing from his lips she saith,  
Labouring so fast, as he the ladder claim,  
Should purge the air of pestilence, and death,  
And as sometime that filched Prometbian flame,  
Even so the power and virtue of his breath,  
New creatures in the elements should frame,  
And to what part of heaven it happened to stray,  
There should path out another milky way.   

22  
Attaynd the top, half spent awhile to blow,  
Now round about he casts his longing eyes,  
The gentle earth salut's him from below,  
And covered with the comfortable skies,  
Viewing the way that he is now to go,  
Cheered with the beams of Isabella's fair eyes,  
Down from the turret desperately doth slide,  
Night be successful, fortune be his guide.   

23  
with his descent, her eye so still descends,  
As fear had fixed it to forewarn his fall,  
On whom her hope, and fortune now depends,  
when sudden fear her senses doth appall,  
For present aid her godlike hand extends,  
Forgets herself, and speedy aid doth call;  
Silent again, if ought but good should hap,  
She begs of heaven his grave may be her lap.   

24  
Now she entreats the dark distempered air,  
Then by strong Magic's she conjures the wind,  
Then she invokes the gloomy night by prayer,  
Then with her spells the mortal sense to bind;  
And fearing much least these yet frustrate are,  
Now by the burning tapers she divined,  
Entreating T●ames to give a friendly pass,  
The dearest fraught ere on her bosom was.   

25  
The rushing murmur stills her like a song,  
But yet in fear the stream should fall in love,  
Suspects the drops that on his tresses hung,  
And that the billows for his beauty strove,  
To his fair body, that so closely clung,  
which when in swimming with his breast he drove,  
Palled with grief she turns away her face,  
jealous that he the waters should embrace.   

26  
This angry Lion having slipped his chain,  
As in a fever makes King Edward quake,  
which knew (too well) ere he was oaught again,  
Deer was the blood must serve his thirst to slake,  
Many the labours had been spent in vain,  
And he enforced a longer course to take,  
Saw further vengeance hanging in the wind,  
That knew the pride, and greatness of his mind.   

27  
The faction working in this linger jar,  
How for the Scot free passage might be made,  
To lay the ground of a successful war,  
That hope might breed fresh courage to invade;  
And whilst our safety standeth ou● so far,  
More dangerous projects every where are laid,  
That some in hand, home troubles to en●re,  
Others in France do foreign broils procure.   

28  
By these dissensions that were lately sown  
Incyting Charles to open Arms again,  
who seizing Guyne, pretended as his own  
That Edward should unlawfully detain,  
Proceeds to make a further title known,  
T'our Lands in Pontieu, and in Aquitaine,  
when wanted homage hath dissolved the truce,  
waking his wrongs by Isabella's abuse.   

29  
This plot concluded that was long in hand,  
(which to this issue prosperously had thrived)  
The Base whereon a mighty frame must stand,  
with much art, yet with more fear contrived,  
So strongly builded by this factious band,  
As from the same their safety is derived,  
Till their full-rooted, and invetterate hate,  
Getting more strength, might deeply penetrate.   

30  
When choice of such to sway this French affair,  
which as a shapeless, and unwieldy mass  
Might well employ the strength of all their care,  
So hard and perilous ●o be brought to pass,  
which it behooves them quickly to prepare,  
That being now so settled as it was,  
Craves a grave spirit, whose eminence, and power,  
Might like a stiff gale check this threatening show●e.   

31  
This must a Session seriously debate,  
That depth of judgement craved to be discussed,  
That so concerns the safety of the state,  
And in a case so plausible and just,  
As might have quenched all sparcks of former hate,  
And might be thought even policy might trust,  
Could envy master her distracted will,  
Or apprehend satiety in ill.   

32  
Torleton whose tongue men's ears in chains could tie,  
And as a fearful thunderbolt could pierce,  
In which there more authority did lie.  
Then in the Sibyl's sage prophetic verse,  
Whose sentence was so absolute, and hie,  
As had the power a judgement to reverse,  
On the Queen's part with all his might doth stand,  
To lay this charge on her well-guiding hand.   

33  
What helps her presence to the cause might bring,  
Being a wife, a sister, and a mother,  
And in so great, and pertinent a thing,  
To right her son, her husband, and her brother,  
Her gracious help to all distributing,  
To take of her what they should hold of other,  
which colour serves t'effect in these extremes,  
That which (God knows) King Edward never dreamest   

34  
Torleton is this thy spiritual pretence?  
Would God thy thoughts were more spiritual,  
Or less persuasive were thy eloquence.  
But o thy actions are too temporal,  
Opinion lends too great pre-eminence,  
Thy reasons subtle, and sophistical,  
would all were true thy supposition saith,  
Thy arguments less force, or thou more faith.   

35  
These sudden broils that wear begun of late,  
Still kept in motion by their secret sleight,  
By false suggestions so interminate  
That as a ballast of some solid weight,  
Betwixt these adverse currents of debate,  
Kept their proceeding in a course so straight,  
As lends the Queen an ampler colour still,  
By general means to work a general ill.   

36  
She which thus fitly found both wind and tide,  
And sees her leisure serve the hour so near,  
All her endeavours mutually applied,  
whilst for her purpose things so fitly wear,  
And this advantage quickly had espied,  
As one whose fortunes taught the worst to fear,  
Seeing the times so variously inclined,  
And every toy soon altering Edward's mind.   

37  
Her followers such as friendless else had stood,  
Sunk, and dejected by the Spensers' pride,  
who bore the brands of treason in their blood,  
which but with blood there was no way to hide,  
whose mean was weak, whose will was but too good,  
which to effect did but the hour abide,  
And knew all means that mischief could invent,  
That any way might further her intent.   

38  
Whilst Mortimer which now so long hath lain  
From our just course, by fortune lately crossed,  
In France now struggling how he might regain  
That which before he had in England lost,  
All present means doth gladly entertain,  
No jot dismayed in all these tempests tossed,  
Nor his great mind can thus be overthrown,  
All men his friends, all countries are his own.   

39  
And Muse transported by thy former zeal,  
Led in our progress where his fortune lies,  
To thy fair aid I seriously appeal,  
To sing this great man, his magnanimous guise,  
The ancient Heroes unto me reveal,  
whose worths may raise our nobler faculties  
That in my verse, transparent, neat, and clear,  
His character more lively may appear.   

40  
Such one he was, of him we boldly say,  
In whose rich soul all sovereign powers did suit,  
In whom in peace th'elements all lay  
So mixed as none could sovereignty impute,  
As all did govern, yet all did obey,  
His lively temper was so absolute,  
That t'seemd when heaven his model first began,  
In him it showed perfection in a man.   

41  
So thoroughly seasoned, and so rightly set,  
As in the level of clear judgements eye,  
Time never tuched him with deforming fret,  
Nor had the power to warp him once awry,  
whose steadfast course no cross could ever let,  
His elevation was so heavenly high,  
Those giddy tempests that the base world prove,  
Sat under, where, he planet like did move.   

42  
which this fair Queen that had a knowing spirit,  
And saw the beauties resting in his mind,  
One that had thoroughly looked into his merit,  
Above the value of the vulgar kind,  
That rightly did his Grandsire's deeds inherit,  
when now the ages in their course declined,  
when the old world being weak, began to ●ow  
To th' effeminate baseness that it rests at now.   

43  
what ways he wealth, or what his Wigmore left?  
Let needless heaps, things momentary stand,  
He counts not his that can be raped by theft,  
Man is the sole Lord both of sea and land,  
And still is rich of these that is not reft,  
who of all creatures hath an upright hand,  
And by the stars is only taught to know,  
That as they progress heaven, he earth should do.   

44  
Wherhfore wise Nature forced this face of ground,  
And through the deeps show'd him the secret way,  
That in the floods her judgements might be found,  
where she for safety did her treasure lay;  
whose store that he might absolutely sound,  
She gave him courage for her only key,  
That he alone, of all her creatures free,  
Her glory, and her wondrous works should see.   

45  
Let wretched worldlings sweat for mud and earth,  
whose groveling bosoms lick the recreant stones,  
And peasants cark for plenty, and for dearth,  
Fame never looks upon these prostrate drones,  
Man is allotted at his princely birth  
To manage Empires, and to sit on thrones,  
Frighting coy fortune, when she sternest appears,  
which else scorns sighs, and ieereth at our tears.   

46  
When now report with her fleet murmuring wing  
Tuched the still entrance of his listening ear,  
A fleet prepared this royal Queen to bring,  
And her arrival still awaited near,  
when every sound a note of love doth sing,  
The joyful thoughts that in his bosom were,  
The soul in doubt to make her function less  
Denies the utterance fully to express.   

47  
Quoth he, slide billows gently for her sake,  
whose sight can make your aged Nereus young,  
For her fair● passage even allies make,  
On the sleek waters wa●t her sails along;  
And whilst she glides upon the pleasant lake,  
Let the sweet Siren's rock her with a song,  
Though not Loves mother that doth pass this way●  
Fairer than she that's borne upon the sea.   

48  
You Sea-bred creatures, gaze upon her eye,  
And never after with your kind make war,  
O steal the accents from her lip that fly,  
which like the musics of the Angels are,  
And them unto your amorous thoughts apply,  
Compared with which, Aryons did but jar,  
wrap them in air, and when black tempests rage,  
Use them as charms, the rough seas to assuage.   

49  
France send to fetch her with full shoals of oars,  
with which her fleet may every way be plied,  
And being landed on thy happy shores,  
As the vast navy doth at Anck or ride,  
For her departure when the wild sea roars,  
Ship mount to heaven, there brightly stellifide  
Next jasons Argo on the ●urnish'd throne,  
Assume thee there a constellation.   

50  
Her person hence conveyed with that delight,  
which best the languish of her journeys eased,  
That to her pleasure doth itself invite,  
whereon her mind, and subtle fancy seized,  
And that (most dear) her liking might excite,  
which then this Lord, nought more her presence pleased,  
where, when with state she fitt'st her time could take,  
Thus the fair Queen her Mortimer bespoke.   

51  
O Mortimer, great Mortimer quoth she,  
what angry power did first this mean devise,  
To separate Queen Isabella and thee,  
whom loves eternal union strongly ties,  
But if supposed this fault began by me,  
For a just penance to my longing eyes,  
(Though guiltless they) this punishment assigned,  
To gaze upon thee, till they leave me blind.   

52  
'tis strange sweet friend how thou art altered thus  
Since first in Court thou didst our favours wear,  
whose shape seemed then not mortal unto us,  
when in our eye thy brow was beauty's sphere,  
In all perfection so harmonious,  
A thousand several graces moving there;  
But what then couldst thou be, not now thou art,  
An alien first, last home-born in my heart.   

53  
That powerful fate thy safety did enforce,  
And from the worst of danger did thee free,  
Still regular, and constant in one course,  
wrought me a firm, and even path to thee,  
Of our affections as it took remorse,  
Our birth-fixed stars so happily agree,  
whose revolusion seriously directs  
Our like proceedings, to the like effects.   

54  
New form of counsel in the course of things,  
To our dissignement finds a nearer way,  
That by a clear, and perfect managing,  
Is that firm prop whereon we only stay,  
which in itself th'authority doth bring,  
That weak opinion hath no power to sway,  
Confuting such whose sightless judgement sit,  
In the thick rank, with every vulgar-wit.   

55  
Then since pleased time our wished content assures,  
Embrace the blessings of our mutual rest,  
And whilst the day of our good hap endures,  
And we as favourites lean on fortune's breast,  
which doth for us this vacansie procure,  
In choice make free election of the best,  
Near fear the storm before thou feel the shower,  
My son a King, an Empire is my dower.   

56  
Of wanton Edward when I first was wooed,  
why cam'st thou not into the Court of France?  
Thyself alone then in my grace hadst stood,  
Dear Mortimer how good had been thy chance,  
My love attempted in that youthful mood,  
I might have been thine own inheritance,  
where entering now by force, thou hold'st by might,  
And art deseisor of another's right.   

57  
Honour thou Idol women so adore,  
How many plagues dost thou retain to grieve us,  
when still we find there is remaining more  
Than that great word of majesty can give us,  
which takes more from us than it can restore,  
And of that comfort often doth deprive us,  
That with our own selves sets us at debate,  
And mak'st us beggars under our estate.   

58  
Those pleasing raptures from her graces rise,  
Strongly invading his impressive breast,  
That soon entranced all his faculties  
Of the proud fullness of their joys possessed,  
And having thoroughly wrought him in this wise,  
Like tempting Sirens, sing him to his rest,  
when every power is passive of some good,  
Felt by the spirits of his high-rauished blood.   

59  
Like as a Lute that's tuched with curious skill,  
In musics language sweetly speaking plain,  
when every string his note with sound doth fill,  
Taking the tones, and giving them again,  
And the ear bath's in harmony at will,  
A diapason closing every strain;  
So their affections set in keys so like,  
Still fall in consort as their humours strike.   

60  
When now the path to their desire appears,  
Of which before they had been long debarred,  
By dissolution of some threatening fears  
That for destruction seemed to stand prepared,  
which the smooth face of better safety bears,  
And now protected by a stronger guard,  
Gives the large scope of leisure to forecast  
Events to come, by things already past.   

61  
These great dissignements setting easily o●t,  
By due proportion measuring every pace,  
T'avoid the cumbrance of each hindering doubt,  
That might distort the comeliness, and grace,  
Coming with every circumstance about,  
Strictly observing person, time, and place;  
All ornaments in fair discretions laws,  
Could give attire to beautify the cause.   

62  
The Embassy in terms of equal height,  
As well their state, and dignity might fit,  
Appareling a matter of that weight,  
In ceremony well beseeming it,  
To carry things so steady, and so right,  
where wisdom with clear majesty might sit,  
All things still seeming strictly to effect,  
That love commands, and greatness should respect.   

63  
Whose expedition by this fair success  
That doth again this ancient league combine,  
When Edward should by covenant release,  
And to the Prince the Provinces resign,  
with whom King C●arles renews the happy peace,  
Receiving homage due to him for Guyne,  
And lastly now to consummate their speed,  
Edward's own person to confirm the deed.   

64  
Who whilst he stands yet doubtful what to do,  
The Spensers chiefly that his counsels guide,  
Nor with their Sovereign into France durst go,  
Nor in his absence durst at home abide;  
Now whilst the weak King stands perplexed so,  
His listening ears with such persuasion pli'de,  
As he at last to stay in England's won,  
And in his place, to send the Prince his son.   

65  
Thus is the King encompassed by their skill,  
A mean to work what Herford doth devise,  
To thrust him on, to draw them up the hill,  
That by his strength, they might get power to rise;  
Thus they in all things are before him still,  
This perfect steersman of their policies  
Hath cast to walk whilst Edward bears the light,  
And take that aim that must direct his sight.   

66  
And by th'allowance of his liberal will  
Supposed his safety, furthering their intent,  
Stands as a rest to justify their ill,  
Made sound and currant by this late event,  
And what yet wanting lastly to fulfil,  
Things in their course to fall in true consent,  
Gives full assurance of that happy end,  
On which they now laboriously attend.   

67  
Nor finding reason longer to protract  
Or in suspense their home-left friends to hold,  
By being now so absolutely backed,  
And thereby waxing confident and bold,  
By their proceedings publishing their act,  
when as their power was ripened as they would,  
Now with an armed, and erected hand  
To abet their faction absolutely stand.   

68  
When now the fearful fainting Exeter,  
A man experienced in their counsels long,  
whether himself thought his way to prefer,  
Or moved in conscience with King Edward's wrong,  
Or 'twas his frailty forced him thus to err,  
Or other fatal accident among,  
The only first that back to England flew,  
And knowing all, discovered all he knew.   

69  
The plot of treason lastly thus disclosed,  
And Torletons' drift by circumstances found,  
with what conveyance things had been disposed  
The cunning used in casting of the ground,  
The means, and apt advantages he choosed,  
when better counsel coldly comes to sound,  
Awakes the King to see his own estate,  
when the prevention comes too vain and late.   

70  
And whilst the time she daily doth adjourn,  
Charles as a brother by persuasions deals,  
Edward with threats to hasten her return,  
And john of Rome with papal curse assails,  
'tis but in vain against her will to spurn,  
Persuasions, threats, nor curses aught prevails,  
Charles, Edward, john, do th'utmost of your worst,  
The Queen fares best when she the most is cursed.   

71  
The subtle Spensers which French humours felt,  
(And with their Sovereign had devisd the draft)  
with Prince and Peers now underhand had dealt  
with golden baits, that craftily were caught,  
whose flexed temper soon begins to melt,  
On which they now by flights so thoroughly wrought,  
As with great sums now lastly ouer-wayed,  
The wretched Queen is desperate of aid.   

72  
Nor can all this amaze this mighty Queen,  
with all th'affliction never yet controlled,  
Never such courage in her sex was seen,  
Nor was she cast in other women's mould,  
(Nor can rebate the edge of her high spleen)  
But can endure war, travail, want, and cold,  
Struggling with fortune, ne'er with grief oppressed,  
Most cheerful still, when she was most distressed.   

73  
And thus resolved to leave ingrateful France,  
And in the world her fortune yet to try,  
Changing the air, hopes time may alter chance,  
As one whose thoughts were elevate more high,  
Her weakened state still seeking to advance,  
Her mighty mind so scorneth misery;  
Yet ere she went, her grieved heart to ease,  
Thus to the King this grieved Lady says.   

74  
Is this a King and Brother's part, quoth she,  
And to this end, did I my grief unfold?  
Came I to heal my wounded heart to thee,  
where slain outright I now the same behold?  
Prove these thy vows, thy promises to me,  
In all this heat, thy faith become so cold,  
To leave me thus forsaken at the worst?  
My state more wretched than it was at first.   

75  
My frailty urging what my want requires  
To thy dear mercy should my tears have tied,  
Our bloods maintained by the self-same fires,  
And by our fortunes as our birth allied,  
My suit supported by my just desires,  
All arguments I should not be denied.  
The grievous wrongs that in my bosom be,  
Should be as near thy care, as I to thee.   

76  
Nature that easily wrought upon my sex,  
To thy vile pleasure thus mine honour leaves,  
And under colour of thy due respects,  
My settled trust dis●oially deceives,  
That me and mine thus carelessly neglects,  
And of all comfort wholly me bereaves,  
Twixt recreant baseness, and disord'nate will,  
To expose my fortunes to the worst of ill.   

77  
But for my farewell this I prophecy,  
That from my womb tha● glorious fruit doth spring,  
which shall deject thy near posterity,  
And lead a captive thy succeeding King,  
That shall revenge this wretched injury,  
To fatal France I as a Sibyl sing,  
Her cities sacked, the slaughter of her men,  
when of the English one shall conquer ten.   

78  
Bewmount in France that had this shuffling seen,  
whose soul by kindness Isabella had won,  
For Henault now persuades the grieved Queen,  
By full assurance what might there be done,  
Now in the anguish of this tumerous spleen  
Offering his fair Niece to the Prince her son,  
The surest way to gain his brother's might,  
To back young Edward, and uphold her right.   

79  
This gallant Lord, whose name even filled report,  
To whom the soldiers of that time did throng,  
A man that fashioned others of his sort,  
As that knew all to honour did belong,  
And in his youth trained up with her in Court,  
And fully now confirmed in her wrong,  
Crossed by the faction of th'imperial part,  
In things that sat too nearly to his heart.   

80  
Sufficient motives to invite distress,  
To apprehend the least and poorest mean,  
Against those mischiefs that so strongly press,  
whereon their low dejected state to lean,  
And at this season, though it were the less  
That might awhile their sickly power sustain,  
Till prosperous times by mild, and temperate days,  
Their drooping hopes to former height might raise.   

81  
Where finding cause to breath their restless state  
where welcome looked with a more milder face,  
From those dishonours she received of late,  
where now she wants no due officious grace,  
Under the guidance of a gentler fate,  
where bounteous offers mutually embrace,  
And to conclude all ceremonies past,  
The Prince affies fair P●illip at the last.   

82  
All covenants signed with wedlock's sacred seal,  
A lasting league eternally to bind,  
And all proceeding of religious zeal,  
And suiting right with Henaults mighty mind,  
That to his thoughts much honour doth reveal,  
what ease the Queen is like thereby to find,  
The sweet contentment of the lovely bride,  
Young Edward pleased, and joy on every side.   
The end of the third Canto.   

The fourth Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  
The Queen in Henault mighty power doth wi●●,  
In Harwich haven safely is arrived,  
Great troubles now in England new begin,  
The King of friends, and safety is deprived,  
Flieth to Wales, at Neath received in,  
Many strange acts, and outrages contrived.  
Edward betrayed, delivered up at Neath,  
The Spensers, and his friends are put to death.  

1  
NOw seanen times Phoebus had his welked wain  
Upon the top of all the Torpick set,  
And seven times descending down again,  
His fiery wheels had with the fishes wet;  
In the accurrents of this hapless reign,  
Since treason first these troubles did beget,  
which through more strange varieties hath run,  
Than it that time celestial signs hath done.   

2  
Whilst our ill thriving in those Scottish broils,  
Their strength and cou●age greatly doth advance,  
That being made fat and wealthy by our spoils,  
when we still weakened by the jars in France,  
And thus disheartened by continual foils,  
Yields other cause, whereat our Muse may glance,  
And Herckleys treasons last brings to view,  
whose power of late the Barons overthrew.   

3  
Now when the Scot with an invasive hand  
By daily inroads on the borders made,  
Had spoiled the Country of Northumberland,  
The buildings level with the ground wear laid;  
And finding none that dare his power withstand,  
without controlment every where had prayed.  
Bearing with pride what was by pillage got,  
As our last fall appointed to their lot.   

4  
For which false Herckley by his Sovereign scent  
T'entreat this needful, though dishonoured peace,  
Cloaking his treasons by this feigned intent,  
Kinling the war which otherwise might cease;  
And with the Scot new mischiefs doth invent,  
T'entrap King Edward, and their fear release;  
For which their faith they constantly have plight  
In peace and war to stand for either's right.   

5  
For which the King his sister doth bestow,  
Upon this false Lord, which to him affied,  
Maketh too plain, and evident a show,  
Of what before, his trust did closely hide,  
But being found from whence this match should grow,  
By such as now into their actions pried,  
Displays the treasons, which not quickly crossed,  
would shed more blood than all the wars had cost.   

6  
Whether the King's weak counsels causes are  
That every thing so badly fort out,  
Or that the Earl did of our state despair,  
when nothing prospered that was gone about,  
And therefore careless how these matters fare,  
(I'll not define, but leave it as a doubt)  
Or some vain title his ambition lacked,  
Hatched in his breast this treasonable act.   

7  
Which now revealed unto the jealous King,  
For apprehension of this trayed rous Peer,  
To the Lord Lucy leaves the managing,  
One whose known faith he ever held so dear,  
By whose dispatch, and travel in this thing,  
(He doth well worthy of his trust appear)  
In his own Castle, carelessly defended,  
The treacherous Herckley closely apprehended.   

8  
For which ere long unto his trial led,  
In all the robes befitting his degree,  
Where Scroop chief justice in King Edward's stead  
was now prepared his lawful judge to be,  
Urging the proofs by his inditement red,  
where they his treasons evidently see,  
which now themselves so plainly do express,  
As might at first declare his bad success.   

9  
His honoured title back again restored,  
Noted with terms of infamy and scorn,  
And then disarmed of his knightly sword,  
On which his faith and loyalty was sworn,  
And by a varlet of his spurs dispur'd,  
His coat of Arms in pieces haled and torn,  
To taste deserved punishment is sent,  
T'a traitorous death that traitorously had meant.   

10  
When such the favourers of this fatal war,  
whom this occasion doth more sharply whet,  
Those for this cause thet yet imprisoned are,  
Boldly attempt at liberty to set,  
whose purpose frustrate by the others care,  
Doth greater wounds continually beget;  
warning the King more strictly look about,  
These secret fires still daily breaking out.   

11  
And Hereford in Parliament accused,  
Of treasons which apparently were wrought,  
That with the Queen, and Mortimers were used,  
whereby subversion of the Realm was sought,  
And both his calling, and his trust abused,  
which now to answer when he should be brought,  
Ceased by the Clergy in the King's despite,  
Under the colour of the Churches right.   

12  
Whilst now the Queen from England day by day,  
That of these troubles still had certain word,  
whose friends much blamed her tedious long delay,  
when now the time occasion doth afford,  
with better haste doth for herself purvey,  
Bearing provision presently aboard;  
Ships of all uses daily rigging are,  
Fittest for invasion to transport a war.   

13  
The Earl of Kent by's sovereign brother placed,  
As the great General of his force in Gwine,  
who in his absence here at home disgraced,  
And frustrated both of his men, and coin,  
By such lewd persons to maintain their waist,  
From the King's treasúres ceased not to proloyne,  
Th'lascivious Prince, though moved regardless still  
Both of his own loss, and his brothers ill.   

14  
Whose discontentment being quickly found,  
By such as all advantages await,  
That still applied strong corrosives to the wound,  
And by their sharp and intricate deceit,  
Hindered all means might possibly redound,  
This fast-arising mischief to defeat,  
Until his wrongs were to that fullness grown,  
That they have made him absolute their own.   

15  
Whose selfe-like followers in these faithless wars,  
Men most experienced, and of worthiest parts,  
which for their pay received only scars,  
whilst the inglorious reaped their due deserts,  
And Mineons hate of other hope debars,  
with too much violence urged their grieved hearts,  
On john of Henault wholly do rely,  
who led a great and valiant company.   

16  
That in this conquest do themselves combine,  
The Lords Pocelles, Sares, and Boyseers,  
Dambretticourt, the young and valiant Heyn,  
Estotevill, Comines, and Villeers,  
Others his Knights, Sir Michael de la Lyne,  
Sir Robert Balliol, Boswit, and Semeers.  
Men of great power, whom spoil and glory warms,  
Such as were wholly dedicated to Arms.   

17  
Three thousand soldiers, mustered men in pay,  
Of French, Scotch, Almain, Swiser, and the Dutch,  
Of native English, fled beyond the Sea,  
whose number near amounted to as much,  
Which long had looked for this unhappy day,  
whom her revenge did but too nearly touch,  
Her friends now ready to receive her in,  
And new commotions every day begin.   

18  
When she for England fitly setting forth  
Spreading her proud sails on the watery plain,  
Shaping her course directly to the North,  
with her young Edward, Duke of Aquitaine,  
with th'other three of special name and worth,  
(The destained scourges of his lawless rain)  
Her soldier Beumount, with the Earl of Kent,  
And Mortimer, that mighty malcontent.   

19  
A for-wind now for Harwich fitly blows,  
Blow not too fast to kindle such a fire,  
whilst with full sail, and fairer tide she goes,  
Turn gentle wind, and force her to retire,  
The fleet thou drivest is fraughted with our woes,  
But winds, and seas do Edward's wrack conspire,  
For when just heaven to chastise us is bend,  
All things convert to our due punishment.   

20  
Thy coasts be kept with a continual ward,  
Thy Beacons watched her coming to descry,  
O had the love of subjects been thy guard  
't'had been t'effect that thou didst fortify,  
But whilst thou standest 'gainst for rain foes prepared,  
Thou art betrayed by thy home enemy,  
Small help by this thou art but like to win,  
Shutting death out, thou keep'st destruction in.   

21  
When Henry, brother to that hapless Prince,  
The first great engine of this civil strife,  
(Dear Lancaster) whom law did late convince,  
And that at Pomfret left his wretched life,  
This Henry, in whose great heart ever since  
Revenge lay covered, smothered up in grief,  
Like fire in some fat mineral of the earth  
Finding the least vent, gives itself a birth.   

22  
That being Earl Martial, great upon the coast,  
with bells, and bonfires welcomes her a shore,  
And by his office gathering up an host,  
Shows the old malice in his breast he bore,  
Nor of his ●elpe abashed at all to boast,  
The Clergies power in readiness before,  
Upon their friends a great taxation laid,  
To raise munition for the present aid.   

23  
And to confu●ion all their power expose  
On the rend bosom of this I'll, where long  
war did itself so steadfastly enclose,  
(war from our own lewd desolutenes sprung)  
whom no invasion ever yet could lose,  
So old the malice, and so great the wrong,  
Urged with the force that foreign fire doth bring,  
A greater spoil, and horror menacing.   

24  
This innovation by an altered state  
Lent this new action such a violent hand,  
That it thus boldly dare insinuate,  
On the cold faintness of the feebled Land;  
And being armed with all the power of fate,  
Finding a way so openly to stand  
To their intendments, which endeavoured well,  
Might get that height from whence at first they fell.   

25  
When all their strength in order strictly set,  
All helps and doubts by wars best counsels weighed,  
what well might further, what their course might let,  
And their reliefs conveniently had laid,  
A mean reserved, security to get,  
Whereon at worst their fortune might be stayed,  
And furnished fully as themselves desired,  
Of all this action needfully required.   

26  
And at Saint edmond's do a while repose,  
To rest themselves, and their new welcomed force,  
Better to learn the manner of their foes,  
To th'end not vainly to direct their course,  
And seeing daily how the Army grows,  
To take a full view both of foot and horse,  
With such discretion managing the war,  
Truly to show them what indeed they are.   

27  
When now the King of these proceedings hard,  
And of the troops that to them daily run,  
And little strength at London yet prepared,  
where he expected favour to have won,  
He now commits the City to the guard,  
Of his approved most-trusted Stapleton,  
To john of Eltham (his fair son) the Tower,  
Himself to Wales, to raise a speedy power.   

28  
Yet whilst his name doth any hope admit,  
Proclaims in forfeit both of goods and life,  
All that enjoyed a subjects benefit,  
Should lend their power against his son, and wife,  
And doth all slaughters generally acquit  
were done upon the movers of this strife.  
And who could bring in Mortimer's proud head,  
Should freely take th'revenues of the dead.   

29  
Which strait encountered by the Queen's edict,  
who making known the justness of her cause,  
That she proceeded in a course so strict  
T'uphold their ancient liberties and laws;  
Nor that she did this punishment inflict  
For private hate, or popular applause,  
Only the Spensers to account to bring,  
whose wicked counsels had abused the King.   

30  
Which ballasing the multitude that stood  
As a light Bark that's tossed twixt wind and tide,  
Turned in the mixture of th'opposed flood  
when yet opinion not their course could guide,  
And wavering thus in their inconstant mood  
Till by the weakness of th'imperial ●ide  
Suffers the seizure of itself at last,  
which to the Queen all free advantage cast.   

31  
When friendless Edward followed by his foes,  
whom danger doth to recreant ●ight debase,  
As poor in hope, as he is rich in woes,  
Deprived all princely ornament and grace,  
whose force th'more weakened, further that he goes,  
His safety now suspecting every place;  
No help at home, no succour seen abroad,  
His mind small rest, his body less abode.   

32  
One scarce to him his sad discourse hath done  
Of Henaults power, and what the Queen intends,  
But whilst he speaks, another hath begun,  
A third doth take it where the second ends,  
when now abroad there's other rumours run,  
Some of new foes, some of revolting friends,  
These scarcely past when more reports are spread,  
Of many that rebel, of many fled.   

33  
What plagues doth Edward for himself prepare?  
Forsaken King, o whether dost thou fly?  
Men change their clime, but seldom change their care,  
Thou fliest thy foes, but follow'st misery,  
The evil fates in number many are  
That to thy footsteps do themselves apply;  
And still thy conscience pricked with inward grief  
Thyself pursues thyself, both robbed, and thief.   

34  
Accepting succour offered next at hand,  
At last for Wales commits him to the seas;  
And seeing Lundy that so fair doth stand,  
Puts in for succour (needs would fain have ease)  
This little model of his banished Land,  
which for a while his fancy seems to please,  
Feign would he be King of a little I'll,  
Although his Empire bounded in a mile.   

35  
And ready now to strike his prosperous sail,  
As under lee past danger of the flood,  
A sudden storm of mixed sleet and hail  
Not suffers him to rule this piece of wood.  
what doth thy labour, what thy toil avail,  
when thou art still by greater powers withstood?  
Edward thy hopes all vainly do delude,  
By Gods, and men, incessantly pursued.   

36  
In this black tempest long turmoild, and tossed,  
Choir from their course, and well they know not where,  
'mongst rocks, and sands, in danger to be lost,  
Without in peril, and within in fear,  
At length perceiving they are near the coast,  
And that the place more plainly doth appear,  
Knows by the Mountains insolently tall,  
That part of Wales that we Glamorgan call,   

37  
To Neath, a Castle fortified and strong,  
Commanding entrance with his banished crew,  
The Earl of Gloster, worker of much wrong,  
The Chancellor Baldock, that much evil knew,  
Reding his Marshal is the rest among,  
here hid from eyes, but not from envies view,  
where for a while committing them to dwell,  
we must prepare more dreadful things to tell.   

38  
You lighter Muses, leave me, and be gone,  
Your weak complaints are matters much too slight,  
More horrid plagues are here approaching on,  
Ye ghastly spirits that haunt the gloomy night,  
Lend me your shrieks t'express the depth of moan,  
with ghastly howling all approach my sight,  
And round about with funeral tapers stand,  
To give a sad light, to my sadder hand.   

39  
Each line shall lead to some dire point of woe,  
And every cadence as a tortured cry,  
Now must my tears in such abundance flow,  
That they surround the circle of mine eye;  
And whilst these great calamities I show,  
All loose affections stand you idly by,  
Once more our clear Muse dips her wing in gore,  
The dreerest tale that pen did ere deplore.   

40  
New sorts of vengeance threatened to the earth,  
The raging Ocean past the bounds to rise,  
Strange apparitions, and prodigious birth,  
Unheard of sickness, and mortalities,  
More inaccustomed, and unlooked for dearth,  
New sorts of Meteors gazing from the skies,  
As what before had small or nothing been,  
And only now our miseries begin.   

41  
And whilst these discords and dissensions breed,  
The Land laid naked to all offered ill,  
The lawless exile now returns with speed,  
Not to defend his country, but to kill,  
And all the prisons desolutely freed,  
Both field and town with wretchedness to fill.  
London first author of our latest shame,  
Soonest that repent'st, most plagued for the same.   

42  
Whose giddy commons merciless and rude,  
Let loose to mischief in this cursed day,  
Their hands in blood of Edward's friends imbrued,  
Never content till they were made away;  
Th'implacable, and wicked multitude  
On the Lieutenant Stapl●ton do pray,  
who dragged and torn by this tumultuous heap,  
Cut off his head before the Cross in Cheap.   

43  
Read woeful City on thy ruin'd brickwall,  
Thy sad destruction which is drawing nigh,  
where on thy gates is charractred thy fall,  
In mangled bodies thine Anatomy,  
Now thy lewd errors to a reckoning call,  
which may exstract tears from thy ruthless eye,  
And if the thick air dim thy hateful sight,  
Thy buildings are on fire to give thee light.   

44  
Thy channels serve for ink, for paper stones,  
And on the ground write murder, incest, rape,  
And for thy pens, a heap of deadmen's bones,  
Let every letter be some monstrous shape,  
Thy points and accents be departing groans,  
And let no vile, nor desperate act escape,  
And when with pride thou art again ore'gon,  
Then take this book, and sadly look thereon,   

45  
Poor wretch despoiled of thy late virgin's name,  
Now for thy sin what impious villain shent,  
Black is my ink, but blacker thy defame,  
who shall revenge whilst I thy state lament,  
what might be done to remedy thy shame,  
when now too late these mischiefs to prevent,  
Against these horrors thou dost idly strive.  
Thou seest thyself devoured, yet alive.   

46  
Thou want'st redress, and tyranny remorse,  
To whom shouldst thou thy helpless woes complain?  
But yield thyself to the adulterer's force,  
Thy words untimely, and return in vain,  
The more thou grievest, thy fault is still the worse;  
This remedy there only doth remain,  
Despoiled of fame, be prodigal of breath,  
And make thy life clear by a resolute death.   

47  
For worlds that were, the present times complain  
when men might have been buried when they died,  
And children safely in their cradles lain,  
And when the husband might enjoy his bride,  
when in some bounds ill could itself contain,  
The son have kneeled by's father's deathbed side,  
The living wronged, the dead no right can have,  
The father sees his son to want a grave.   

48  
But 'tis too late thy headstrong course t'recall,  
Deprived all feeling of external fear,  
These deadly sounds by their continual fall,  
Settle confusion in thy deafened ear,  
This is the last, o would the worst of all,  
Shrieks be the music thou deligt'st to hear,  
Arms thy attire, and wounds be all thy good,  
Thy end consists in rapine, and in blood,   

49  
Inglorious age of whom it should be said  
That all these mischiefs did abound in thee,  
That all these sins should to thy charge be laid,  
From no calumnious, nor vile action free,  
O let not time us with thy ills upbraid,  
Left fear what hath been, argue what may be,  
And fashoning so a habit in the mind,  
Make us alone the haters of our kind.   

50  
O powerful heaven, in whose all-soveraine rain,  
Those thy pure bodies move in harmony,  
And by a strong, and everlasting chain,  
Together linked in sacred unity,  
In which you do continually remain,  
Stayed in one certain course eternally,  
Why his due motion keepeth every star,  
Yet what they govern so irregular?   

51  
Muse, in the course of this unnatural war  
Tell me from whence this height of mischief grew,  
That in so short time spread itself so far,  
whereon such strange calamities ensue;  
The true occasions faithfully declare,  
O men religious, was the fault in you?  
which even grown res●ie by your power, withdraw  
Your stiffened necks, as freed from civil awe.   

52  
What wonder then the people grow profane,  
when Churchman's lives give lay men leave to fall,  
Their former dove-like humbleness disdain,  
For coats of hair, now clad in costly pall,  
The holy Ephod made a cloak for gain,  
And what most cunning, most cannonicall,  
And blind promotion shuns that dangerous road,  
which the old Prophets diligently troad.   

53  
Hence is't that God so slightly is adored,  
The rock removed whereon our faith is grounded,  
Conscience esteemed but as an idle word,  
which weak before, by vain opinion wounded,  
Professors lives so little fruit afford,  
And in her sects religion lies confounded,  
The sacred things a merchandise become,  
None talks of texts, and prophesying dumb.   

54  
And of the former being thus possessed,  
Like to the venom of infectious air  
That having got into the secret breast,  
Is not prescribed, nor long times stays it there;  
But from this ground to seize upon the rest,  
The rank contagion spreading every where,  
That ere this evil hath the utmost done,  
The solid body lastly overrun.   

55  
Cavels break forth to cancel wholesome laws,  
And catching hold upon the public weal,  
where doubts should cease they rise in every clause,  
The sword that wounds, ordained a salve to heal,  
One mischief still another forward draws,  
Each striving others vileness to conceal,  
By lewd corruptions in a needful use,  
Right cloaks all wrong, and covers all abuse.   

56  
When now the King late taken to this hold,  
And in this poor imprisoned liberty,  
Living a death in hunger, want, and cold,  
Even in depth of woe and misery,  
By hateful treason secretly is sold,  
Before he could the treacherous drift espy,  
For when oppression's up unto the chin,  
who lends not hand to thrust him boldly in.   

57  
In th'luckless fortunes of this wretched King,  
whose person's ceased by th'invading part,  
Unto his friends sad matters menacing,  
with bloodless terror striking every heart,  
All expectation now discouraging,  
when no evasion from the foe to start,  
And that the cloud which threatened greatest fear  
Rose, whence their hopes most brightest did appear.   

58  
Which breaking in now with a general force,  
On the two Spensers, from whose only hate  
This war first sprung, distracted in their course,  
Their latest power confined by their fate,  
Of whom there's none takes pity or remorse,  
which to avoid, as cankers of the state,  
The eldest first to death at Bristol led,  
where hanged to death, his body quartered.   

59  
When as the heir to Winchester late dead,  
The bloody lot to th'earl of Gloster fell,  
Reding the Marshal, marshalled with the dead,  
when soon succeeds the Earl of Arundel  
To pay the forfeit of a reverent head,  
Then Muchelden, and woeful Daniel,  
Who followed him in his lascivious ways,  
Must go before him to his fatal days.   

60  
Even like some pillar, on whose goodly height  
A ponderous building only doth depend,  
which when not able to sustain the weight,  
And that his strong back hath begun to bend,  
As quite deprived of his former might,  
The massy load unto the ground doth send,  
Crushing the lesser props, and murdering all  
That stand within the compass of the fall.   

61  
That state whereon the strength of Princes leans  
whose high ascent we trembling do behold,  
From whence by coyness of their chaste disdains,  
Subjection is imperiously controlled,  
Their earthly weakness evermore explains,  
Exalting whom they please, not whom they should,  
when their own fall (shows how they fond erred)  
Procured by those, unworthily preferred.   

62  
Merit goes unregarded, and ungraced,  
when by his fauters ignorance held in,  
And Parasites in wisemen's rooms are placed,  
Only to soothe the great ones in their sin,  
From such whose gifts, and knowledge is debaced  
There's many strange enormities begin,  
Forging great wits into most factious tools,  
when mightiest men oft prove the mightiest fools.   

63  
But why so vainly do I time bestow  
The foul abuse of th'wretched world to chide,  
whose blinded judgement every hour doth show  
what folly weak mortality doth guide?  
wise was the man that laughed at all thy woe,  
My subject still more sorrow doth provide,  
And this late peace more matter still doth breed,  
To hasten that which quickly must succeed.   
The end of the fourth Canto.   

The fifth Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  
Th'imprisoned King his government forsakes,  
And to the Peers his weakness so excused,  
Who him ere long from Leister's keeping takes,  
That with much woe his sovereign Lord refused●  
His torturer of him a mockery makes,  
And basely, and reproachfully abused,  
By secret ways to Berckley being led,  
And cruelly in prison murdered.  

1  
THe wretched King unnaturally betrayed  
By lewd corruption of his native Land,  
From thence with speed to Kenelworth conveyed  
By th'earl of Leicester with a mighty band,  
Some few his favourers quickly over-wayd,  
And now a present Parliament in hand,  
To ratify the general intent,  
His resignation of the government.   

2  
Fallen through the frailty of intemperate will,  
That with his fortunes it so weakly fared,  
To undergo that unexpected ill,  
For his deserved punishment prepared,  
The measure of that wretchedness to fill,  
To him allotted as a just reward,  
Arms all with malice, either less or more,  
To strike at him, that struck at all before.   

3  
And being a thing the commons daily crave?  
To which the great are resolutely bend,  
Such forward helps on every side to have,  
T'effect their strong and forcible intent,  
which now that speed unto their action gave,  
That ratified by general consent,  
Still hasteneth on to execute the thing,  
which for one ill, twoworse should shortly bring.   

4  
Bishops, Earls, Abbots, and the Barons all,  
Each in due order as becomes the state,  
Set by the Heralds in that goodly hall,  
The Burgesses for places corporate,  
whom this great business at this time doth call,  
For the Cinque-ports the Barons convocate,  
And other Knights, for the whole body sent,  
Both on the South, and on the North of Trent.   

5  
From his imprisoning chamber clad in black  
Before th'assembly sadly he is brought,  
A doleful hearse upon a deadman's back,  
whose heavy looks might tell his heavier thought,  
In which there doth no part of sorrow lack,  
Nor feigned action needs to grief be taught,  
His funeral solemnized in his cheer,  
His eyes the mourners, and his legs the Beer.   

6  
Torleton as one select to this intent,  
The best experienced in this great affair,  
A man grave, subtle, stout, and eloquent,  
First with fair speech th'assembly doth prepare,  
Then with a voice austere, and eminent,  
Doth his abuse effectually declare  
As wins each sad eye, with a reverent fear,  
with due attention drawing every ear.   

7  
The great exactions raised by the King,  
with whose full plenty he his Mineons fed,  
Himself and subjects so impourishing,  
And that dear blood he lavishly had shed,  
which desolation to the Land should bring,  
And the chief cause by his lewd riots bred,  
The loss in war sustained through his blame,  
The during scandal to the English name.   

8  
Proceeding forward to the future good,  
That their dissignments happily intent,  
And with what upright policy it stood,  
No after hopes their fortunes to amend,  
The resignation to his proper blood,  
That might the action lawfully defend,  
The present need that willed it strictly so,  
whose imposition they might not foreslow.   

9  
Pardon me art, that striving to be short,  
To this intent a speech delivering,  
And that at full I do not hear report  
Matters that touch deposing of the King,  
My faithful Muse, o doenot thou exhort  
The after times to so abhorred a thing,  
To show the reasons forcibly were laid,  
Out of thy feelings, what he might have said.   

10  
The strong deliu'ry of whose vehement speech,  
Borne with a dauntless, and contracted brow,  
That with such stern severity did teach  
His reasons more authentic to allow,  
which the more easily made the dangerous breach,  
By the remembrance of a general vow,  
To which they here must openly contest,  
when Edward comes to consummate the rest.   

11  
His fair cheek covered in pale shears of shame,  
And as a dumb show in a swoon began,  
where passion doth such sundry habits frame,  
As every sense a right tragedian,  
Truly to show from whence his sorrow came,  
Beyond the compass of a common man,  
where nature seems a practiser in art,  
Teaching despair to act a lively part.   

12  
Ah pity dost thou live, or wert thou not,  
Mortals by such sights have to flint been turned,  
Or what men have been, hath their seed forgot,  
Or was it never known that any mourned.  
In what so strangely are we overjoyed?  
Against our own self hath our frailty spurned,  
Or tears hence forth abandon human eyes,  
And never-more to pity miseries.   

13  
He takes the crown yet scornfully unto him,  
with slight regard, as scarcely thinking on it,  
As though not senseless that it should forego him,  
And seldom casts a scornful eye upon it,  
would seem to leave it, and would have it woe him,  
Then snatching it, as loath to have foregone it,  
Yet putsit from him, yet he will not so,  
would fain retain, what fain he would forego.   

14  
In this confused conflict of the mind,  
Tears drowning sighs, and sighs confounding tears,  
Yet when as neither, liberty could find,  
Oppressed with the multitude of fears,  
Stands as a man affrighted from his kind,  
Grief becomes senseless when too much it bears,  
whilst speech & silence strives which place should take,  
From his full bosom thus his sorrows brake.   

15  
If that my title rightfully be planted,  
Upon a true indubitate succession,  
Confirmed by nations, as by nature granted,  
That freely hath delivered me possession,  
Impute to heaven sufficiency t'have wanted,  
which must deny it power, or you oppression,  
Which into question by due course may bring,  
The grieved wrongs of an anointed King.   

16  
That hallowed unction by a sacred hand  
which once was poured on this imperious head,  
which wrough th'indument of a strict command,  
And round about me the rich verdure spread,  
Either my right in greater stead must stand,  
Or why in vain was it so idly shed,  
whose profanation and unreverent tuch,  
Just heaven hath often punished always much.   

17  
When from the bright beams of our sovereign due,  
Descends the strength of your enated right,  
And prosperously derives itself to you,  
As from our fullness taking borrowed light,  
which to your safeties always firm, and true,  
why thus repugn you by preposterous might?  
But what heaven lent me virtuously t'have used,  
Leaves to your power, what weakness hath abused.   

18  
But here I do resign it to your King,  
Pausing hereat as though his tongue offended,  
with griping throws seems forth that word to bring,  
Sighing a full point as he there had ended,  
O how that sound his grieved heart doth wring,  
which he recalling gladly would have mended.  
Things of small moment we can scarcely hold,  
But griefs that touch the heart, are hardly told.   

19  
But being past, he prosecutes in tears,  
Calming that tempest with a shower of rain,  
As he had strove to keep it from his ears.  
Quoth he, the leedgman to your sovereign,  
O in his lips how vile that word appears,  
whereat ashamed, doth sadly pause again,  
Yes, yes, even say so unto him you bear it,  
if'ft be young Edward that you mean shall wear it.   

20  
Let him account his bondage from that day  
That he is with the Diadem invested,  
A glittering crown hath made this hair so grey,  
within whose circle he is but arrested,  
To true content this not the certain way,  
with sweeter cates a mean estate is feasted,  
And when his proud feet scorn to touch the mould,  
His head a prisoner in a jail of gold.   

21  
His subjects numbered, numbering of his care,  
And when with shouts the people do begin,  
Let him suppose th'applause but prayers are  
T'escape the danger that they see him in,  
wherein t'aduenture he so boldly dare;  
The multitude hath multitudes of sin,  
And he that's first to cry God save the King,  
Is the first man doth news of sorrow bring.   

22  
Appeasing tumults, hate cannot appease,  
So othed with deceits, and fed with flatteries,  
Thyself displeasing, other sought to please,  
Obeyed as much as he shall tyrannize,  
The least in safety being most at ease,  
Fear forcing friends, enforcing enemies,  
And when he sitteth in his great'st estate,  
His footstool danger, and his chair is hate.   

23  
Rain he alone, whilst he no King was one  
Disarmed of power, and here dejected is,  
By whose deposing he enjoys a throne,  
Nor should I suffer that, nor he do this,  
I must confess th'inheritance his own,  
But whilst I live it should be none of his,  
The son climes up, to thrust the father down,  
And thus the crowned, left without a crown.   

24  
Having performed this hard constrained part,  
His speech, his rain, the day all jointly ended,  
Strangely transformed, not being what thou art,  
Cared for of none, unlooked on, unattended,  
Sadly departing, with a heavy heart,  
To his strong lodging straightly recommended,  
Left to bemoan his miserable plight,  
To the rude walls, and solitary night.   

25  
Whilst things are thus disastrously decreed,  
Seditious libels every day are spread  
By such as like not of their violent deed,  
That he by force should be delivered,  
whether his wrong, remorse in some did breed,  
That him at last untimely pitied,  
Or else devisd in policy by some,  
To cloak that mischief afterward to come.   

26  
And hate that each-where hearkening still doth lurk  
And yet suspicious Edward is not sure,  
Thinking what blood with Leicester might work,  
Or else what friends his name might him procure,  
which yet their thoughts continually doth yrck  
The time he should at Kenelworth endure,  
Forethink some place t'which secretly conveyed,  
Unknown his being, be secured from aid.   

27  
And though the great to hide their close intent,  
(Seem near so clear from knowing those know ill)  
Not unprovided of the instrument  
Which they keep ready to perform their will,  
Such have th'in store to their damnation bend,  
In villainy notorious for their skill,  
Dishonest, desperate, merciless, and rude,  
To all vile actions ready to intrude.   

28  
Matrevers and base Gurney are the men  
In this lewd act that must confedered be,  
Whose hateful names pollute our maiden pen,  
But I entreat you be not grieved with me  
To whom the same do worthily pertain,  
Some boughs grow crooked from the straightest tree●  
Nor shall you be partakers of their shame,  
The fault lies in their deed, not in your name.   

29  
These secretly to Killing worth dispatched,  
Fitted of all things that their heart's desire,  
At such a time as few their purpose watched,  
After whose business none is to inquire,  
which by their warrant subtly was matched  
Only to them known whether to retire,  
Taking the King, his guardian to acquit,  
And to bestow him where they thought most sit.   

30  
With a crew of ribalds, villainous, and nought,  
As their coagents in this hateful thing,  
To th'earl of Leicester their commission brought,  
Commanding the deliu'ry of the King,  
which (with much grief) they last from him wrought,  
About the Castle closely hovering,  
Watching a time till silence, and the night,  
Might with convenience privilege their flight.   

31  
With shameful scoffs, and barbarous disgrace  
Him on a lean ill-favoured jade they set,  
In a vile garment, beggarly, and base,  
which it should seem they purposely did get,  
And in a wretched miserable case,  
Benumbed and beaten with the cold, and wet,  
Deprived of all repose and natural rest,  
With thirst and hunger grievously oppressed.   

32  
Yet still suspicious that he should be known,  
They sha●e away his ornament of hair,  
The last thing his that he could call his own,  
Never left fortune any wight so bare,  
Such tyranny on King was never shone,  
Thus void of comfort, were he void of care,  
No, no, our joys are shadows, and deceive us,  
But till our death, our sorrows never leave us.   

33  
To which intent, when farthest from resort,  
Forcing him light from his poor weary beast,  
Upon a mole-hili (o most sad report)  
with puddle-water him they lewdly dressed,  
Whilst at his woes and miseries they sport,  
An iron skull the Basin, like the rest,  
whose loathing eyes, in this more loathed glass,  
well may discern how much deformed he was.   

34  
Th'abundant drops that from his eyes do fall,  
A pool of tears still rising by this rain,  
which wrestling with the water, and withal,  
A troubled circle makes it to retain,  
His endless griefs unto his mind might call,  
Billowed with sighs like to a little main,  
water with tears contending whether should  
Make water warm, or make the warm tears cold.   

35  
Vile traitors, hold of your unhallowed hands,  
His brow the state of majesty still bears,  
Dare you thus keep your sovereign Lord in bands,  
How can your eyes behold th'anointed's tears?  
Or if your sight thus all remorse withstands,  
Are not your hearts even pierced through your ears?  
The mind is free, what ere afflict the man,  
he's yet a King, do fortune what she can.   

36  
Who's he should take what God himself hath given,  
Or spill that life his holy spirit infused,  
All powers be subject to the power of heaven,  
Wrongs pass not unrevenged, how are excused,  
If of all sense grief hath thee not bereaven,  
Rise Majesty when thou art thus abused,  
O whether shall authority betake,  
when in this sort, it doth itself forsake.   

37  
And in despite, and mockery of a Crown,  
A wreath of grass they for his temples make,  
Which when he felt, as coming from a swoon,  
And that his powers a little 'gan awake,  
Fortune (quoth he) thou dost not always frown,  
I see thou giv'st aswell as thou dost take,  
That wanting natural covert for my brain,  
For that defect, thou lendest me this again.   

38  
To whom o heaven should I my griefs complain●  
Since thou art just, and provident in all,  
How should this body natural strength retain,  
To suffer things so much innaturall?  
My cogitations labour but in vain,  
Except thou be partaker in my fall,  
And when at once so many mischiefs meet,  
By change of sorrow mak'st my torment sweet.   

39  
Wherhfore my fate I should but fond grudge,  
'tis vain contention when with heaven we strive,  
which preordaines my miseries for such  
That by one woe, another should survive,  
To show how it mortality can ●uch  
My wretchedness so strangely to contrive,  
That all my comfort in mishaps should rest,  
And else in nothing but misfortune blest.   

40  
To Berckley thus they lead this wretched King,  
The place of horror that was long forethought,  
what power should suffer so defiled a thing,  
Or can behold this murder to be wrought,  
That might the Nation into question bring,  
But that your ways with judgement still are fraught,  
Thus art thou happed into thy earthly hell,  
Now take thy leave, and bid the world farewell,   

41  
Berckley, whose fair seat hath been famous long  
Let thy fair buildings shriek a deadly sound,  
And to the air complain thy grievous wrong,  
Keeping the figure of King Edward's wound,  
That as thou waxest old, their shame still young,  
Their wretched footsteps printed on the ground,  
That when report shall lend their vile act breath,  
All tongues may add damnation to their death.   

42  
The ominous Raven with a dismal cheer  
Through his hoarse beak of following horror tells,  
Begetting strange imaginary fear,  
with heavy echoes like to passing Bells,  
The howling dog a doleful part doth bear,  
As though they chimed his latest burying knells,  
Under his eve th' buzzing shreechowle sings,  
Beating his windows with her fatal wings.   

43  
And still affrighted in his fearful dreams  
with raging fiends and goblins that he meets,  
Of falling down from steep Rocks into streams,  
Of tombs, of burials, and of winding sheets,  
Of wandering helpless in far foreign Realms,  
Of strong temptations by seducing spirits,  
Wherewith awaked, and calling out for aid,  
His hollow voice doth make himself afraid.   

44  
Next comes the vision of his bloody rain.  
Masking along with Lancaster's esteem ghost,  
Of Barons twenty eight, or hanged, or slain,  
Attended with the rueful mangled host,  
That unrevenged yet all this while remain,  
At Borough battle, and at Burton lost,  
Threatening with frowns, and trembling every limb,  
As through in pieces they would torture him.   

45  
And if it chance that from the troubled skies  
The least small star through any chincke give light,  
Straightways on heaps the thronging clouds arise,  
As though the heaven were angry with the night.  
That it should lend that comfort to his eyes,  
Deformed shadows glimpsing in his sight,  
As darkness for it would more darkened be,  
Through those poor crannies forced itself to see.   

46  
When all th'affliction that they could impose,  
Even to the full, and utmost of their hate,  
Above his torment yet his strength arose,  
As nature made a covenant with fate,  
when now his watchful, and two wary foes,  
That cease not still his woes to aggravate,  
All further helps suspected, to prevent,  
To take his life to Berckley closely sent.   

47  
And subtly a letter fashioning,  
which in the words a double sense doth bear,  
which seems to bid them not to touch the King,  
Showing withal how vile a thing it were,  
But by false pointing, is another thing,  
And to dispatch him bids them not to fear,  
which taught to find, these murderers need no more,  
For which they stood too ready long before.   

48  
Where as he haps a Chronicle to find  
Of former Kings, their reigns, their deaths, and deeds,  
which some their lodge forgotten had behind,  
On which to pass the hours he falls to reed,  
Thinking thereby to recreate his mind,  
But in his breast this greater woe doth breed,  
For when deep sorrow on the fancy seizeth,  
what ere we see, our misery increaseth.   

49  
First of great William, conqueror of this I'll,  
(From whom he's tenth that in succession lies)  
whose power enforced the Saxon to exile,  
Planting new laws, and foreign subtleties,  
Force and subjection so to reconcile  
The punishment of Harold's tyrannies,  
which he applies with arguments so strong  
To the due course of his just punished wrong.   

50  
Rufus his son, Duke Robert far abroad,  
receives the rule in weakeinfeebled state,  
His father's steps that evidently troad,  
Depressing those who had been conquered late,  
wishing release of this their grievous load,  
Under the guidance of their former fate.  
The place for men that did to beasts intent,  
A bestial life, had last a beastly end.   

51  
Henry the youngest, his brother William dead,  
Taketh the crown from his usurpfull hand,  
Due to the eldest good Duke Robert's head,  
Bearing our red-cross in the Holy Land,  
whose force far off so much diminished,  
That his return disabled to withstand,  
when those for whom th'unnatural war was done,  
The sea devours, he left without a son.   

52  
To Maude the Empress he the sceptre leaves,  
His only daughter which by false pretext  
Stephen Earl of Bulloyne forcibly bereaves,  
Henry's false nephew in succession next,  
By which the Land a stranger war receives,  
wherewith it grew so miserably vexed,  
Till Stephen failing, and his issue reft,  
t'the heirs of Maude the regal sceptre left.   

53  
The second Henry, Maude the empress son,  
Of th'English line Plantagenet the first,  
By Stephen's death a glorious reign begun,  
whose youth prolonged to make his age accursed,  
By his son Henry's coronation,  
which to his days much woe and sorrow nursed,  
when those for whom he conquered, to make great,  
Abroad his towns, at home usurped his seat.   

54  
Richard his son that after him succeeds,  
who not content with what was safely ours,  
A man lift up to great and glorious deeds,  
Into the East transports our valiant powers,  
where with his sword whilst many a Pagan bleeds,  
Relentless fate hasts on untimely hours,  
And makes a period to this hopeful story,  
Even in the spring and blossom of his glory.   

55  
When him succeeds his faithless brother john,  
murdering young Arthur by oppresfull might,  
Climbing by force to his usurped throne,  
justly with poison was repaid his spite,  
His life, to all men is so hateful grown,  
who grieves his wrongs that near did any right?  
That on the Clergy tyrannously fed,  
was by the Clergy justly punished,   

56  
Henry his son now crowned very young,  
who for the hate they to his Father bare,  
His state of reigning stood in question long,  
Or to be left unto a stranger's care,  
with whom the Barons, insolent, and strong,  
For the old Charter in commotion are,  
which his long rain so carefully attends  
Granting, his days in peace securely ends.   

57  
From him proceeds a Prince just, wise, and sage,  
(In all things happy but in him his son)  
For whom even nature did herself engage,  
More than in man, in this Prince to have done,  
Whose happy reign, recured the former rage  
By the large bounds he to his Empire won,  
As the first Edward, had the second been,  
O what a flow of glory had we seen.   

58  
Turning the leaf, as finding unawares  
what day young Edward Prince of Wales was borne,  
which letters seem like magic characters,  
Or to despite him they were made in scorn,  
Marking the paper like dis-figuring stars,  
O let that name (quoth he) from books be torn,  
Lest in that place the sad displeased earth,  
Do loath itself as slandered with my birth.   

59  
From thence hereafter humane birth exiled,  
By th'earth devoured, or swallowed by the sea,  
And fame inquiring for that luckless child,  
Say 'twas abortive, or else stolen away;  
And lest o time thou be therewith defiled,  
In thy unnumbered course devour that day,  
Let all be done that power can bring to pass,  
Only forget that such there ever was.   

60  
The troubled tears now standing in his eyes,  
Through which as glasses he is forced to look,  
Make letters seem as rondlets that arise  
By a stone cast into a standing brook,  
Appearing to him in such various wise,  
And at one time such sundry fashions took,  
which like deluding Monsters do affright,  
And with their foul shapes terrify his sight.   

61  
When on his saint bed falling down at last,  
His troubled spirit foretelling danger nigh,  
when (forth) the doors a fearful howling cast  
To let those in, by whom a King should die,  
whereat he starts amazed and aghast,  
These ruthless villains all upon him fly,  
Sweet Prince, alas in vain thou call'st for aid  
By these accursed homecides betrayed.   

62  
O be not authors of so vile an act  
My blood on your posterity to bring,  
which after times with horror shall distract,  
when fame even hoarse with age your shame shall ring,  
And by recounting of so vile a fact,  
Mortality so much astonishing,  
That they shall count their wickedness scarce sin,  
To that which long before their time hath been.   

63  
And if your hate be deadly, let me live,  
For that advantage angry heaven hath left,  
That except life, takes all that it could give,  
But for just vengeance should not quite bereft,  
Me yet with greater misery to grieve,  
Reserve a while this remnant of their theft,  
That, that which spent from th'rest should interdict me,  
Alone remaining, doth withal afflict me.   

64  
Thus spoke this woeful and distressed Lord,  
As yet his breath found passage to and fro,  
with many a short pant, many a broken word,  
Many a sore groan, many agrievous throw,  
whilst yet his spirit could any strength afford,  
Though with much pain disburd'ning of his woe,  
Till lastly gasping by their maist'ring strength,  
His kingly heart subjects itself at length.   

65  
When twixt two beds they close his wearied corpse,  
Basely vncou'ring of his secret part,  
without all human pity and remorse,  
with burning iron thrust him to the heart;  
O that my Muse had but sufficient force  
T'explane the torment in the which thou art,  
which whilst with words we coldly do express,  
Thy pain made greater, that we make it less.   

66  
When those in dead, and depth of all the night,  
Good simple people that are dwelling near,  
From quiet sleep whom care did now affright,  
That his last shriek, and woeful cry do hear,  
Even pitying that miserable wight,  
As twixt compassion, and obedient fear,  
Lift their sad eyes with heavy sleep oppressed,  
Praying to heaven to give the soul good rest.   

67  
Still let the buildings fie his bitter groans,  
And evermore his sad complaints repeat,  
And let the dull walls, and the senseless stones  
By the impression of his torment, sweat,  
As wanting sounds wherewith to show his moans,  
with all sharp pain and agony replete,  
That all may thither come that shall be told it,  
As in a mirror clearly to behold it.   

68  
When now the Genius of this woeful place,  
Being the guide to his affrightful ghost,  
with hair disheveled, and a ghastly face,  
Shall haunt the prison where his life was lost,  
And as the den of horror and disgrace  
Let it be fearful unto all the coast,  
That those hereafter that do travel near,  
Never behold it but with heavy cheer.   
The end of the fith Canto.   

The sixth Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  
Lord Mortimer made Earl of March; when he  
And the fair Queen rule all things by their might,  
The pomp wherein at Notting ham they be,  
The cost wherewith their amorous court is dight,  
Envied by those their hateful pride that see,  
The King attempts the dreadful Cave by night,  
Entering the Castle, taketh him from thence,  
And March, at London dies for the offence.  

1  
Enforced of other accidents to sing,  
(Bearing fair shows of promised delight  
Somewhat to slack this melancholy string)  
That new occasions to our Muse excite,  
To our conceit strange objects fashioning,  
Doth our free numbers liberally invite,  
Matter of moment much to be respected,  
Must by our pen be seriously directed.   

2  
And now the time more cunningly redeeming,  
These fraudful courses fitly to contrive,  
How ill so ere, to bear the fairest seeming,  
For which they now must diligently strive,  
Casting all ways to gain the same esteeming,  
That to the world it prosperously might thrive,  
This far gone on, now with the hand of might,  
Upon this wrong to build a lasting right.   

3  
The pompous synod of these earthly Gods  
At Salisbury selected by their King,  
To set all even that had been at odds,  
And into fashion their designs to bring,  
And strongly now to settle their abodes  
That peace might after from their actions spring,  
Firmly t'establish what was well begun,  
Under which colour mighty things were done.   

4  
When Mortimer pursuing his desire,  
Whilst every engine had his temperate heat,  
To b'Earle of March doth suddenly aspire,  
T'increase the honour of his ancient seat,  
That his command might be the more entire;  
Who now but only Martimer is great?  
who knew a kingdom as her lot was thrown,  
which having all, would never starve her own.   

5  
Now stand they firm as those celestial Poles  
Twixt which the stars in all their course do move,  
whose strength this frame of government upholds,  
An argument their wisdoms to approve,  
which way so ere the time in motion rolls,  
So perfect is the union of their love,  
For might is still most absolute alone,  
where power and fortune kindly meet in one.   

6  
Whilst Edward's nonage gives a further speed  
To th'ancient foeman to renew the war,  
which to prevent they must have special heed,  
Matters so strangely managed as they are,  
which otherwise if their neglect should breed,  
Nothing yet made, it might not easily mar,  
which with the most, reserving their estate,  
enforced to purchase at the dearest rate.   

7  
So much t'release the homage as sufficed,  
'mongst which that deed named Ragman, of renown  
By which the Kings of Scotland had devisd  
Their fealty unto the English crown,  
with other Relics that were highly prized,  
was that which forced the greatest part to frown,  
Th'black Cross of Scotland (men did ominous deem)  
Being a Relic of so high esteem.   

8  
To colour which, and to confirm the peace,  
They make a marridge twixt the Scot and us,  
To give more strength unto this strange release,  
which unto all men seemed so dangerous  
whilst Robert's reign, and after his decease,  
The league might ever be continued thus,  
David the Prince, the Lady lane should take,  
which twixt the Realms a lasting bond should make.   

9  
When th'earl of Kent that being one of those  
which in their actions had a powerful hand,  
Perceiving them of matters to dispose  
To the subjection of so great a land,  
Finding the inconvenience that grows  
Under the guidance of their wilful hand,  
To shake their power whilst he strangely doth cast,  
His fatal end too violently doth haste.   

10  
Which giving out his brother yet to live,  
(Long now supposed the deceased King)  
Unto his Nephew might that scandal give,  
As into question might his title bring;  
Ill this report began, and worse it thrive,  
Being so foul, and dangerous a thing,  
which being the motive of intestine strife,  
The time not long ere it bereft his life.   

11  
Whilst Edward takes what late their power did give,  
Whose nonage craves their bountiful protection,  
which know to rule, whilst he must learn to live,  
From their experience taking his direction,  
which more and more their doubtful hopes revive,  
when borne to rain, yet crowned by their election,  
Th'allegiance duly doth to him belong,  
Now makes their faction absolutely strong.   

12  
Providing for protection of the King,  
Men of most power, and noblest of the Peers,  
That no distaste unto the Realm might bring,  
For ripened judgement, or well-seasoned years,  
with comeliness all matters managing,  
Yet whilst they row, 'tis Mortimer that steers,  
Well might we think the man were worse than blind,  
That wanted sea-roomth, and could rule the wind.   

13  
To smooth the path wherein this course was gone,  
which as a test might to their actions stand,  
And give more full possession of their own,  
In being received from a sovereign hand,  
Into their bosoms absolutely thrown,  
Both for the good, and safety of the Land,  
when their proceedings coloured with this care,  
To the world's eye so faite an outside bare.   

14  
All complement that appertained to state,  
By giving greatness every honoured rite,  
To feed those eyes that did their hours await  
And by all means to nourish their delight,  
That entertaining love, they welcome hate,  
And with free bounty equally invite,  
A Prince's wealth in spending still doth spread,  
Like to a brook with many fountains fed.   

15  
To Nottingham the Norths imperious eye,  
which as a Pharus guards the goodly soil,  
And armed by nature danger to defy,  
There to repose him safely after toil,  
where treason lest advantage might espy,  
Closely conveys this great invalued spoil,  
That by residing from the public sight,  
He might more freely relish his delight.   

16  
Nine score in check attending in their Court,  
whom honoured Knighthood knits in mutual bands,  
Men most select, of special worth, and sort,  
Much might they do that have so many hands,  
who pays not tribute to this Lordly port?  
This hie-reared Castle every way commands,  
Thus like those Giants, 'gainst great heaven they rise,  
which darted Rocks at the imperial skies.   

17  
It seems in him fame means her power to show,  
And twixt her wings to bear him through the sky,  
He might more easily see the things below,  
Having above them mounted him so hie,  
Unto whose will they meekly seem to bow,  
Under whose greatness meaner powers do lie,  
All things concur with fair successful chance,  
To raise that man whom fortune will advance.   

18  
Here all along the flower enamelled vales,  
The siluer-Trent on pearly sands doth slide,  
And to the Meadows telling wanton tales,  
Her crystal limbs lasciviously in pride,  
(As ravished with the enamoured gales)  
with often turnings casts from side to side,  
As loath she were the sweet soil to forsake,  
And cast herself into the German Lake.   

19  
Near whom fair Sherwood wildly bend to rove,  
Twines her loose arms about the flattering towers,  
By the mild shadows of her scattered grove,  
Lends winter shelter, and gives summer bowers,  
As with the flood in courtesy it strove,  
And by repulsing the sharp Northern showers,  
Courts the proud Castle, who by turning to her,  
Smiles to behold th'lascivious wood-nimph woo her.   

20  
Who being retired so strictly to this place,  
To this fair stead the Prince's person draws,  
when fortune seems their greatness to embrace,  
That as a working and especial cause,  
Effects each formal ceremonious grace,  
As by her just, and necessary laws,  
That in the town retains his kingly seat,  
with Marches Court the Castle is replete.   

21  
Occasioned where, in counsels, to debate  
And by the King conveniently is met,  
So sovereign, and magnificent in state,  
As might all eyes upon his greatness set,  
Prising his honour at that costly rate  
As to the same due reverence might beget,  
Which as the object sundry passions wrought,  
Stirring strange forms, in many a wandering thought.   

22  
Could blind ambition find, the meanest stay  
His disproportioned and vain course to guide,  
T'assure some safety in that slippery way  
where the most worldly provident do slide,  
Feeling the steep fall threatening sure decay,  
Besotted in the wantonness of pride,  
The mind assuming absolurer powers,  
Might check the frail mortality of ours.   

23  
But still in pleasure sitting with excess,  
His savoury iunckets tasted with delight,  
Near can that glutton appetite suppress,  
where every dish invites a irish sight.  
Nor having much, is his desire the less,  
Till tempted past the compass of his might,  
The pampered stomach more than well sufficed,  
Casts up the surfeit lately gurmundized.   

24  
And when some brook from th'over-moistened ground  
By swelling waters proudly overflowed,  
Stoppeth his current, shouldreth down his mound,  
And from his course doth quite himself unload,  
The bordering Meadows every where surround,  
Dispersing his own riches all abroad,  
Spending the store he was maintained by,  
Leaves his first channel desolate and dry.   

25  
When now those few that many tears had spent,  
And long had wept on murdered Edward's grave,  
Muttering in corners, grieved, and discontent,  
And finding some a willing ear that gave,  
Still as they durst, bewraying what they meant,  
Tending his pride and greatness to deprave,  
Urging withal, what some might justly do,  
If things thus borne, were rightly looked into.   

26  
Some give it out, that March by blood to rise  
Had cut of Kent, the man might next succeed,  
And his late treasons, falsely did surmise  
As a mere colour to this lawless deed,  
That his ambition only did devise,  
In time the royal family to weed,  
when in account there was but only one  
That kept him of from stepping to the throne.   

27  
And those much bufied in the former times,  
Then credulous that honour was his end,  
And by the hate they bore to others, crimes,  
Did not his faults so carefully attend,  
Perceiving how he desolutly climbs,  
(Having thus brought his purpose to an end)  
with a severe eye now more strictly look  
Into the course that his ambition took.   

28  
All fence the tree that serveth for a shade,  
whose large grown body doth repulse the wind,  
Until his wasteful branches do invade,  
The straighter plants, and them in prison bind,  
And as a tyrant to the weaker made;  
when like a foul devourer of his kind,  
Unto his root all put their hands to hew,  
whose roomth but hinders other that would grow.   

29  
Thus at his ease whilst he securely sat,  
And to his will these things assured were,  
with a well-governed, and contented fate,  
Never so much freed from suspicious fear,  
well fortified, and in so good estate,  
As not admits of danger to be near.  
But still we see before a sudden shower,  
The sun shines hot'st, and hath the greatest power.   

30  
Within the Castle hath the Queen devised  
A chamber with choice rarities so fraughted,  
As in the same she had imparadized  
Almost what man by industry hath sought,  
Where, with the curious Pencil was comprised,  
what could with colours by the Art be wrought,  
In the most sure place of the Castle there,  
which she had named the Tower of Mortimer.   

31  
An orball form with pillars small composed,  
Which to the top like Parallels do bear,  
Arching the compass where they were enclosed,  
Fashioning the fair Roof like the Hemisphere,  
In whose partitions by the lines disposed,  
All the clear Northern Asterisms were,  
In their corporeal shapes with stars inchased,  
As by th'old Poets they in heaven were placed.   

32  
About which lodgings, towards the upper face,  
Ran a fine bordure circularly led,  
As equal twixt the hi'st point, and the base,  
That as a Zone the waste ingerdled,  
That lends the sight a breathing, or a space  
Twixt things near view, and those far overhead,  
Under the which, the Painter's curious skill,  
In lively forms the goodly room did fill.   

33  
Hear Phoebus clipping Hyacintbus stood,  
whose lives last drops his snowy breast embrew,  
The one's tears mixed with the others blood,  
That shouled be blood or tears, no sight could view,  
So mixed together in a little flood,  
Yet here and there they seu'rally withdrew,  
The pretty Woodnimphs chase him with Balm,  
To bring the sweet boy, from this deadly qualm.   

34  
With the God's Lyre, his Quiver, and his bow,  
His golden Mantle cast upon the ground,  
T'express whose grief, Art even her best did show  
The sledge so shadowed still seemed to rebound,  
To counterfeit the vigour of the blow,  
As still to give new anguish to the wound,  
The purple flower sprung from the blood that run,  
That openeth since, and closeth with the sun.   

35  
By which the Heyfor Io, Ioues fair rape,  
Gazing her new ta'en figure in a Brook,  
The water shadowed to observe the shape,  
In the same form that she on it doth look.  
So cunningly to cloud the wanton escape,  
That gazing eyes, the portraiture mistook,  
By prospective devisd beholding now,  
This way a Maiden, that weighed seemed a Cow.   

36  
Swift Mercury like to a shepherds boy,  
Sporting with Hebe by a Fountain brim.  
with many a sweet glance, many an amorous toy,  
He sprinkling drops at her, and she at him,  
wherein the Painter so explained their joy,  
As though his skill the perfect life could limb,  
Upon whose brows the water hung so clear,  
As through the drops the fair skin might appear.   

37  
And Ciffy Cyntbus with a thousand birds,  
whose freckled plumes adorn his bushy crown,  
Under whose shadow graze the straggling herds,  
Out of whose top the fresh Springs trembling down,  
Dropping like fine pearl through his shaggy beards,  
with moss and climbing ivy overgrown,  
The Rock so lively done in every part,  
As nature could be paterned by Art.   

38  
The naked Nymphs some up and down descending,  
Small scattering flowers at one another flung,  
with nimble tumes their limber bodies bending,  
Cropping the blooming branches lately sprung,  
(Upon the briars their coloured Mantles rending)  
which on the Rocks grew here and there among,  
Some comb their hair, some making garlands by,  
As with delight might satisfy the eye.   

39  
There comes proud Phae●on tumbling through the clouds,  
Cast by his palfreys that their rains had broke,  
And setting fire upon the welked shrouds,  
Now through the heaven run madding from the yoke,  
The elements together thrust in croudes,  
Both Land and Sea hid in a reeking smoke,  
Drawn with such life, as some did much desire,  
To warm themselves, some frighted with the fire.   

40  
The river Po, that him receiving burned,  
His seven sisters standing in degrees,  
Trees into women seeming to be turned,  
As the Gods turned the women into trees,  
Both which at once so mutually that mourned,  
Drops from their boughs, or tears fell from their eyes,  
The fire seemed to be water, water flame,  
Such excellence in showing of the same.   

41  
And to this lodging did the light invent  
That it should first a latterall ●ourse reflect,  
Through a short room into the window sent,  
whence it should come expressively direct,  
Holding just distance to the lyneament,  
And should the beams proport ' onably project,  
And being there by condensated and grave,  
To every figure a sure colour gave.   

42  
In part of which, under a golden Vine,  
whose broad-leaved branches covering over all,  
Stood a rich bed, spread with this wanton twine,  
Doubling themselves in their lascivious fall,  
whose ripened clusters seeming to decline,  
where as among the naked Cupid's sprawl,  
Some at the sundry coloured birds do shoot,  
Some swerving up, to pluck the purple fruit.   

43  
On which a Tissue counterpoint was cast,  
Arachne's web the same did not surpass,  
wherein the story of his fortunes past,  
In lively pictures neatly handled was,  
How he escaped the Tower, in France how graced,  
with stones embroyd'red of a wondrous mass;  
About the border in a curious fret,  
Emblems, Empresas, Hiroglifiques set.   

44  
This flattering calm, congeals that thickened shower,  
which the full clouds of poisonous envy fed,  
whose dissolution waits th'unhappy hour,  
To let the fury on his hateful head,  
which now was of that violence and power,  
As his delights yet not imagined,  
When men suppose in safety most to stand,  
Then greatest dangers are the nearest at hand,   

45  
Yet finding the necessity is such,  
To execute what he doth undertake,  
And that his crown it did so nearly touch  
If they too soon his sleeping power awake;  
Th'attempt was great, the danger was as much,  
Must secretly provide some course to take,  
By which he might th'enterprise effect,  
And most offend, where he might least suspect.   

46  
A deep black Cave low in the earth is found,  
whose dusky entrance like pale Morpheus' Cell,  
with strange Meanders windeth under ground,  
where sooty darkness evermore doth dwell,  
That with such dread and horror doth abound  
As might be deemed an entrance into hell,  
which Architects to serve the Castle made,  
when as the Dane this Island did invade.   

47  
Now on along this cranckling path doth keep,  
Then by a Rock turns up another way,  
Now rising up, now falling towards the deep,  
As the ground level, or unlevell lay,  
And now direct, now anguler doth creep,  
Nor in the course keeps any certain stay.  
Till in the Castle in a secret place,  
He casts the foul Mask from his cloudy face.   

48  
By which the King with a selected crew,  
Of such as he with his intent acquainted,  
And well affected to this action knew,  
That in revenge of Edward never fainted,  
And to their utmost zealously pursue,  
Such whose clear blood no time had ever tainted,  
Adventures now this Labyrinth t'assay,  
To rouse the beast which kept them all at bay,   

49  
What time the Sun, with his day-labouring teams  
Is driving down unto the West apace,  
T'refresh his cauples in the Ocean streams,  
And cool the fervour glowing in his face,  
Which now appears by his hie-coloured beams,  
To rest him from our Hemisphere a space,  
Leaving foul darkness to possess the skies,  
The fittest time for bloody tragedies,   

50  
With torches now attempting the sad Cave,  
which at their entrance seemeth in a fright,  
At the reflection that the brightness gave,  
As till that time it never saw the light,  
where light and darkness, with the power they have,  
Strongly for the pre-eminence do fight,  
And each confounding other, both appear  
As to their own selves they contrary were.   

51  
The craggy cleeves which cross them as they go,  
Make as their passage they would have denied,  
And threatening ther● their journey to foreslow,  
As angry with the path that was their guide,  
As they their grief, and discontent would show,  
Cursing the hand that did them first divide.  
The cumbrous falls, and risings seem to say,  
This wicked action could not brook the day.   

52  
The gloomy lamps this troup still forward led,  
Forcing the shadows follow on their back,  
Are like the mourners waiting on the dead,  
And as the deed, so are they ugly black;  
Hate goes before, confusion followed,  
The sad portents of bloodshed, and of wrack,  
These faint dym-burning lights as all amazed,  
At those deformed shades whereon they gazed.   

53  
The clattering Arms their Masters seem to chide,  
As they would reason wherefore they should wound,  
And striking with the points from side to side,  
As though even angry with the hollow ground  
That it this vile and ruthless act should hide,  
whose stony roof locked in their doleful sound,  
And hanging in the creeks, draw back again,  
As willing them from murder to refrain.   

54  
Now waxing late, and after all these things  
Unto her chamber is the Queen withdrawn,  
To whom a choice Musician plays and sings,  
Reposing her upon a state of Lawn,  
In night attire divinely glittering,  
As th'approaching of the cheerful dawn,  
Leaning upon the breast of Mortimer,  
whose voice more than the Music pleased her ear.   

55  
Where her fair breasts at liberty are let,  
where violet veins in curious branches flow,  
where Venus Swans, and milky Doves are set,  
Upon the swelling mounts of driven snow,  
where Love whilst he to sport himself doth get,  
Hath lost his course, nor finds which way to go.  
Enclosed in this Labyrinth about,  
where let him wander still, yet near get out.   

56  
Her loose gold hair, o gold thou art too base,  
were it not sin to name those silk threads hair,  
Declining down to kiss herfayrer face,  
But no word fair enough, for thing so fair,  
O what hie wondrous Epithet can grace  
Or give the due praise to a thing so rare!  
But where the pen fails, pencil cannot show it,  
Nor can be known unless the mind do know it.   

57  
She lays those fingers on his manly cheek,  
The Gods pure sceptres, and the darts of love,  
which with a touch might make a Tiger meek,  
Or the main Atlas from his place remove,  
So soft, so feeling, delicate, and sleek,  
As Nature ware the Lilies for a glove,  
As might beget life where was never none,  
And put a spirit into the flinty stone.   

58  
The fire of precious wood the lights perfume,  
whose perfect clearness on the painting shone,  
As every thing to sweetness did consume,  
Or every thing had sweetness of it own,  
And to itself this portrayed did resume  
The smell where with his natural is grown,  
That light gave colour on each thing it fell,  
And to the colour the perfume gave smell.   

59  
Upon the sundry pictures they devise,  
And from one thing they to another run,  
Now they commend that body, than those eyes,  
How well that bird, how well that flower was done,  
Now this part shadowed, and how that doth rise,  
This top is clouded, and that trail is spun,  
The landscape, mixtures, and dilineating,  
And in that Art a thousand curious things.   

60  
Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire,  
The gentle Queen doth much bewail his fall,  
But Mortimer more praising his desire,  
To lose a poor life, or to govern all;  
And though he did ambitiously aspire,  
And by his mind is made proud Fortunesthrall,  
Yet in despite when she her worst hath done,  
He perished in the Chariot of the Sun.   

61  
The Queen saith Phoebus is much forced by Art,  
Nor can she find how his embraces be,  
But Mortimer now takes the Painter's part,  
why thus great Empress, thus, and thus, quoth he,  
Thus holds the Boy, thus eclipse his fainting heart,  
Thus twine their arms, and thus their lips you see;  
You shall be Phoebus, Hyacinthus I,  
It were a life thus every hour to die.   

62  
By this time near, into the upperhall  
Is rudely entered this disordered rout,  
when they within suspecting least of all,  
Discharged the guard that should have watched without;  
O see how mischief suddenly doth fall,  
And steals upon us, being freest from doubt,  
How ere the life, the end is ever sure,  
And oft in death fond man is most secure.   

63  
Whilst his loved Nevil, and dear Turrington,  
Amongst the Ladies that attended there,  
Relating things that anciently were done,  
with such discourse as women love to hear.  
Staying delight, whilst time so fast doth run,  
Thus in the Lobby as they freely were  
Charged on the sudden by this armed train,  
Both in the entrance miserably slain.   

64  
As from the snow-crowned Skidos' lofty cleeves,  
Some fleet-winged haggard towards the evening hour,  
Stooping amongst the More-bred Mallard drives,  
And th'air of all her feathered flocks doth scour,  
when back unto her former pitch she strives,  
The silly fowl all prostrate to her power,  
Such a sharp shriek doth ring through all the vault,  
Made by the Ladies at the first assault.   

65  
March now unarmed (she only in his arms,  
Too fair a shield, not made for fouler blows)  
That lest of all expected these alarms,  
And to be thus entrapped by his foes,  
when he is most improvident of harms;  
O had he had but weapons like his woes,  
Either his valour had his breath redeemed,  
Or in her sight died happily esteemed.   

66  
Amongst the others looking for the King  
In this black show that (he assures him) is,  
Though much disguised, yet him imagining  
By the most perfect lineaments of his,  
Quoth he the man thee to the Crown did bring,  
Might at thy hands the least have looked for this,  
And in this place, unseeming of the rest,  
where only sacred solitude is blest.   

67  
Her presence frees th'offender of his ill,  
And as the Essence, makes the place divine,  
What strong Decree can countermand the will  
That gave to thee the power that now is thine,  
And in her arms preserved in safety still,  
As the most pure inviolable shrine,  
Though thou thus irreligiously despise,  
And darest profane these hallowed liberties,   

68  
But as when Illium fatally surprised,  
The Grecians issuing from the wooden horse,  
Their rage and fury proudly exercised,  
Opening the wide gates, letting in their force,  
Putting in act what was before devised,  
without all sense of pity or remorse,  
with cries, shrieks, rumours in confused sound,  
words are broke of, complaints abruptly drowned.   

69  
Dissolved to drops she follows him, o tears,  
Elixir like turn all to pearl you touch,  
To weep with her, the building scarce forbears,  
The sorrows that she uttereth are such,  
Able to wound th'impenitrabl'st ears,  
Her plaints so piercing, and her woes so much,  
When with th'abundance words would hardly come,  
Her eyes in silence spoke, when lips were dumb.   

70  
Sweetsonne (quoth she) let not that blood be spilled,  
Once prized so dear as did redeem thy Crown,  
whose purity if tainted now with guilt,  
The cause thereof efficiently thine own,  
That from the ruins of thy country built,  
(Razed with dissensions) thy substantial throne,  
And broke those bounds thy kingdoms once confined,  
Into large France, to exercise thy mind.   

71  
For the dear portion of that natural blood,  
which lends thee heat, and nutriment of life,  
Be not a niggard of so small a good,  
where bounty should be plentifully rife,  
Begged on those knees at which thou oft hast stood,  
In those arms circles might conjure this strife,  
O God that breath from such a bosom sent,  
Should thus in vain be prodigally spent.   

72  
When in this uproar with the sudden fright,  
whilst every one for safety seeks about,  
And none regarding to preserve the light,  
which being wasted sadly goeth out,  
Now in the midst and terror of the night,  
At the departutre of this Armed rout,  
The Queen alone (at least if any ne●re)  
Her wretched women, yet half dead with fear.   

73  
When horror, darkness, and her present woe,  
Begin to work on her afflicted mind,  
And every one his tyranny doth show,  
Even in the fullness of his proper kind,  
In such excess her accusations flow;  
This liberty unto their power assigned,  
Racking her conscience by this torture due,  
Itself t'accuse with what so ere it knew.   

74  
O God to think (that not an hour yet past)  
Her greatness, freedom, and her hopes so high,  
The sweet content wherein her thoughts were placed,  
Her great respect in every humbled eye,  
How now she is abused, how disgraced,  
Her present shame, her after misery,  
When every woe could by despair be brought,  
Presents his form to her distracted thought.   

75  
To London now a wretched prisoner led,  
London where oft he triumphed with the Queen,  
And but for spite of no man followed,  
Scarcely thought on who had for many been,  
Of all regard and state impo●'rished,  
Where in excess he often had been seen,  
which at his fall doth make them wonder more,  
who saw the pomp wherein he lived before.   

76  
O misery, where once thou dost infest,  
How soon thy vile contagion altars kind,  
That like a Circe meta morphisest  
The former habit of the human mind,  
That even from us dost seem ourselves to wrest,  
Striking our frail, and fading glories blind,  
And with thy vicious presence in a breath,  
Chain'st us as slaves unto pale fainting death.   

77  
At Westminster a Parliament decreed,  
To th'establishing the safety of the crown,  
where to his end they finally proceed,  
All laying hand to dig this Mountain down,  
To which time wills they have especial heed,  
Now whilst the Fates thus angrily do frown,  
The blood of Edward, and the Spensers' fall,  
For their just vengeance hastily do call.   

78  
The death of Kent that foul and loathsome blot,  
Th'assuming of the wards and liveries,  
with jone the Princess married to the Scot,  
The sums oft seized to his treasuries,  
And that by this, might well have been forgot,  
The sign at Stanhope to the enemies,  
Or what else ripped from the records of time,  
That any way might agr●uate his crime.   

79  
O dire Revenge, when thou in time art raked,  
From the rude ashes which preserved thee long,  
In the dry cinders, where it seemed as slacked,  
Matter to feed it, forced with breath of wrong,  
How soon his hideous fury is awaked,  
From the small sparks what flames are quickly sprung,  
And to that top doth naturally aspire,  
whose weight, and greatness once repressed his fire.   

80  
And what avails his answer in this case,  
which now the time doth generally distaste,  
where judgement looks with so severe a face,  
And all his actions utterly disgraced,  
what fainting bosom gives him any place,  
From out the fair seat of opinion cast,  
With pen and ink his sorrows to deceive,  
Thus of the fair Queen takes his latest leave.   

81  
Most mighty Empress, s'daine not to peruse  
The Swanlike dirges of a dying man,  
Unlike those raptures of the fluent Muse  
In that sweet season, when our joys began,  
That did my youth with glorious fire infuse,  
when for thy glove at tilt I proudly ran,  
Whereas my startling Courser, strongly se●,  
Made fire to fly from Hartfords-Burgonet.   

82  
The King your son, which hasteneth on my death,  
(Madam) you know I tendered as mine own,  
And when I might have grasped out his breath,  
I set him gently on his Father's throne,  
which now his power too quickly witnesseth,  
which to this height and majesty is grown;  
But our desert forgot, and he forgiven,  
As after death we wish to live in heaven.   

83  
And for the sole rule whereon thus he stands,  
Came bastard William but himself on shore,  
Or borrowed not our father's conquering hands,  
which in the field our ancient Ensigns bore,  
(Guarded about with our well-ordred bands)  
which his proud Leopards for their safety wore,  
Raging at Hastings like that ominous Lake  
From whose dread waves our glorious name we take.   

84  
Had I been charged upon mine Armed horse,  
As when I came unto the walls of Gaunt,  
Before the Belgic, and Burgonian force,  
There challenging; my Country's Combatant,  
Borne from my seat in some robustious course,  
That of my spoils the enemy might vaunt;  
Or had I fallen under my battered shield,  
And lent mine honour to some conquered field.   

85  
I have not followed fortune like a slave,  
To make her bounty any whit the less,  
By my desert her judgement to deprave,  
Nor lent me ought I freely not confess,  
And have returned with interest what she gave,  
A mind that suited with her mightiness,  
He twice offends, which sin in flattery bears,  
Yet every hour he dies that ever fears.   

86  
I cannot fear what forceth others quake,  
The times and I have tugged together so,  
wonting my way through sword and fire to make,  
So oft constrained against the stream to row,  
To doubt with death a covenant to make,  
when I am grown familiar with my woe,  
And nothing can th'afflicted conscience grieve,  
But he can pardon, that doth all forgive.   

87  
And thus thou most adored in my heart,  
whose thoughts in death my humbled spirit doth raise,  
Lady most fair, most dear, of most desert,  
Worthy of more than any mortal praise,  
Condemned Marcb, thus last doth depart,  
From her the greatest Empress of her days,  
Nor in the dust mine honour I inter,  
Thus Caesar died, and thus dies Mortimer.   

88  
To Nottingham this Letter brought unto her,  
which is subscribed with her Imperious style,  
Puts her in mind how once that hand did woo her,  
with this short thought to please herself awhile,  
Thus sorrow can so subtly undo her.  
That with such flattery doth her sense beguile,  
To give a sharper feeling to that pain,  
which her grieved heart was shortly to sustain.   

89  
Putting her fingers to unrip the seal,  
Cleaving to keep those sorrows from her eyes,  
As it were loath the tidings to reveal,  
whence grief should spring in such varieties,  
But strongly urged doth to her will appeal,  
when the soft wax unto her touch implies,  
Sticking unto her fingers bloody red,  
To show the bad news quickly followed.   

90  
Thus by degrees she eas●y doth begin,  
As the small fish plays with the baited hook,  
Then more and more to swallow sorrow in,  
As threatening death at every little look,  
where now she reads, th'expenses of her sin,  
Sadly set down in this black dreadful book,  
And those dear sums were like to be defrayed,  
Before the same were absolutely paid.   

91  
An host of woes her suddenly assail,  
As every letter wounded like a dart,  
As though contending which should most prevail,  
Yet every one doth pierce her to the heart;  
As every word did others case bewail,  
And with his neighbour seemed to bear a part,  
Reason of grief e●ch sentence is to her,  
And every line a true remembrancer.   

92  
Grief makes her read, yet straightways bids her leave,  
with which o'ercharged she neither sees nor hears,  
Her senses now their Mistress so deceive,  
The words do wound her eyes, the sound her ears,  
And every organ of the use bereaves,  
when for a fescue she doth use her tears,  
That when some line she loosely overpast,  
The drops do tell her where she left the last.   

93  
O now she sees, was never such a sight,  
And seeing cursed her sorrow-seeing eye,  
Yet thinks she is deluded by the light,  
Or is abused by the orthography;  
And by some other 'tis devised for spite,  
Or pointed false her scholarship to try,  
Thus when we fond soothe our own desires,  
Our best conceits oft prove the greatest liars.   

94  
Her trembling hand as in a fever shakes,  
wherewith the paper doth a little stir,  
which she imagines at her sorrow shakes,  
And pities it, who she thinks pities her.  
Each small thing somewhat to the greater makes,  
And to the ●umor, some thing doth infer,  
Which when so soon as she her tongue could free,  
O worthy Earl, deere-loved Lord quoth she.   

95  
I will reserve thy ashes in some Urn,  
which as a relic I will only save,  
Mixed with the tears that I for thee shall mourn,  
which in my dear breast shall their burial have,  
From whence again they never shall return,  
Nor give the honour to another grave,  
But in that Temple ever be preserved,  
where thou a Saint religiously art served.   

96  
When she breaks out to cursing of her son,  
But March so much still runneth in her mind,  
That she abruptly ends what she begun,  
Forgets herself, and leaves the rest behind,  
From this, she to another course doth run,  
To be revenged in some notorious kind,  
To which she deeply doth engage her troth,  
Bound by a strong vow, and a solemn oath.   

97  
For pen and ink she calls her maids without,  
And the Kings dealings will in grief discover,  
But soon forgetting what she went about,  
She now begins to write unto her lover,  
here she sets down, and there she blotteth out,  
Her grief and passion do so strongly move her.  
when turning back to read what she had writ,  
She tears the paper, and condemns her wit.   

98  
And thus with contrarieties arayse,  
As waters chillness wakeneth from a swoon,  
Comes to herself, the agony appeased,  
When colder blood more sharply feels the wound,  
And grief her so incurably hath seaized,  
That for the same no remedy is found,  
As the poor refuge to her restless woes,  
This of her grief she lastly doth dispose.   

99  
That now unkind King as thou art my son,  
Leaving the world, some legacy must give thee,  
My hearts true love the dying March hath won,  
Yet that of all I will not quite bereave thee;  
The wrong and mischief to thy mother done,  
I thee bequeath, so bound that they outlive thee,  
That as my breast it hourly doth torment,  
Thou mayst enjoy it by my Testament.   

100  
Hence forth within this solitary place,  
Abandoning for ever general sight,  
A private life I willingly embrace,  
No more rejoicing in the obvious light,  
To consummate the weary linger space,  
Till death enclose me with continual night;  
Each small remembrance of delight to fly,  
A convertite, and penitently die.   
FINIS.   

To the Reader.  
SEeing these Epistles are now to the world made public, it is imagined that I ought to be accountable of my private meaning, chiefly for mine own discharge, least being misttaken, I fall in hazard of a just and universal reprehension, for.  
Hae nugae feria ducent  
In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinister.  
Three points are especially therefore to be explained. First, why I entitle this work England's heriocall Epistles; then why I observe not the persons dignity in the dedication; lastly, why I have annexed notes to every Epistles end. For the first, the title I hope carrieth reason in itself, for that the most and greatest persons herein were English, or else, that their loves were obtained in England. And though (heriocall) be properly understood of demi-gods, as of Hercules and AEneas, whose parents were said to be the one celestial, the other mortal, yet is it also transferred to them, who for the greatness of mind come near to Gods. For to be borne of a celestial Incubus, is nothing else but to have a great and mighty spirit, far above the earthly weakness of men, in which sense Ovid (whose imitator I partly profess to be) doth also use heroical. For the second, seeing none to whom I have dedicated any two Epistles, but have their states overmatched by them who are made to speak in the Epistles, how ever the order is in dedication, yet in respect of their degrees in my devotion, and the cause before recited, I hope they suffer no disparagement, seeing every one is the first in their particular interest, having in some sort, sorted the complexion of the Epistles, to the character of their judgements to whom I dedicate them, excepting only the blamefulnesse of the persons passion, in those points wherein the passion is blameful. Lastly, such manifest difference being betwixt every one of them, where or howsoever they be marshaled, how can I be justly appeached of unaduisement. For the third, because the work might in truth be judged brainish, if nothing but amorous humour were handled therein, I have enter woven matters historical, which unexplaned, might defraud the mind of much content, as for example, in Queen Margarites Epistle to William dela Pole,  
My Daizie flower, which once perfumed the air,  
Margarite in French signifies a Daizie, which for the allusion to her name, this Queen did give for her devise; and this as others more, have seemed to me not unworthy the explaining.  
Now, though no doubt I had need to excuse other things beside, yet these most especially, the rest I overpass to eschew tedious recital, or to speak as malicious envy may, for that in truth I oversee them. If they be as harmlessly taken as I meant them, it shall suffice to have only touched the cause of the title of the dedications, and of the notes, whereby emboldened to publish the residue, (these not being accounted in men's opinions relishlesse) ● shall not lastly be afraid to believe and acknowledge thee a gentle Reader.  
M. D.   

To M. Michael Drayton.  

HOw can he write that broken hath his pen,  
Hath rend his paper, thrown his Ink away,  
Detests the world and company of men,  
Because they grow more hateful day by day.  
Yet with these broken relics, mated mind,  
And what a iustly-greeved thought can say:  
I give the world to know, I near could find,  
A work more like to live a longer day.  
Go verse, an object for the proudest eye;  
Disdain those which disdain to read thee over,  
Tell them they know not how they should descry,  
The secret passions of a witty lover.  
For they are such, as none but those shall know,  
whom Beauty schools to hold the blind Boys bow.   

Once I had vowed, (o who can all vows keep?)  
Henceforth to smother my unlucky Muse;  
Yet for thy sake she started out of sleep,  
Yet now she dies. Then do as kindsfolks use;  
Close up the eyes of my now-deing-stile,  
As I have opened thy sweet babes erewhile.   
E. Sc. Gent. Duris decus omen.   

To M. Michael Drayton.  
LOng have I wished and hoped my weaker Muse,  
(In nothing strong but my unhappy love)  
Would give me leave my fortune to approve,  
And view the world, as named, Poets use;  
But still her fruitless bosom doth refuse  
To bless me with indifferency of praise,  
Not daring (like to many) to abuse  
That title which true worth should only raise;  
Thus bankrupt, and despairing of mine own,  
I set my wish and hope (kind friend) on thee,  
whose fruit approved, and better fortune known,  
Tells me thy Muse, my loves sole heir must be;  
So barren wombs embrace their neighbours young,  
So dumb men speak by them that have a tongue.  
Thomas Hassall, Gent.   

To M. Michael Drayton.  
NOw I perceive Pythagoras divined,  
when he that mocked Maxim did maintain,  
That spirits once spoiled, revested were again,  
Though changed in shape, remaining one in mind;  
These lovesick Princes passionate estates,  
Who feeling reads, he cannot but allow,  
That Ovid's soul revives in Drayton now,  
Still learned in love, still rich in rare conceits,  
This pregnant spirit affecting further skill,  
Oft altering form, from vulgar wits retired,  
In divers Ideoms mightily admired,  
Did prosecute that sacred study still;  
while to a full perfection now attained,  
He sings so sweetly that himself is stained.  William Alexander.- Scotus.  

To the excellent Lady Lucy, Countess of Bedford.  
MAdam, after all the admired wits of this excellent age, which have laboured in the sad complaints of fair and unfortunate Rosamond, and by the excellency of invention, have sounded the depth of her sundry passions; I present to your Ladyship this Epistle of hers to King Henry, whom I may rather call her lover then beloved. here must your Ladyship behold variableness in resolution; woes constantly grounded; laments abruptly broken off; much confidence, no certainty, words begetting tears, tears confounding matter, large complaints in little papers; and many deformed cares, in one uniformed Epistle. I strive not to effect singularity, yet would fain fly imitation, & prostrate mine own wants to other men's perfections. Your judicial eye must model forth what my pen hath laid together, much would she say to a King, much would I say to a Countess, but that the methed of my Epistle must conclude the modesty of hers, which I wish may recommend my ever vowed service to your honour.  
Michael Drayton.   


The Epistle of Rosamond to King Henry the second.  
¶ The Argument.  
Henry the second of that name, King of England, the son of Geffrey Plantagenet, Earl of Anjou, and Maude the Empress, having by long suit and princely gifts, won (to his unlawful desire) fair Rosamond, the daughter of the Lord Walter Clyfford, and to avoid the danger of Ellinor his jealous Queen, had caused ● Labyrinth to be made within his Palace at Woodstock, in the centre whereof, he had lodged his beauteous paramour. Whilst the King is absent in his wars in Normandy, this poor distressed Lady, enclosed in this solitary place, touched with remorse of conscience, writes unto the King of her distress and miserable estate, urging him by all means and persuasions, to clear himself of this infamy, and her of the grief of mind, by taking away her wretched life.  
IF yet thine eyes (great Henry) may endure  
These tainted lines, drawn with a hand impure,  
which fain would blush, but fear keeps blushes back,  
And therefore suited in despairing black,  
This in loves name, o that these lips might crave,  
But that sweet name (vile I) profaned have,  
Punish my fault, or pity mine estate,  
Read it for love, if not for love, for hate.  
If with my shame thine eyes thou fain wouldst feed,  
here let them surfeit, on my shame to reed;  
This scribbled paper which I send to thee,  
If noted rightly, doth resemble me;  
As this pure ground, whereon these letters stand,  
So pure was I, ere stained by thy hand;  
Ere I was blotted with this foul offence,  
So clear and spotless was mine innocence.  
Now like these marks which taint this hateful scroll,  
Such the black sins which spot my leprous soul,  
O Henry, why by loss thus shouldst thou win?  
To get by conquest? to enrich with sin?  
Why on my name this slander dost thou bring,  
To make my fault renowned by a King?  
Fame never stoops to things but mean and poor,  
The more our greatness, makes our fault the more.  
Lights on the ground, themselves do lessen far,  
But in the air, each small spark seems a star.  
Why on a woman's frailty wouldst thou lay  
This subtle plot, mine honour to betray?  
Or thy unlawful pleasure shouldst thou buy  
with vile expense of kingly majesty?  
'twas not my mind consented to this ill,  
Then had I been transported by my will,  
For what my body was ensorst to do,  
(Heaven knows) my soul did not consent unto;  
For through mine eyes had she her liking seen,  
Such as my love, such had my Lover been.  
True love is simple, like his mother Truth,  
Kindly affection, youth to love with youth;  
No sharper corsive to our blooming years,  
Then the cold badge of winter-blasted hairs.  
Thy kingly power makes to withstand thy foes,  
But canst not keep back age, with time it grows,  
Though honour our ambitious sex doth please,  
Yet in that honour, age a foul disease,  
Nature hath her free course in all, and then,  
Age is alike in Kings, and other men,  
which all the world will to my shame impute●  
That I myself did basely prostitute;  
And say that gold was fuel to the fire,  
Grey hairs in youth not kindling green desire,  
O no; that wicked woman wrought by thee,  
My tempter was to that forbidden tree,  
That subtle Serpent, that seducing devil,  
which bade me taste the fruit of good and evil;  
That Circe, by whose magic I was charmed,  
And to this monstrous shape am thus transformed  
That viperous hag, the foe to her own kind,  
That wicked spirit unto the weaker mind;  
Our frailties plague, our nature's only curse,  
Hell's deep'st damnation, the worst evils worse,  
But Henry, how canst thou affect me thus  
T'whom thy remembrance now is odious?  
My hapless name, with Henry's name I found,  
Cut in the glass with Henry's Diamond,  
That glass from thence fain would I take away;  
But than I fear the air would me betray;  
Then do I strive to wash it out with tears,  
But then the same more evident appears.  
Then do I cover it with my guilty hand,  
Which that names witness doth against me stand;  
Once did I sin, which memory doth cherish,  
Once I offended, but I ever perish.  
What grief can be, but time doth make it less?  
But infamy time never can suppress.  
Sometimes to pass the tedious irksome hours,  
I climb the top of Woodstocks mounting towers,  
where in a Turret secretly I lie  
To view from far such as do travail by,  
whether (me thinks) all cast their eyes at me  
As through the stones my shame did make them see,  
And with such hate the harmless walls do view,  
As unto death their eyes would me pursue.  
The married women curse my hateful life,  
which wrong a lawful bed, a Queen, a wife;  
The maidens wish I buried quick may die,  
The loathsome stain to their virginity.  
Well knewest thou what a monster I would be●  
when thou didst build this Labyrinth for me,  
whose strange Meanders turning every way,  
Be like the course wherein my youth did stray;  
Only a Clue to guide me out and in,  
But yet still walk I, circular in sin.  
As in the Terrace here this other day  
My maid and I did pass the time away,  
'mongst many pictures which we passed by,  
The silly girl at length happed to espy  
chaste Lucrece picture, and desires to know  
what she should be herself that murdered so?  
Why girl (quoth I) this is that Roman dame,  
Not able then to tell the rest for shame,  
My tongue doth mine own guiltiness betray;  
with that I send the prattling girl away,  
Lest when my lisping guilty tongue should halt,  
My looks should be the Index to my fault.  
As that life blood which from the heart is sent,  
In beauty's field pitching his crimson Tent,  
In lovely sanguine suits the Lily cheek,  
whilst it but for a resting place doth seek;  
And changing oftentimes with sweet delight,  
Converts the white to red, the red to white.  
The lovely blush, the paleness doth distain,  
The paleness makes the blush more fair again;  
Thus in my breast a thousand thoughts I carry,  
which in my passion diversly do vary.  
When as the sun hales towards the Western slade,  
And the trees shadows three times greater made,  
Forth go I to a little Current near,  
which like a wanton trail creeps here and there,  
where with mine angle casting in my bait,  
The little fishes (dreading the deceit)  
with fearful nibbling fly th'enticing gin,  
By nature taught what danger lies therein.  
Things reasonless thus warned by nature be,  
Yet I devoured the bait was laid for me;  
Thinking thereon, and breaking into groans,  
The bubbling spring which trips upon the stones,  
Chides me away, least sitting but too nigh,  
I should pollute that native purity.  
Rose of the world, so doth import my name,  
Shame of the world, my life hath made the same.  
And to th'unchaste this name shall given be,  
Of Rosamond, derived from sin and me.  
The Clyffords take from me that name of theirs,  
Famous for virtue many hundred years.  
They blot my birth with hateful bastardy,  
That I sprang not from their nobility;  
They my alliance utterly refuse,  
Nor will a strumpet shall their name abuse.  
here in the garden wrought by curious hands,  
Naked Diana in the fountain stands,  
with all her Nymphs got round about to hide her,  
As when Actaeon had by chance espied her;  
This sacred Image I no sooner viewed,  
But as that metamorphosed man pursued  
By his own hounds; so by my thoughts am I,  
which chase me still, which way so ere I fly.  
Touching the grass, the honny-dropping dew,  
which falls in tears before my limber shoe,  
Upon my foot consumes in weeping still,  
As it would say, why wentest thou unto ill?  
Thus to no place in safety can I go,  
But every thing doth give me cause of woe.  
In that fair Casket of such wondrous cost  
Thou sentest the night before mine honour lost,  
Amimone was wrought, a harmless maid,  
By Neptune that adulterous God betrayed;  
She prostrate at his feet begging with prayers,  
wring her hands, her eyes swollen up with tears;  
This was not the entrapping bait of men,  
But by thy virtue gentle warning then;  
To show to me for what intent it came,  
Lest I therein should ever keep my shame.  
●●d in this Casket (ill I see it now)  
what Ioues love I-o, turned into a Cow.  
Yet was she kept with Argus hundred eyes,  
So wakeful still be junos' jealousies;  
By this I well might have forewarned been,  
T'have cleared myself to thy suspecting Queen,  
who with more hundred eyes attendeth me  
Then had poor Argus single eyes to see.  
In this thou rightly imitatest jove,  
Into a beast thou hast transformed thy love.  
Nay worse far; (degenerate from kind)  
A monster, both in body and in mind.  
The waxen Taper which I burn by night,  
with his dull vapory dimness mocks my sight;  
As though the damp which hinders his clear flame,  
Came from my breath, in that night of my shame,  
when it did burn as darkness ugly eye,  
when shot the star of my virginity.  
And if a star but by the glass appear,  
I strait in treat it not to look in here;  
I am already hateful to the light,  
It is enough, betray me not to night.  
Then sith my shame so much belongs to thee,  
Rid me of that by only murdering me;  
And let it justly to my charge be laid,  
Thy royal person I would have betrayed;  
Thou shalt not need by circumstance t'●ccuse me,  
If I deny it, let the heavens refuse me.  
My life's a blemish which doth cloud thy name,  
Take it away, and clear shall shine thy fame.  
Yield to my suit, if ever pity moved thee,  
In this show mercy, as I ever loved thee.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Well knewest thou what a monster I would be,  
When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me.  
IN the Cretean Labyrinth a monster was enclosed, called a Minotaur, the history whereof is well known, but the Labyrinth was framed by Daedalus, with so many intricate ways, that being entered, one could either hardly or never return, being in manner of a maze save that it was larger, the ways being walled in on every side● out of the which Theseus by Ariadne's help (lending him a clue of thread) escaped. Some report that it was a house, having one half beneath the ground, another above, the chamber doors therein so deceitfully enwrapped, and made to open so many lundry ways, that it was held a matter almost impossible to return.  
Some have held it to have been an Allegory of man's life, true it is that the comparison will hold, for what liker to a Labyrinth then the maze of life? But it is affirmed by antiquity, that there was indeed such a building, though Daedalus being a name applied to the workman's excellency, make it suspected: for Daedalus is nothing else but ingenious, or artificial. Hereupon it is used among the ancient Poets, for any thing curiously wrought.  
Rosamonds Labyrinth, whose ruins together with her well being paved with square stone in the bottom, and also her Tower from which the Labyrinth did run, (are yet remaining) was altogether under ground, being vaults arched and walled with brick and stone, almost inextricably wound one within another, by which if at any time her lodging were laid about by the Queen, she might easily avoid peril imminent, and if need be, by secret issues take the air abroad, many furlongs round about Woodstock in Oxfordshire, wherein it was situated. Thus much for Rosamonds Labyrinth.  Whose strange Meanders turned every way. 
Meander is a river in Lycia, a province of Anatolia, or Asia minor, famous for the sinuositie and often turning thereof, rising from certain hills in Maeonia, hereupon are intricate turnings by a transu●tiue and metonimical kind of speech, called mad'st, for this River did so strangely path itself, that the foot seemed to touch the head.  
Rose of the world, so doth import my name,  
Shame of the world my life hath made the same.  
It might be reported, how at Godstowe where this Rose of the world was sumptuously interred, a certain Bishop in the visitation of his Diocese, caused the monument which had been erected to her honour, utterly to be demolished, but be that severe chastisement of Rosamond then dead, at this time also overpassed, lest she should seem to be the Shame of the world.    

Henry to Rosamond.  
WHen first the Post arrived at my Tent,  
And brought the Letters Rosamond had sent,  
Think from his lips, but what sweet comfort came,  
when in mine ear he softly breathed thy name  
Strait I enjoin him of thy health to tell,  
Longing to hear my Rosamond did well;  
With new inquiries than I cut him short  
when of the same he gladly would report,  
That with the earnest hast my tongue oft trips,  
Catching the words half spoke out of his lips;  
This told, yet more I urge him to reveal,  
To lose no time whild I unripped the seal.  
The more I read, still do I err the more,  
As though mistaking somewhat said before.  
Missing the point, the doubtful sense is broken,  
Speaking again, what I before had spoken,  
Still in a swoon, my heart revives and faints,  
Twixt hopes, despairs, twixt smiles, and deep complaints.  
As these sad accents sort in my desires,  
Smooth calms, rough storms, sharp frosts, & raging fires,  
Put on with boldness, and put back with fears,  
My tongue with curses, when mine eyes with tears.  
O how my heart at that black line did tremble,  
That blotted paper should thyself resemble;  
O were there paper but near half so white,  
The Gods thereon their sacred laws would write  
with pens of Angels wings, and for their ink,  
That heavenly Nectar, their immortal drink.  
Majestic courage strives to have suppressed  
This fearful passion stirred up in my breast,  
But still in vain the same I go about,  
My heart must break within, or woe breaks out,  
Am I at home pursued with private hate,  
And war comes raging to my Palace gate?  
Is meager Envy stabbing at my throne,  
Treason attending when I walk alone?  
And am I branded with the curse of Rome,  
And stand condemned by dreadful counsels dumb?  
And by the pride of my rebellious son,  
Rich Normandy with Armies overrun?  
Fatal my birth, unfortunate my life,  
Unkind my children, most unkind my wife.  
Grief, cares, old age, suspicion to torment me,  
Nothing on earth to quiet or content me,  
So many woes, so many plagues to find,  
Sickness of body, discontent of mind;  
Hopes left, helps reft, life wronged, joy interdicted,  
Banished, distressed, forsaken, and afflicted;  
Of all relief hath fortune quite bereft me?  
Only my love unto my comfort left me,  
And is one beauty thought so great a thing,  
To mitigate the sorrows of a King?  
Barred of that choice the vulgar often prove,  
Have we (than they) less privilege in love?  
Is it a King, the woeful widow hears?  
Is it a King, dries up the Orphan's tears?  
Is it a King, regards the Client's cry?  
Gives life to him by law condemned to die?  
Is it his care, the Commonwealth that keeps,  
As doth the Nurse her baby whilst it sleeps?  
And that poor king, of all these hopes prevented,  
Unheard, vnhelped, unpitted, unlamented,  
Yet let me be with poverty oppressed,  
Of earthly blessings robbed, and dispossessed,  
Let me be scorned, rejected, and revild,  
From Kingdom, Country, and from Court exiled;  
Let the world's curse upon me still remain,  
And let the last bring on the first again;  
All miseries that wretched man may wound,  
Leave for my comfort, only Rosamond,  
For thee swift time her speedy course doth stay,  
At thy command the Destinies obey;  
Pity is dead, that comes not from thines eyes,  
And at thy feet, even mercy prostrate lies;  
If I were feeble, rheumatic, or cold,  
These were true signs that I were waxed old,  
But I can march all day in massy steel,  
Nor yet my arms unwieldy weight do feel,  
Nor waked by night, with bruise or bloody wound,  
The tent my bed, no pillow but the ground;  
For very age had I lain bedrid long,  
One smile of thine again could make me young.  
Were there in Art a power but so divine  
As is in that sweet Angell-tongue of thine,  
That great Enchantress which once took such pains,  
To force young blood in AEsons withered veins,  
And from Groves, Mountains, and the moorish Fen,  
Used all the herbs, ordained to use of men,  
And in the powerful potion that she makes,  
Puts blood of men, of birds, of beasts, of snakes,  
Never had needed to have gone so far,  
To seek the soils where all those simples are,  
One accent from thy lips, the blood more warms,  
Then all her philtre, exorcisms, and charms.  
Thy presence hath repaired in one day,  
what many years and sorrows did decay,  
And made fresh beauties fairest branches spring  
From wrinkled furrows of times ruining.  
Even as the hungry wihter-starued earth,  
when she by nature labours towards her birth,  
Still as the day upon the dark world creeps,  
One blossom forth after another peeps,  
Till the small flower whose root is now unbound  
Gets from the frosty prison of the ground,  
Spreading the leaves unto the powerful noon,  
Decked in fresh colours, smiles upon the sun.  
Never unquiet care lodged in that breast,  
where but one thought of Rosamond did rest;  
Nor thirst, nor travail, which on war attend,  
Ere brought the long day to desired end;  
Nor yet did pale Fear, or lean Famine live  
where hope of thee, did any comfort give,  
Ah what injustice then is this of thee  
That thus the guiltless dost condemn for me?  
when only she (by means of my offence)  
Redeems thy pureness, and thy innocence,  
when to our wills perforce obey they must,  
That just in them, what ere in us unjust;  
Of what we do, not them account we make,  
The fault craves pardon for th'offenders sake,  
And what to work a Princes will may merit,  
Hath deep'st impression in the gentlest spirit;  
If't be my name that doth thee so offend,  
No more myself shall be mine own names friend;  
And if't be that which thou dost only hate,  
That name, in my name, lastly hath his date.  
Say 'tis accursed, and fatal, and dispraise it,  
If written, blot it, if engraven, raze it.  
Say that of all names 'tis a name of woe,  
Once a King's name, but now it is not so.  
And when all this is done, I know 'twill grieve thee,  
And therefore (sweet) why should I now believe thee?  
Nor shouldst thou think those eyes with envy lower,  
which passing by thee, gaze up to thy tower;  
But rather praise thine own which be so clear,  
which from the Turret like two stars appear;  
Above the sun doth shine, beneath thine eye,  
Mocking the heaven to make another sky.  
The little stream which by thy tower doth glide,  
where oft thou spendest the weary evening tide,  
To view thee well his course would gladly stay,  
As loath from thee to part so soon away;  
And with salutes thyself would gladly greet,  
And offer up those small drops at thy feet,  
But finding that the envious banks restrain it,  
T'excuse itself, doth in this sort complain it,  
And therefore this sad bubbling murmur keeps,  
And in this sort within the channel weeps.  
And as thou dost into the water look,  
The fish which see thy shadow in the brook,  
Forget to feed, and all amazed lie,  
So daunted with the lustre of thine eye.  
And that sweet name which thou so much dost wrong,  
In time shall be some famous Poet's song;  
And with the very sweetness of that name,  
Lions and Tigers, men shall learn to tame.  
The careful mother from her pensive breast  
with Rosamond shall bring her babe to rest;  
The little birds, (by men's continual sonnd)  
Shall learn to speak, and prattle Rosamond,  
And when in April they begin to sing,  
with Rosamond shall welcome in the spring;  
And she in whom all rarities are found,  
Shall still be said to be a Rosamond.  
The little flowers which dropping honeyed dew,  
which (as thou writ'st) do weep upon thy shu●,  
Not for thy fault (sweet Rosamond) do moan,  
But weep for grief that thou so soon art gone,  
For if thy foot touch Hemlock as it goes,  
That Hemlock's made more sweeter than the Rose,  
Of jove or Neptune how they did betray,  
Nor speak of I-o, or Amimone,  
when she for whom jove once became a Bull,  
Compared with thee, had been a tawny trull;  
He a white Bull, and she a whiter Cow,  
Yet he, nor she, near half so white as thou.  
Long since (thou know'st) my care provided for●  
To lodge thee safe from jealous Ellenor,  
The Labyrinths conveyance guides thee so,  
(which only Vahan, thou and I do know)  
If she do guard thee with a hundred eyes,  
I have an hundred subtle Mercuries,  
To watch that Argus which my love doth keep,  
Until eye, after eye, fall all to sleep.  
Those stars look in by night, look in to see,  
wondering what star here on the earth should be.  
As oft the moon amidst the silent night,  
Hath come to joy us with her friendly light,  
And by the curtain helped mine eye to see  
what envious night and darkness hid from me;  
when I have wished that she might ever stay,  
And other worlds might still enjoy the day,  
what should I say? words, tears, and sighs be spent,  
And want of time doth further helps prevent:  
My camp resounds with fearful shocks of war,  
Yet in my breast the worse conflicts are;  
Yet is my signal to the battles sound,  
The blessed name of beauteous Rosamond.  
Accursed be that heart, that tongue, that breath,  
Should think, should speak, or whisper of thy death.  
For in one smile, or lower from thy sweet eye,  
Consists my life, my hope, my victory.  
Sweet Woodstock, where my Rosamond doth rest,  
Blessed in her, in whom thy King is blest;  
For though in France a while my body be,  
(Sweet Paradise) my heart remains in thee.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Am I at home pursued with private hate,  
And war comes raging to my Palace gate?  
RObert Earl of Leicester, who took part with young King Henry, entered into England with an Army of 3. thousand Flemings, & spoilt the Countries of Norfolk and Suffolk, being succoured by many of the King's private enemies.  And am I branded with the curse of Rome? 
King Henry the second, the first Plantagenet, accused for the death of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, slain in the Cathedral Church, was accursed by Pope Alexander, although he urged sufficient proof of his innocency in the same, and offered to take upon him any penance, so he might escape the curse and interdiction of the Realm.  
And by the pride of my rebellious Son,  
Rich Normandy with Armies overrun.  
Henry the young King, whom King Henry had caused to be crowned in his life, (as he hoped) both for his own good and the good of his Subjects, which indeed turned to his own sorrow, and the trouble of the whole Realm, for he rebelled against him, and raising a power, by the means of Lewes King of France, and William king of Scots, who took part with him, invaded Normandy.  Unkind my children, most unkind my wife. 
Never King more infortunate than King Henry; in the disobedience of his children: first Henry, than Geffrey, than Richard, than john, all at one time or other, first or last, unnaturally rebelled against him: then the jealousy of Ellinor his Queen, who suspected his love to Rosamond, which grievous troubles, the devout of those times, attributed to happen unto him justly, for refusing to take upon him the government of jerusalem, offered unto him by the patriarch there; which country was mightily afflicted by the Sultan.  Which only Vahan thou and I do know. 
This Vahan was a Knight whom the King exceedingly loved, who kept the Palace at Woodstock, & much of the King's jewels & treasure, to whom the King committed many of his secrets, & in whom he reposed such trust, that he durst commit his love unto his charge.  
FINIS.     


King john to Matilda.  
¶ The Argument.  
After that King john had assayed by all means possible, to win the fair & chaste Matilda, to his unchaste and unlawful bed, and by unjust courses and false accusation had banished the Lord Robert Fitzwater her noble Father, and many other of his allies, who justly withstood the desire of this wanton King, seeking the dishonour of his fair and virtuous daughter; this chaste Lady, still solicited by this lascivious King, flies unto Dunmowe in Essex, where in a Nunnery she becomes a Nun, whether the King (still persisting in his suit) solicits her by his Epistle; her reply confirms her vowed and invincible chastity, making known to the King her pure unspotted thoughts.  
WHen these my Letters come unto thy view,  
Think them not forced, or saind, or strange, or new,  
Thou knowst no way, no means, no course exempted,  
Left now unsought, vnproou'd, or unattempted,  
All rules, regards, all secret helps of Art,  
what knowledge, wit, experience can impart;  
And in the old world's Ceremonies doted,  
Good days for love, times, hours, & minutes noted;  
And where Art left, love teacheth more to find,  
By signs in presence to express the mind.  
Oft hath mine eye told thine eye, beauty grieved it,  
And begged but for one look to have relieved it,  
And still with thine eyes motion, mine eye moved,  
Labouring for mercy, telling how it loved.  
If blushed, I blushed, thy cheek pale, pale was mine,  
My red, thy red, my whiteness answered thine;  
If sighed, I sighed, alike both passion prove,  
But thy sigh is for grief, my sigh for love;  
If a word past, that insufficient were,  
To help that word, mine eyes let forth a tear,  
And if that tear did dull or senseless prove,  
My heart would fetch a sigh, to make it move.  
Oft in thy face, one favour from the rest  
I singled forth, that likes my fancy best;  
This likes me most, another likes me more,  
A third exceeding both those liked before;  
Then one that doth derive all wonder thence,  
Then one whose rareness passeth excellence.  
Whilst I behold thy Globe-like rolling eye,  
Thy lovely cheek (me thinks) stands smiling by  
And tells me, those but shadows and supposes,  
And bids me thither come and gather Roses;  
Looking on that, thy brow doth call to me  
To come to it, if wonders I will see  
Now have I do●e, and now thy dimpled chin  
Again doth tell me I but new begin,  
And bids me yet to look upon thy lip,  
Lest wondering least, the great'st I overslip.  
My gazing eye, on this and this doth cease,  
which surfeits, yet cannot desire appease.  
Then like I brown, (o lovely brown thy hair)  
Only in brownenes, beauty dwelleth there.  
Then love I black, thine eyeball black as jet,  
Then clear, that ball is there in Crystal set,  
Then white, but snow, nor swan, nor ivory please,  
Then are thy teeth more whiter than all these;  
In brown, in black, in pureness, and in white,  
All love, all sweets, all rareness, all delight;  
Thus thou vile thief, my stolen heart hence dost carry,  
And now thou fliest into a Sanctuary;  
Fie peevish girl, ingrateful unto nature,  
Did she to this end frame thee such a creature●  
That thou her glory shouldst increase thereby,  
And thou alone dost scorn society?  
Why, heaven made beauty like herself to view,  
Not to be locked up in a smoky Mew,  
A rosy-tainted feature is heanens gold,  
which all men joy to touch, all to behold.  
It was enacted when the world begun  
That so rare beauty should not live a Nun.  
But if this vow thou needs wilt undertake,  
O were mine arms a Cloister for thy sake,  
Still may his pains for ever be augmented,  
This superstition that at first invented,  
Ill might he thrive, that brought this custom hither,  
That holy people might not live together.  
A happy time, a good world was it then,  
when holy women, lived with holy men;  
But Kings in this, yet privileged may be,  
I'll be a Monk, so I may live with thee.  
Who would not rise to ring the morning's knell,  
when thy sweet lips might be the sacring bell?  
Or what is he not willingly would fast,  
That on those lips, might feast his lips at last?  
Who unto Matins early would not rise,  
That might read by the light of thy fair eyes?  
On worldly pleasures who would ever look,  
That had thy curls his beads, thy brows his book?  
Wert thou the Cross, to thee who would not creep?  
And wish the Cross, still in his arms to keep.  
Sweet girl, I'll take this holy habit on me,  
Of mere devotion that is come upon me,  
Holy Matilda, thou the Saint of mine,  
I'll be thy servant, and my bed thy shrine.  
When I do offer, be thy breast the Altar,  
And when I pray, thy mouth shall be my Psalter.  
The beads that we will bid, shall be sweet kisses,  
which we will number, if one pleasure misses,  
And when an Auie comes to say Amen,  
we will begin, and tell them o'er again,  
Now all good fortune give me happy thrift,  
As I should joy t'absolue thee after shrift.  
But see how much I do myself beguile,  
And do mistake thy meaning all this while,  
Thou took'st this vow to equal my desire  
Because thou wouldst have me to be a Friar,  
And that we two should comfort one another,  
A holy sister, and a holy brother,  
Thou as a Votress unto me alone,  
She is most chaste, that's but enjoyed of one.  
Yea, now thy true devotion do I find,  
And sure in this I much commend thy mind;  
Else here thou dost but ill ensample give,  
And in a Nunnery thus thou shouldst not live.  
Is't possible the house that thou art in  
Should not be touched, (though with a venial sin)  
when such a she-priest comes her mass to say,  
Twenty to one they all forget to pray.  
well may we wish they would their hearts amend,  
when we be witness that their eyes offend,  
All creatures have desires, or else some lie,  
Let them think so that will, so will not I.  
Dost thou not think our ancestors were wise,  
That these religious Cells did first devise?  
As Hospitals were for the sore and sick,  
These for the crooked, the halt, the stigmatick,  
Lest that their seed marked with deformity,  
Should be a blemish to posterity.  
Would heaven her beauty should be hid from sight,  
Near would she thus herself adorn with light,  
With sparkling lamps; nor would she paint her throne  
But she delighteth to be gazed upon;  
And when the golden glorious sun goes down,  
would she put on her star-bestudded crown;  
And in her masking suit the spangled sky,  
Come forth to bride it in her revelry;  
And gave this gift to all things in creation,  
That they in this should imitate her fashion.  
All things that fair, that pure, that glorious been,  
Offer themselves of purpose to be seen;  
In sinks and vaults, the ugly Toads do dwell,  
The devils since most ugly, they in hell;  
Our mother earth, near glorious in her fruit,  
Till by the sun clad in her Tinsel suit.  
Nor doth she ever smile him in the face,  
Till in his glorious arms he her embrace;  
which proves she hath a soul, sense, & delight  
Of generations feeling appetite.  
well hypocrite (in faith) wouldst thou confess,  
what ere thy tongue say, thy heart saith no less.  
Note but this one thing, (if nought else persuade)  
Nature of all things male, and female made,  
Showing herself in our proportion plain,  
For never made she any thing in vain;  
For as thou art, should any have been thus,  
She would have left ensample unto us.  
The Turtle that's so true and chaste in love,  
Shows by her mate something the spirit doth move,  
Th'arabian bird, that never is but one,  
Is only chaste because she is alone;  
But had our mother Nature made them two,  
They would have done as Doves and Sparrows do,  
But therefore made a Martyr in desire,  
And doth her penance lastly in the fire;  
So may they all be roasted quick that be  
Apostates to nature, as is she.  
Find me but one, so young, so fair, so free,  
(woo'd, sued, & sought, by him that now seeks thee)  
But of thy mind, and here I undertake  
Strait to erect a Nunnery for her sake;  
O hadst thou tasted of these rare delights  
Ordained each where to please great Princes sights,  
To have their beauties, and their wits admired,  
(which is by nature, of your sex desired)  
Attended by our trains, our pomp our port,  
Like Gods adored abroad, kneeled to in Court,  
To be saluted with the cheerful cry,  
Of highness, grace, and sovereign majesty;  
But unto them that know not pleasures price,  
all's one, a prison, and a Paradise.  
If in a dungeon, closed up from the light,  
There is no difference twixt the day and night,  
whose palate never tasted dainty cates,  
Thinks homely dishes princely delicates.  
Alas poor girl, I pity thine estate,  
That now thus long hast lived disconsolate;  
Why now at length let yet thy heart relent,  
And call thy Father back from banishment;  
And with those princely honours here invest him  
That awkward love, not hate hath dispossessed him.  
Call from exile, thy dear allies and friends,  
To whom the fury of my grief extends;  
And if thou take my counsel in this case,  
I make no doubt thou shalt have better grace,  
And leave that Dunmow, that accursed Cell,  
There let black night and melancholy dwell;  
Come to the Court, where all joys shall receive thee,  
And till that hour, yet with my grief I leave thee.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
THis Epistle of King john to Matilda, is much more poetical than historical, making no mention at all of the occurrents of the time, or state, touching only his love to her, & the extremity of his passions forced by his desires, rightly fashioning the humour of this king: as hath been truly noted by the best and most authentical Writers; whose nature and disposition, is truliest discerned in the course of his love; first jesting at the ceremonies of the services of those times, them going about by all strong and probable arguments, to reduce her to pleasures and delights, next with promises of honour, which he thinketh to be last and greatest mean, & to have greatest power in her sex; with promise of calling home of her, friends, which he thought might be a great inducement to his desires.    

Matilda to King john.  
NO sooner I, reciued thy letters here,  
Before I knew from whom, or whence they were,  
But sudden fear my bloodless veins doth fill,  
As though divining of some future ill;  
And in a shivering ecstasy I stood,  
A chilly coldness runs through all my blood;  
Opening thy letters, I shut up my rest,  
And let strange cares into my quiet breast,  
As though thy hard, unpitying hand had sent me.  
Some new devised torture to torment me;  
well had I hoped, I had been now forgot,  
Cast out with those things thou remember'st not:  
And that proud beauty, which enforced me hither,  
Had with my name, now perished together:  
But o (I see) our hoped good deceives us,  
But what we would forego, that seldom leaves us;  
Thy blameful lines bespotted so with sin,  
Mine eyes would cleanse, ere they to read begin  
But I to wash an Indian go about,  
For ill so hard set on, is hard got out.  
I once determined, still to have been mute,  
Only by silence to refel thy suit,  
But this again did alter mine intent,  
For some will say that silence doth consent:  
Desire, with small encouraging grows bold,  
And hope, of every little thing takes hold.  
I set me down at large to write my mind,  
But now, nor pen, nor paper can I find;  
For dread and passion, or so powerful o'er me,  
That I discern not things that stand before me:  
Finding the pen, the paper, and the wax,  
This at command, and now invention lacks,  
This sentence serves, and that my hand out-strikes,  
That pleaseth well, and this as much mislikes,  
I write, indite, I point, I raze, I quote,  
I interline, I blot, correct, I note;  
I hope, despair, take courage, faint, disdain,  
I make, allege, I imitate, I feign:  
Now thus it must be, and now thus, and thus,  
Bold, shamefast, fearless, doubtful, timorous;  
My faint hand writing, when my full eye reeds,  
From every word strange passion still proceeds.  
O when the soul is fettered once in woe,  
'tis strange what humours it doth force us to;  
A tear doth drown a tear, sigh, sigh doth smother,  
This hinders that, that interrupts the other;  
Th'overwatched weakness of a sick conceit,  
Is that which makes small beauty seem so great,  
Like things which hid in troubled waters lie,  
which crooked seem strait, if strait seem contrary,  
And this our vain imagination shows it  
As it conceives it, not as judgement knows it,  
(As in a Mirror, if the same be true)  
Such as your likeness, justly such are you;  
But as you change yourself, it changeth there,  
And shows you as you are, not as you were;  
And with your motion doth your shadow move,  
If frown or smile; such the conceit of love.  
Why tell me, is it possible the mind  
A form in all deformity should find?  
Within the compass of man's face we see  
How many sorts of several favours be;  
And that the chin, the nose, the brow, the eye,  
If great, if small, flat, sharp, or if awry,  
altars proportion, altereth the grace,  
And makes a mighty difference in the face;  
And in the world, scarce two so likely are  
One with the other which if you compare,  
But being set before you both together,  
A judging sight doth soon distinguish either.  
How womanlike a weakness it it then?  
O what strange madness so possesseth men  
Bereft of sense; such senseless wonders seeing,  
without form, fashion, certainty, or being?  
For which so many die to live in anguish,  
Yet cannot live if thus they should not languish;  
That comfort yields not, & yet hope denies not,  
A life that lives not, and a death that dies not;  
That hates us most, when most it speaks us fair,  
Doth promise all things, always pays with air,  
Yet sometime doth our greatest grief appease,  
To double sorrow after little ease.  
Like that which thy lascivious will doth crave,  
which if once had, thou never more canst have;  
which if thou get, in getting thou dost waste it,  
Taken, is lost, and perrish'd if thou hast it;  
which if thou gainest, thou near the more hast won,  
I losing nothing, yet am quite undone;  
And yet of that, if that a King deprave me,  
No King restores, though he a kingdom gave me.  
Dost thou of Father and of friends deprive me?  
And tak'st thou from me, all that heaven did give me?  
what nature claims, by blood, allies, or nearness,  
Or friendship challenge, by regard or deernes.  
Mak'st me an Orphan ere my Father die?  
A woeful widow in virginity?  
Is thy unbridled lust the cause of all?  
And now thy flattering tongue bewails my fall.  
The dead man's grave with feigned tears to fill,  
So the devouring Crocodile doth kill,  
To harbour hate in show of sweetest things,  
So in the Rose the poisoned serpent stings.  
To lurk far off, yet lodge destruction by,  
The Basilisk doth poison with the eye;  
To call for aid, and then to lie in wait,  
So the Hyena murders by deceit;  
By sweet enticements, sudden death to bring,  
So from the Rocks th'alluring Mermaids sing;  
In greatest wants, t'inflict the greatest woe,  
This is the utmost tyranny can do.  
But where (I see) the tempest thus prevails,  
what use of Anchors, or what need of sails;  
Above us blustering winds, and dreadful thunder,  
The waters gape for our destruction under;  
here on this side the furious billows fly,  
There rocks, there sands, and dangerous whir-pooles lie.  
Is this the mean that mightiness approves,  
And in this sort do Princes woo their Loves;  
Mildness would better suit with majesty  
Then rash revenge, and rough severity.  
O in what safety Temperance doth rest  
Obtaining harbour in a sovereign breast.  
Which if so praiseful in the meanest men,  
In powerful Kings, how glorious is it then?  
Alas, and fled I hither from my foe,  
That innocence should be betrayed so?  
Is Court and Country both her enemy  
And no place found to shroud in chastity?  
Each house for lust, a harbour, and an Inn,  
And every City a receipt for sin;  
And all do pity beauty in distress,  
If beauty chaste, then only pitiless.  
Thus is she made a tempting stale to lust,  
Or unreleeved, needsly perish must.  
Lascivious Poets, which abuse the truth,  
which oft teach age to sin, infecting youth,  
For the unchaste make trees & stones to mourn,  
Or as they please, to other shapes do turn;  
Cinyras daughter, whose incestuous mind,  
Made her wrong nature, and dishonour kind;  
Long since by them is turned into a Mirabel,  
whose dropping liquor ever weeps for her;  
And in a fountain, Biblis doth deplore  
Her fault so vile and monstruous before;  
Silla, which once her Father did betray,  
Is now a bird, (if all be true they say)  
She that with Phoebus did the foul offence,  
Now metamorphized into Frankincense.  
Other, to flowers, to odours, and to gum,  
At lest Ioues Lemon is a star become;  
And more; they feign a thousand fond excuses,  
To hide their 'scapes, and cover their abuses,  
The virgin only they obscure and hide  
whilst the unchaste, by them are deified;  
Yet if a Vestals name be once expressed,  
She must be set together with the rest.  
I am not now, as when thou saw'st me last,  
That favour soon is vanished and passed;  
That Rosie-blush, lapped in a Lilly-vale,  
Now with the Morphew overgrown and pale,  
And down my cheeks with showers of swelling tears,  
Remain the furrows that continuance wears,  
And in the circles of my withered eyes,  
In aged wrinkles beauty buried lies;  
And in my grace, my presence, gesture, cheer,  
Ruin, distress, woe, anguish, doth appear.  
That breast, that hand, that cheek, that eye, that brow,  
Faded, decayed, fallen, darkened, wrinkled now;  
Such was my beauty once, now is it such,  
Once thought most rare, now altered more then much;  
Nor I regard all that thou canst protest,  
My vow is taken, I a Nun professed.  
This Vestal habit doth content me more,  
Then all the robes that yet I ever wore.  
Had Rosamond, (a recluse of our sort)  
Taken our Cloister, left the wanton Court,  
Shadowing that beauty with a holy vale,  
which she (alas) too loosely set to sale,  
She need not like an ugly Minotaur,  
Have been locked up from jealous Ellenor,  
But been as famous by thy mother's wrongs,  
As by thy father subject to all tongues.  
To shadow sin, might can the most pretend,  
Kings, but the conscience, all things can defend.  
A stronger hand restaines our wilful powers,  
A will must rule above this will of ours,  
Not following what our vain desires do woo  
For virtues sake, but what we (only) do.  
And hath my Father chose to live exiled,  
Before his eyes should see my youth defiled?  
And to withstand a Tyrant's lewd desire,  
Beheld his Towers and Castles razed with fire:  
Yet never tuched with grief, so only I,  
Exempt from shame might with true honour die.  
And shall this jewel which so dearly cost,  
Now after all, by my dishonour lost?  
No, no, his reverend words, his holy tears,  
Yet in my soul too deep impression bears  
His latest farewell at his last depart,  
More deeply is engraved in my heart,  
Nor shall that blot, by me his name shall have,  
Bring his grey hairs with sorrow to his grave,  
Better his tears to fall upon my Tomb,  
Then for my birth to curse my mother's womb.  
Though Dunmow give no refuge here at all.  
Dunmow can give my body burial.  
If all remorseless, no teare-shedding eye,  
Myself will moan myself; so live, so die.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
THis Epistle, containeth no particular points of history, more than the generality of the argument layeth open, for after the banishment of the Lord Robert Fitzwater, and that Matilda was become a Recluse at Dunmowe, (from whence this reply is imagined to be written,) the King still earnestly persisting in his ●ute, Matilda with this chaste & constant denial, hopeth yet at length to find some comfortable remedy, and to rid herself of doubts, by taking upon her this monastic habit, & to show that she still beareth in mind his former cruelty, bred by the impatience of his lust, she remembreth him of her Father's banishment, & the lawless exile of her allies and friends.  Dost thou of Father and of friends deprive me? 
Then complaining of her distress, that flying thither, thinking there to find relief, she sees herself most assailed where she hoped to have found most safety.  
Alas, and fled I hither from my foe,  
That, etc.  
After again, standing upon the precise points of conscience, not to cast off this habit she had taken.  My vow is taken, I a Nun professed. 
And at last laying open more particularly the miseries sustained by her Father in England, the burning of his Castles and houses, which she proveth to be for her sake: as respecting only her honour, more than his native Country and his own fortunes.  
And to withstand a Tyrant's lewd desire,  
Beheld his Towers and Castles set on fire.  
Knitting up her Epistle with a great and constant resolution.  
Though Dunmow give no refuge here at all,  
Dunmow can give my body burial.  
FINIS.     

To the virtuous Lady, the Lady Anne Harrington: wife to the honourable Gentleman, Sir john Harrington Knight.  
MY singular good Lady, your many virtues known in general to all, and your gracious favours to my unworthy self, have confirmed that in me, which before I knew you, I only saw by the light of other men's judgements. Honour seated in your breast, finds herself adorned as in a rich palace, making that excellent which makes her admirable; which like the Sun (from thence) begetteth most precious things of this earthly world, only by the virtue of his rays, not the nature of the mould. Worth is best discerned by the worthy, dejected minds want that pure fire which should give vigour to virtue. I refer to your great thoughts, (the unpartial judges of true affection) the unfeigned zeal I have ever borne to your honourable service; and so rest your Ladyships humbly to command.  
Mich: Drayton.   


Queen Isabella to Mortimer.  
¶ The Argument.  
Queen Isabella, (the wife of Edward the second, called Edward Carnarvan,) being the daughter of Philip de Beau, King of France, forsaken by the King her husband, who delighted only in the company of Piers Gaveston, his minion and favourite; and after his death seduced by the evil counsel of the Spensers. This Queen thus left by her husband, even in the glory of her youth, drew into her especial favour Roger Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore, a man of a mighty and invincible spirit. This Lord Mortimer rising in arms against the King, with Thomas Earl of Lancaster, and the Barons, was taken ere he could gather his power, and by the King committed to the Tower of London. During his imprisonment, he ordained a feast in honour of his birthday, to which he invited Sir Stephen Segrave, Lieutenant of the Tower, and the rest of the officers, where, by means of a drink prepared by the Queen, he cast them all into a heavy sleep, and with Ladders of cords being ready prepared for the purpose, he escapeth, and flieth into France, whether she sendeth this Epistle, complaining her own misfortunes, and greatly rejoicing at his safe escape.  
THough such sweet comfort comes not now from her  
As England's Queen hath sent to Mortimer.  
Yet what that wants, which might my power approve,  
If lines can bring, this shall supply with love,  
Me thinks affliction should not fright me so,  
Nor should resume these sundry shapes of woe;  
But when I fain would find the cause of this,  
Thy absence shows me where the errout is.  
Oft when I think of thy departing hence,  
Sad sorrow than posseth ' every sense,  
But finding thy dear blood preserved thereby,  
And in thy life, my long-wished liberty,  
with that sweet thought myself I only please  
Amidst my grief, which sometimes gives me ease  
Thus do extremest ills a joy possess,  
And one woe makes another woe seem less.  
That blessed night, that milde-aspected hour,  
wherein thou mad'st escape out of the Tower,  
Shall consecrated evermore remain;  
What gentle Planet in that hour did reign;  
And shall be happy in the birth of men,  
which was chief Lord of the Ascendant then.  
O how I feared that sleepy juice I sent,  
Might yet want power to further thine intent;  
Or that some unseen mystery might lurk,  
which wanting order, kindly should not work;  
Oft did I wish those dreadful poisoned lees,  
That closed the everwaking Dragon's eyes,  
Or I had had those sence-bereaving stalks  
That grow in shady Proserpina's dark walks;  
Or those black weeds on Lethe banks below,  
Or Lunary that doth on Latmus' flow;  
Oft did I fear this moist and foggy clime,  
Or that the earth, waxed barren now with time,  
Should not have herbs to help me in this case,  
Such as do thrive on India's parched face.  
That morrow, when the blessed sun did rise,  
And shut the lids of all heavens lesser eyes,  
Forth from my palace by a secret stair  
I steal to Thames, as though to take the air;  
And ask the gentle flood as it doth glide,  
Or thou didst pass or perish by the tide?  
If thou didst perish, I desire the stream  
To lay thee softly on her silver team,  
And bring thee to me to the quiet shore,  
That with her tears, thou mightst have some tears more.  
When suddenly doth rise a rougher gale,  
with that (me thinks) the troubled waves look pale,  
And sighing with that little gust that blows,  
with this remembrance seem to knit their brows.  
Even as this sudden passion doth affright me,  
The cheerful sun breaks from a cloud to light me;  
Then doth the bottom evident appear,  
As it would show me, that thou wast not there,  
When as the water flowing where I stand,  
Doth seem to tell me, thou art safe on land.  
Did Bulloyne once a festival prepare,  
For England, Almain, Cicile, and Navarre?  
when France envied those buildings (only blest)  
Graced with the Orgies of my bridal feast,  
That English Edward should refuse my bed  
For that incestuous shameless Ganymede?  
And in my place, upon his regal throne,  
To set that girle-boy, wanton Gaveston.  
Betwixt the feature of my face and his,  
My glass assures me no such difference is,  
That a foul witch's bastard should thereby  
Be thought more worthy of his love then I.  
What doth avail us to be Prince's heirs,  
when we can boast c●r birth is only theirs?  
when base dissembling flatterers shall deceive us,  
Of all our famous Ancestors did leave us;  
And of our princely jewels and our dowers,  
we but enjoy the least of what it ours;  
when Minions heads must wear our Monarch's crowns,  
To raise up dunghills with our famous towns;  
when beggers-brats are wrapped in rich perfumes,  
Their buzzard wings imped with our Eagles plumes;  
And matched with the brave issue of our blood,  
Alie the kingdom to their cravand brood.  
Did Longshanks purchase with his conquering hand,  
Albania, Gascoigne, Cambria, Ireland?  
That young Caernaruan (his unhappy son)  
Should give away all that his Father won?  
To back a stranger, proudly bearing down  
The brave allies and branches of the crown?  
And did great Edward, on his deathbed give  
This charge to them which afterwards should live,  
That that proud Gascoigne, banished the Land,  
No more should tread upon the English sand?  
And have these great Lords in the quarrel stood,  
And sealed his last will with their dearest blood,  
That after all this fearful massacre,  
The fall of Beauchamp, Lazy, Lancaster●  
Another faithless favourite should arise  
To cloud the sun of our Nobilities?  
And gloried I in Gavestons' great fall,  
That now a Spenser should succeed in all?  
And that his ashes should another breed,  
which in his place and empire should succeed;  
That wanting one a kingdoms wéalth to spend,  
Of what that left, this now shall make an end;  
To waste all that our Father won before,  
Nor leave our son a sword to conquer more.  
Thus but in vain we fond do resist,  
where power can do (even) all things as it list,  
And with unjust men to debate of laws,  
Is to give power to hurt a rightful cause;  
whilst parlements must still redress their wrongs,  
And we must starve for what to us belongs;  
Our wealth but fuel to their fond excess,  
And we must fast to feast their wantonness.  
Think'st thou our wrongs then insufficient are  
To move our brother to religious war?  
And if they were, yet Edward doth detain  
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne, and Aquytaine;  
And if not that, yet hath he broke the truce,  
Thus all accur, to put back all excuse.  
The sister's wrong, joined with the brother's right,  
Me thinks might urge him in this cause to fight.  
Be all those people senseless of our harms  
which for our country ought have managed arms?  
Is the brave Normans courage now forgot?  
Or the bold Britons' lost the use of shot?  
The big-boned Almains, and stout Brabanders,  
Their warlike Pikes, and sharp-edged Semiters?  
Or do the pickard's let their Crossbows lie,  
Once like the Centaurs of old Thessaly?  
Or if a valiant Leader be their Lack,  
where thou art present, who should drive them back?  
I do conjure thee by what is most dear,  
By that great name of famous Mortimer,  
By ancient Wigmore's honourable Crest,  
The Tombs where all thy famous Grandsire's rest:  
Or if then these, what more may thee approve,  
Even by those vows of thy unfeigned love,  
That thy great hopes may move the Christian King,  
By foreign Arms some comfort yet to bring,  
To curb the power of traitors that rebel  
Against the right of princely Isabell.  
Vain witless woman, why should I desire  
To add more heat to thy immortal fire?  
To urge thee by the violence of hate,  
To shake the pillars of thine own estate,  
when whatsoever we intent to do,  
To our misfortune ever sorts unto;  
And nothing else remains for us beside,  
But tears and coffins (only) to provide,  
When still so long as Burrough bears that name  
Time shall not blot out our deserved shame;  
And whilst clear Trent her wont course shall keep,  
For our sad fall, her crystal drops shall weep.  
All see our ruin on our backs is thrown,  
And to ourselves our sorrows are our own.  
And Torlton now whose counsel should direct  
The first of all is slandered with suspect;  
For dangerous things dissembled seldom are  
which many eyes attend with busy care.  
What should I say? my griefs do still renew,  
And but begin when I should bid adieu,  
Few be my words, but manifold my woe,  
And still I stay, the more I strive to go.  
As accents issue forth, griefs enter in,  
And where I end, me thinks I but begin;  
Till then fair time some greater good affords,  
Take my loves payment in these airy words.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
O how I feared that sleepy drink I sent,  
Might yet want power to further thine intent.  
Mortime being in the Tower, and ordaining a feast in honour of his birthday, as he pretended, and inviting thereunto sir Stephen Segrave, Constable of the Tower, with the ●est of the officers belonging to the same, he gave them a sleepy drink, provided him by the Queen, by which means he got liberty for his escape.  
I steal to Thames, as though to take the air,  
And ask the gentle stream as it doth glide,  
Mortimer, being got out of the Tower, swum the river of Thames into Kent, whereof she having intelligence, doubteth of his strength to escape, by reason of his long imprisonment, being almost the space of three years.  
Did Bulloyne once a festival prepare,  
For England, Almain, Cicile and Naevarre?  
Edward Carnarvan, the first Prince of Wales of the English blood, married Isabella, daughter of Philip the fair at Bulloyne, in the presence of the Kings of Almain, Navarre, and Cicile, with the chief Nobility of France, and England, which marriage was there solemnized with exceeding pomp and magnificence.  
And in my place, upon his regal throne,  
To set that girle-boy, wanton Gaveston.  
Noting the effeminacy & luxurious wantonness of Gaveston, the King's Minion; his behaviour and attire ever so womanlike, to please the eye of his lascivious Prince.  That a foul Witches bastard should thereby 
It was urged by the Queen and the Nobility, in the disgrace of Piers Gavestone, that his mother was convicted of witchcraft, & burned for the same, and that Piers had bewitched the King.  Albania, Gascoigne, Cambria, Ireland. 
Albania, Scotland so called of Albanact, the second son of Brutus, and Cambria, Wales, so called of Camber the third son, the four Realms & countries, brought in subjection by Edward Longshanks.  
When of our princely jewels and our dowers,  
We but enjoy the least of what is ours.  
A complaint of the prodigality of King Edward, giving unto Gaveston the jewels & treasure which was left him by the ancient Kings of England; and enriching him with the goodly Manor of Wallingford, assigned as parcel of the dower, to the queens of this famous I'll.  
And joined with the brave issue of our blood,  
Alie our kingdom to their cravand brood.  
Edward the second, gave to Piers Gaveston in marriage, the daughter of Gilbert Clare, Earl of Gloucester, begot of the King's sister, jone of Acres, married to the said Earl of Gloucester.  
Should give away all that his Father won  
To back a stranger.  
King Edward offered his right in France to Charles his brother in law, and his right in Scotland to Robert Bruse, to be aided against the Barons, in the quarrel of Piers Gaveston.  And did great Edward on his deathbed give 
Edward Longshanks, on his deathbed at Carlisle, commanded young Edward his son, on his blessing, not to call back Gaveston, which (for the misguiding of the Prince's youth) was before banished by the whole counsel of the Land.  
That after all this fearful massacre,  
The fall of Beuchamp, Lazy, Lancaster.  
Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, Guy, Earl of Warwick, & Henry Ea●le of Lincoln, who had taken their oaths before the deceased King at his death, to withstand his son Edward if he should call Gavestone from exile, being a thing which he much feared: now seeing Edward to violate his Father's commandment, rise in Arms against the king, which was the cause of the civil war, & the ruin of so many Princes.  
And gloried I in Gavestons' great fall  
That now a Spenser should succeed in all.  
The two Hugh Spensers, the Father & the son, after the death of Gaveston, became the great favourites of the King, the son being created by him lord Chamberlain, & the father Earl of Winchester.  
And if they were, yet Edward doth detain  
Homaage for Pontiu, Guyne, and Aquitaine.  
Edward Longshanks, did homage for those Cities and Territories to the French King, which Edward the second neglecting moved the French King, by the subornation of Mortimer, to cease those Countries into his hands.  By ancient Wigmore's honourable Crest, 
Wigmore in the marches of Wales, was the ancient house of the Mortimers, that noble and courageous family.  That still so long as Borough bears that name. 
The Queen remembreth the great overthrow given to the Barons, by Andrew Herckley, Earl of carlil, at Borough bridge, after the battle at Burton.  And Torlton now, whose counsels should direct. 
This was Adam Torlton, Bishop of Herford, that great Politician, who so highly favoured the faction of the Queen and Mortimer, whose evil counsel afterward wrought the destruction of the King.    

Mortimer to Queen Isabell.  
AS thy salutes my sorrows do adjourn,  
So back to thee their interest I return;  
Though not in so great bounty (I confess)  
As thy heroic princely lines express;  
For how should comfort issue from the breath  
Of one condemned, and long lodged up in death?  
From murders rage thou didst me once reprieve,  
Now in exile, my hopes thou dost revive;  
Twice all was taken, twice thou all didst give,  
And thus twice dead, thou mak'st me twice to live.  
This double life of mine, your only due,  
You gave to me; I give it back to you;  
Near my escape had, I adventured thus,  
As did the skie-attempting Daedalus;  
And yet to give more safety to my flight,  
Have made a night of day, a day of night.  
Nor had I backed the proud aspiring wall,  
which held without, my hopes, within, my fall,  
Leaving the cords to tell where I had gone,  
For gazing eyes with fear to look upon,  
But that thy beauty (by a power divine)  
Breathed a new life into this spirit of mine.  
Drawn by the sun of thy celestial eyes.  
with fiery wings made passage through the skies,  
The heavens did seem the charge of me to take,  
And sea and land befriend me for thy sake;  
Thames stopped her tide, to make me way to go,  
As thou hadst charged her that it should be so,  
The hollow murmuring winds their due time kept,  
As they had rocked the world, whilst all things slept;  
One billow bore me, and another drove me,  
This strove to help me, and that strove to save me;  
The brisling Reeds, moved with the air did chide me,  
As they would tell me, that they meant to hide me,  
The pale-faced night beheld thy heavy cheer,  
And would not let one little star appear,  
But over all, her smoky mantle hurled,  
And in thick vapours muffled up the world;  
And the pure air became so claim and still  
As it had been obedient to my will;  
And every thing disposed unto my rest,  
As when on Seas the Halcyon builds her nest.  
When those rough waves which late with fury rushed,  
Slide smoothly on, and suddenly are hushed;  
Nor Neptune lets his surges our so long  
As Nature is in bringing forth her young;  
Nor let the Spensers' glory in my chance  
That I should live an exile here in France:  
That I from England banished should be,  
But England rather banished from me:  
More were her want, France our great blood should bear,  
Then England's loss should be to Mortimer.  
My Grandsire was the first since Arthur's reign,  
That the Round-table rectified again;  
To whose great Court at Kenelworth did come  
The peerless knighthood of all Christendom:  
whose Princely order, honoured England more  
Than all the conquests she achieved before.  
Never durst Scot set foot on English ground,  
Nor on his back did English bear a wound,  
whilst Wigmore flourished in our Princely hopes,  
And whilst our Ensign marched with Edward's troops;  
whilst famous Longshanks bones (in fortunes scorn)  
As sacred relics to the field were borne;  
Nor ever did the valiant English doubt,  
whilst our brave battles guarded them about.  
Nor did our wi●es and woeful mothers mourn  
The English blood that stained Banocksburne,  
whilst with his Minions sporting in his Tent,  
whole days and nights in banqueting were spent:  
Until the Scots (which under safeguard stood)  
Made lavish havoc of the English blood?  
And battered helms lay scattered on the shore,  
where they in conquest had been borne before.  
A thousand Kingdoms will we seek from far,  
As many Nations wast with civil war,  
where the dishevelled ghastly Sea-nimph sings,  
Or well-rigd ships shall stretch their swelling wings,  
And drag their anchors through the sandy foam,  
About the world in every Clime to roam,  
And those unchristned Countries call our own,  
where scarce the name of England hath been known;  
And in the dead-sea sink our houses fame,  
From whose stern waves we first derived our Name,  
Before foul black-mouthed infamy shall sing  
That Mortimer ere stooped unto a King.  
And we will turn sterne-visaged fury back,  
To seek his spoil, who sought our utter sack:  
And come to beard him in our native Isle,  
Ere he march forth to follow our exile.  
And after all these boisterous stormy shocks,  
Yet will we grapple with the chaulkie Rocks.  
Nor will we come like Pirates, or like thieves,  
From mountain Forests, or sea-bordering Cleeves,  
But fright the air with terror (when we come)  
Of the stern trumpet, and the bellowing drum:  
And in the field advance our plumy Crest,  
And march upon fair England's flowery breast;  
And Thames which once we for our life did swim,  
Shaking our dewy tresses on her brim,  
Shall bear my Navy; vaunting in her pride,  
Falling from Tanet with the powerful tide;  
which fertile Essex, and fair Kent shall see,  
Spreading her flags along the pleasant lee,  
when on her stemming poop she proudly bears,  
The famous Ensigns of the Belgic peers.  
And for the hateful sacreligious sin  
which by the Pope he stands accursed in,  
The Cannon text shall have a common gloss,  
Receipts in parcels, shall be paid in gross.  
This doctrine preached, who from the Church doth take,  
At least shall triple restitution make:  
For which Rome sends her curses out from far,  
Through the stern throat of terror-breathing war,  
Till to th'unpeopled shores she brings supplies  
Of those industrious Roman Colonies.  
And for his homage, by the which of old  
Proud Edward Guyne and Aquitaine doth hold.  
Charles by invasive arms again shall take,  
And send the English forces o'er the Lake;  
when Edward's fortune stands upon this chance,  
To lose in England, or expulsed from France;  
And all those towns great Longshanks left his son,  
Now lost again, which once his father won.  
Within their strong percullized Ports shall lie,  
And from their walls his sieges shall defy.  
And by that firm and undissolued knot,  
Betwixt the neighbouring French, and bordering Scot,  
Bruise now shall bring his redshanks from the seas,  
From th'Iled Orcad's, and the Hebrydes',  
And to his Western Havens give free pass,  
To land the warlike Irish Galiglasse,  
Marching from Tweed to swelling Humber sands,  
wasting along the Northern netherlands.  
And wanting those which should his power sustain,  
Consumed with slaughter in his bloody reign,  
Our warlike sword shall drive him from his throne,  
where he shall lie for us to tread upon;  
And those great Lords now after their attaints,  
Canonised amongst the English Saints;  
And by the superstitious people, thought,  
That by their Relics, miracles are wrought,  
And think that flood much virtue doth retain,  
which took the blood of famous Bohun slain;  
Continuing the remembrance of the thing,  
To make the people more abhor their King.  
Nor shall a Spenser, (be he near so great)  
Possess our Wigmore, our renowned seat.  
To raze the ancient Trophies of our race,  
with our deserts their monuments to grace;  
Nor shall he lead our valiant marchers forth,  
To make the Spensers' famous in the North;  
Nor be the Gardants of the British pales,  
Defending England, and preserving Wales.  
At first our troubles easily reculed,  
But now grown headstrong hardly to be ruled;  
with gravest counsel all must be directed,  
where plainest shows are openly suspected;  
For where mishap our error doth assault,  
There doth it easiliest make us see our fault.  
Then (sweet) repress all fond and wilful spleen,  
Two things to be a woman, and a Queen;  
Keep close the cinders, lest the fire should burn,  
It is not this which yet must serve our turn.  
And if I do not much mistake the thing,  
The next supply shall greater comfort bring;  
Till when I leave my Princess for a while,  
Live thou in rest; though I live in exile.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Of one condemned, and long lodged up in death. 
ROger Mortimer Lord of Wigmore, had stood publicly condemned, for his insurrection with Thomas Earl of Lancaster, and Bohun Eale of Herford, by the space of three months: and as the report went, the day of his execution was determined to have been shortly after, which he prevented by his escape.  Twice all was taken, ●twice thou all didst give. 
At what time the two Mortimers, this Roger Lord of Wigmore, and his uncle Roger Mortimer the elder, were apprehended in the West, the Queen by means of Torlton Bishop of Hereford, and Beck Bishop of Duresme, and Patriarch of jerusalem, being then both mighty in the state, upon the submission of the Mortimers, somewhat pacified the King, and now secondly she wrought means for his escape.  Leaving the cords to tell where I had gone, 
With strong ladders made of cords provided him for the purpose, he escaped out of the Tower, which when the same were found fastened to the walls, in such a desperate attempt they bred astonishment to the beholders.  Nor let the Spensers' glory in my chance. 
The two Hugh Spensers, the Father, and the Son, then being so highly favoured of the King, knew that their greatest safety came by his exile, whose high and turbulent spirit, could never brook any corrival in greatness.  
My Grandsire was the first since Arthur's reign,  
That the round-table rectified again.  
Roger Mortimer, called the great Lord Mortimer, Grandfather to this Roger, which was afterward the first Earl of March, reerected again the Round-table at Kenelwoorth, after the ancient order of King Arthur's table, with the retinue of a hundred Knights, & a hundred Ladies in his house, for the entertaining of such adventures as came thither from all parts of Christendom.  Whilst famous Longshanks bones in Fortune's scorn. 
Edward Longshanks willed at his death, that his body should be boiled the flesh from the bones, and that the bones should be borne to the wars in Scotland, which he was persuaded unto by a prophecy, which told that the English should still be fortunate in conquest, so long as his bones were carried in the field.  The English blood that stained Banocksburne. 
In the great voyage Edward the second made against the Scots, at the battle at St●iueling near unto the river of Banocksburne in Scotland, where there was in the English camp such banqueting & excess, such riot and misorder, that the Scots, (who in the mean time laboured for advantage) gave to the English a great overthrow.  
And in the Dead-sea, sink our houses fame,  
From whose, etc.  
Mortimer, so called of Mare Mortuum, and in French Mort●mer, in English the Dead-sea, which is said to be where Sodom & Gomorra once were, before they were destroyed by fire from heaven.  
And for that hateful sacrilegious sin  
Which by the Pope he stands accursed in.  
Gaeustelinus and Lucas, two Cardinals, sent into England from Pope Clement, to appease the ancient hate between the King and Thomas Earl of Lancaster, to whose Embassy the King seemed to yield, but after their departure he went back from his promises, for which he was accursed at Rome.  Of those industrious Roman Colonies. 
A Colony is a sort or number of people, that come to inhabit a place before not inhabited, whereby he seemeth here to prophecy of the subversion of the Land; the Pope joining with the power of other Princes, against Edward, for the breach of his promise.  Charles by i●uasiue Arms again shall take. 
Charles the French King, moved by the wrong done unto his sister, seizeth the Provinces which belonged to the King of England into his hands, stirred the rathe● thereto by Mortimer, who solicited her cause in France, as is expressed before in the other Epistle, in the gloss upon this point.  
And those great Lords now after their attaints,  
Canonised among the English Saints.  
After the death of Thomas Earl of Lancaster at Pomfret, the people imagined great miracles to be done by his relics: as they did of the body of Bohun Earl of Herford, slain at Borough bridge.  
FINIS.     

¶ To my worthy and honoured friend, Master Walter Aston.  
SIR, though without suspicion of flattery I might in more ample and freer terms, intymate my affection unto you, yet having so sensible a taste of your generous and noble disposition, which without this habit of ceremony can estimate my love: I will rather affect brevity, though it should seem my fault, then by my tedious complement, to trouble mine own opinion settled in your judgement and discretion. I make you the Patron of this Epistle of the Black-Prince, which I pray you accept, till more easier hours may offer up from me some thing more worthy of your view, and my travel.  
Yours truly devoted, Mich: Drayton.   


Edward the black Prince to Alice Countess of Salisbury.  
¶ The Argument.  
Alice, Countess of Salisbury, remaining at Roxborough Castle, in the North, in the absence of the Earl her husband, who was by the Kings command sent over into Flaunders, and there deceased ere his return. This Lady being besieged in her Castle by the Scots, Edward the black Prince being sent by the King his Father to relieve the North-parts with an Army, and to remove the siege of Roxborough, there fell in love with the Countess; when after she returned to London, he sought by divers and sundry means to win her to his youthful pleasures, as by forcing the Earl of Kent her Father, & her Mother, unnaturally to become his Agents in his vain desire; where after a long and assured trial of her invincible constancy, he taketh her to his wife, to which end, he only frameth this Epistle.  
Receive these papers, from thy woeful Lord,  
with far more woes, than they with words are stored,  
which if thine eye with rashness do reprove,  
They'll say they came from that imperious love.  
In every Letter thou mayst understand,  
which Love hath signed and sealed with his hand;  
And where no farther process he refers,  
In blots set down, for other Characters,  
This cannot blush, although you do refuse it,  
Nor will reply how ever you shall use it;  
all's one to this, though you should bid despair,  
This still entreats you, this still speaks you fair;  
Hast thou a living soul? a humane fence?  
To like, dislike, prove, order, and dispense,  
The depth of reason, sound to advise,  
To love things good, things hurtful to despise;  
The tuch of judgement, which should all things prove,  
And hast thou touched, yet not allow'st my love.  
Sound moves his sound, voice, doth beget his voice,  
One Echo makes another to rejoice,  
One well-tuned string, set truly to his like,  
Struck near at hand, doth make another strike.  
How comes it then, that our affections jar?  
what opposition doth beget this war?  
I know that nature frankly to thee gave,  
That measure of her bounty that I have,  
And with that sense she lent, she likewise lent  
Each one his organ, each his instrument,  
But every one, because it is thine own,  
Doth prize itself, unto itself alone.  
Thy dainty hand when it, itself doth touch,  
That feeling tells it there was never such;  
When in thy glass, thine eye itself doth see,  
That thinks there's none, like to itself can be,  
And every one, doth judge itself divine,  
Because that thou dost challenge it for thine;  
And each itself, Narcissus like doth smother,  
And loves itself, not like to any other;  
Fie be not burnt thus in thine own desire,  
'tis needless beauty should itself admire,  
The sun, by which all creatures lightened be,  
And seeth all, itself yet cannot see;  
And his own brightness, his own foil is made,  
And doth become the cause of his own shade.  
When first thy beauty by mine eye was proved,  
It saw not then, so much to be beloved,  
But when it came a perfect view to take,  
Each look of one, doth many beauties make;  
In little cer●lets first it doth arise,  
Then somewhat larger seeming in mine eyes,  
And in his Gyring compass as it goes,  
So more and more, the same in greatness grows,  
And as it yet at liberty is set,  
The motion still doth other forms beget;  
Until at length, look any way I could,  
Nothing there was but beauty to behold.  
Art thou offended that thou art beloved?  
Remove the cause, th'effect is soon removed;  
Indent with beauty, how far to extend,  
Set down desire, a limit where to end,  
Then charm thine eyes, their glances shall not wound,  
Teach reason how, the depth of love to sound;  
If thou do this, nay then thou shalt do more,  
And bring to pass what never was before;  
Make anguish sportive, craving all delight,  
Mirth solemn, sullen, and inclined to night,  
Ambition lowly, envy speaking well,  
Love his relief of niggardize to sell;  
Our warlike fathers did these forts devise,  
As surest holds against our enemies,  
The safest places for your sex to rest,  
Fear soon is settled in a woman's breast,  
Thy breast is of another temper far,  
And then thy Castle fitter for the war.  
Thou dost not safely in thy Castle rest,  
Thy Castle should be safer in thy breast,  
That keeps ou● foes, but doth thy friends enclose,  
But thy breast keeps out both thy friends and foes;  
That may be battered, or be undermined,  
Or by strait siege, for want of succour pined,  
But thy heart is, invincible to all,  
And more defensive than thy Castle wall;  
Of all the shapes that ever jove did prove,  
wherewith he used to entertain his love,  
That likes me best, when in a golden shower,  
He rained himself on Danae in her Tower,  
Nor did I ever envy his command,  
In that he bears the thunder in his hand;  
But in that showery shape I cannot be,  
And as he came to her, I come to thee,  
Thy tower with foes, is not begert about,  
If thou within, they are besieged without,  
One hair of thine more vigour doth retain  
To bind thy foe, then with an iron chain;  
Who might be gyued in such a golden string,  
would not be captive, though he were a King,  
Hadst thou all India heaped up in thy Fort,  
And thou thyself besieged in that sort,  
Get thou but out, where they can thee espy,  
They'll follow thee, and let the treasure lie.  
I cannot think what force thy tower should win,  
If thou thyself dost guard the same within,  
Thine eye retains artillery at will,  
To kill who ever thou desir'st to kill;  
For that alone more deeply wounds their hearts  
Then they can thee, though with a thousand darts,  
For there entrenched little Cupid lies,  
And from those turrets all the world defies,  
And when thou lettest down that transparent lid,  
Of entrance there an Army doth forbid.  
And as for famine, thou needs never fear,  
who thinks of want when thou art present there;  
Thy only sight gives spirit unto the blood,  
And comforts life, though never tasting food.  
And as thy soldiers keep their watch and ward,  
So chastity thy inward breast doth guard;  
Thy modest pulse serves as a alarm bell,  
Which watched by a wakeful Sentinel  
Is stirring still with every little fear,  
warning if any enemy be near;  
Thy virtuous thoughts, when all the others rest,  
Like careful scouts pass up and down thy breast,  
And still they round, about that place do keep,  
Whilst all the blessed garrison do sleep.  
But yet I fear, if that the truth were told,  
That thou hast robbed, and fliest unto this hold:  
I thought as much, and didst this Fort devise,  
That thou in safety, here mightst tyrannize.  
Yes, thou hast robbed the heaven and earth of all,  
And they against thy lawless theft do call;  
Thine eyes with mine, that wage continual wars,  
Borrow their brightness of the twinkling stars;  
Thy breath, for which mine still in sighs consumes  
Hath robbed sweet flowers, rich odours, and perfumes,  
Thy cheek, for which mine all this penance proves,  
Steals the pure whiteness both from Swans and Doves.  
Thy lips from mine, that in thy mask be penned,  
Have filched the blushing from the orient;  
O mighty Love! bring hither all thy power,  
And fetch this heavenly thief out of her Tower,  
For if she may be suffered in this sort,  
heavens store will soon be hoarded in this Fort.  
When I arrived before that state of love,  
And saw thee on the battlement above,  
I thought there was no other heaven but there,  
And thou an Angel didst from thence appear.  
But when my reason did correct mine eye,  
That thou wert subject to mortality,  
I then excused the Scot before had done,  
No marvel though, he would the fort have won,  
Perceiving well those envious walls did hide  
More wealth than was in all the world beside;  
Against thy foe, I came to lend thee aid,  
And thus to thee myself, myself betrayed;  
He is besieged, the siege that came to raise,  
There's no assault that not my breast assays,  
Love grown extreme, doth find unlawful shifts,  
The Gods take shapes, and do allure with gifts,  
Commanding love, that by great Styx doth swear,  
Forsworn in love, with lovers oaths doth bear,  
Love causeless still, doth aggravate his cause,  
It is his law to violate all laws;  
His reason is, in only wanting reason,  
And were untrue, not deeply tuched with treason;  
Th'unlawful means, doth make his lawful gain,  
He speaks most true, when he the most doth feign;  
Pardon the faults that have escaped by me,  
Against fair virtue, chastity, and thee;  
If Gods can their own excellence excel,  
It is in pardoning mortals that rebel.  
When all thy trials are enrouled by fame,  
And all thy sex made glorious by thy name,  
Then I a captive, shall be brought hereby  
To adorn the triumph of thy chastity;  
I sue not now thy Paramour to be,  
But as a husband to be linked to thee.  
I am England's heir, I think thou wilt confess,  
Wert thou a Prince, I hope I am no less;  
But that thy birth doth make thy stock divine,  
Else durst I boast, my blood as good as thine;  
Disdain me not, nor take my love in scorn,  
whose brow a crown hereafter may adorn.  
But what I am, I call mine own no more,  
Take what thou wilt, and what thou wilt restore,  
Only I crave, what ere I did intend,  
In faithful love, now happily may end.  
Farewell sweet Lady, so well mayst thou far  
To equal joy with measure of my care;  
Thy virtues more, then mortal tongue can tell,  
A thousand, thousand times, farewell, farewell.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Receive these papers from thy woeful Lord. 
BAndello, by whom this history was made famous, being an Italian, as it is the people's custom in that climbe● rather to fail sometime in the truth of circumstance, then toforgoe the grace of their 〈◊〉; in like manner as the Grecians, of whom the Satirist.  
Et quicquid Graecia mendax,  
Audet in historia.  
Thinking it to be a greater trial, that a Countess should be sued unto by a King, then by the son of a King, and consequently, that the honour of her chastity should be the more, hath caused it to be generally taken so; but as by Polidore, Fabian, and Froisard, appears the contrary is true. Yet may Bandello be very well excused as being a stranger, whose errors in the truth of our history are not so material, that they should need an invective, lest his wit should be defrauded of any part of his due, which were not less were every part a fiction. Howbeit, lest a common error should prevail against a truth these Epistles are conceived in those persons who were indeed the actors: to wit, Edward surnamed that Black Prince, not so much of his complexion, as of the dismal battles which he fought in France, (in like sense as we may say a black day) for some tragical event, though the sun shine never so bright therein. And Alice the Countess of Salisbury, who as it is certain was beloved of Prince Edward, so it is as certain that many points now current in the received story can never hold together, with likelihood of such enforcement, had it not been showed under the title of a King.  And when thou lettest down that transparent lid. 
Not that the lid is transparent, for no part of the skin is transparent, but for the gem which that closure is said to contain is transparent, for otherwise how could the mind understand by the eye, should not the images slide through the same, and replenish the stage of the fantasy? but this belongs to Optics. The Latins call the eye lid cilium (I will not say of celande) as the eye brow supercilium, and the hair on the eye lids palpebra, perhaps quod palpitet, all which have their distinct and necessary uses.    

Alice Countess of Salisbury, to the black Prince.  
AS one would grant; yet gladly would deny,  
Twixt hope and fear, I doubtfully reply;  
A woman's weakness, lest I should discover,  
Answering a Prince, and writing to a lover;  
And some say love, with reason doth dispense,  
And wrest our plain words to another sense:  
Think you not then, poor women had not need  
Be well advised to write, what men should reed,  
when being silent moving but awry,  
Gives cause of scandal and of obloquy;  
whilst in our hearts, our secret thoughts abide,  
Th'envenomed tongue of slander yet is tide,  
But if once spoke, delivered up to fame,  
Hers the report, but ours returns the shame.  
About to write, yet newly entering in,  
Methinks I end, ere I can well begin;  
When I would end, than something makes me stay,  
And then me thinks, I should have more to say,  
And some one thing remaineth in my breast;  
For want of words that cannot be expressed;  
what I would say; and said to thee I feign,  
Then in thy person I reply again,  
Then in thy cause, urge all I can object,  
Than what again, mine honour must respect.  
O Lord! what sundry passions do I try?  
Striving to hate, you forcing contrary;  
Being a Prince, I blame you not to prove,  
The greater reason to obtain your love.  
That greatness which doth challenge no denial,  
The only rest that doth allow my trial:  
Edward so great, the greater were his fall,  
And my offence in this were capital.  
To men is granted privilege to tempt,  
But in that charter, women be exempt:  
Men win us not, except we give consent;  
Against ourselves, except ourselves are bend.  
Who doth impute it is a fault to you?  
You prove not false, except we be untrue;  
It is your virtue, being men to try,  
And it is ours, by virtue to deny.  
Your fault itself, serves for the faults excuse,  
And makes it ours, though yours be the abuse.  
Beauty a beggar, fie it is too bad,  
when in itself sufficiency is had,  
Not made a lure t'entice the wandering eye,  
But an attire t'adorn sweet modesty.  
If modesty and women once do sever,  
Farewell our fame, farewell our name for ever.  
Let john and Henry, Edward's instance be,  
Matilda and fair Rosamond for me:  
A like both wooed, alike ●u'd to be won,  
Th'one by the Father, th'other by the Son.  
Henry obtaining, did our weakness wound,  
And lays the fault on wanton Rosamond;  
Matilda cha●t, in life, and death all one,  
By her denial, lays the fault on john,  
By these we prove, men accessary still,  
But women only principals of ill.  
What praise is ours, but what our virtues get?  
If they be lent, so much we be in debt,  
whilst our own honours, virtue doth defends  
All force too weak, what ever men pretend;  
If all the world else, should suborn our fame,  
'tis we ourselves that overthrow the same;  
And how so ere, although by force you win,  
Yet on our weakness still returns the sin.  
You are a virtuous Prince, so thought of all,  
And shall I then, be guilty of your fall?  
Now God forbid; yet rather let me die,  
Then such a sin, upon my soul should lie.  
Where is great Edward? whether is he led?  
At whose victorious name, whole Armies fled.  
Is that brave spirit, that conquered so in France,  
Thus overcome, and vanquished with a glance?  
Is that great heart, that did aspire so high,  
So soon transpersed with a woman's eye?  
He that a King, at Poycters battle took,  
Himself led captive with a wanton look?  
Twice as a bride, to Church I have been led,  
Twice have two Lords, enjoyed my Bridal bed;  
How can that beauty yet, be vndestroyed,  
That years have wasted, and two men enjoyed?  
Or should be thought fit for a Prince's store,  
Of which two subjects were possessed before?  
Let Spain, let France, or Scotland so prefer,  
Their infant Queens, for England's dowager,  
That blood should be, much more than half diuine●  
That should be equal every way with thine:  
Yet Princely Edward, though I thus reprove you,  
As mine own life, so dearly do I love you.  
My noble husband, which so loved you,  
That gentle Lord, that reverend Montague,  
Near mother's voice, did please her babe so well,  
As his did mine, of you to hear him tell;  
I have made short the hours, that time made long,  
And chained mine ears, unto his pleasing tongue,  
My lips have waited, on your praises worth,  
And snatched his words, ere he could get them forth;  
when he hath spoke, and something by the way●  
Hath broke off that he was about to say;  
I kept in mind, where from his tale he fell,  
Calling on him, the residue to tell;  
Oft he would say, how sweet a Prince is he.  
when I have praised him but for praising thee,  
And to proceed, I would entreat and woo,  
And yet to ease him, help and praise thee too:  
Must she be forced, t'exclaime th'injurious wrong?  
Offered by him, whom she hath loved so long?  
Nay, I will tell, and I durst almost swear,  
Edward will blush, when he his fault shall hear.  
judge now that time doth youths desire assuage,  
And reason mildly quenched the fire of rage.  
By upright justice, let my cause be tried,  
And be thou judge if I not justly chide.  
That not my Father's grave and reverent years,  
His bending knee, his cheeke-bedewing tears,  
His prayers, persuasions, nor entreaties could win,  
To free himself as guiltless of my sin.  
My mother's cries, her shrieks, her piteous moans,  
Her deepe-fetched sighs, her sad hart-breaking groans,  
Thy lustful rage, thy tyranny could stay;  
Mine honour's ruin, further to delay;  
Have I not loved you? say can you say no,  
That as mine own preserved your honour so.  
Had your ●ond will, your foul desires prevailed,  
when you by them my chastity assailed:  
Though this no way could have excused my fault,  
True virtue never yielded to assault,  
Yet what a thing were this it should be said,  
My parent's sin should to your charge be laid:  
And I have gained my liberty with shame,  
To save my life, made shipwreck of my name.  
Did Roxborough once vail her towering sane,  
To thy brave ensign, on the Northern plain?  
And to thy trumpet sounding from thy Tent,  
Often reply with joy, and merriment?  
And did receive thee as my sovereign liege  
Coming to aid, thou shouldst again besiege,  
To raise a foe, but for my treasure came  
To plant a foe, to take my honest name;  
Under pretence to have removed the Scot,  
And wouldst have won more than he could have got:  
That did engird me ready still to fly,  
But thou laidst battery to my chastity:  
O modesty, didst thou me not restrain,  
How I could chide you in this angry vain:  
A Prince's name, (heaven knows) I do not crave,  
To have those honours, Edward's spouse should have;  
Nor by ambitious lures will I be brought  
In my chaste breast to harbour such a thought,  
As to be worthy to be made a Bride,  
An empress place by mighty Edward's side,  
Of all the most unworthy of that grace,  
To wait on her that should enjoy that place.  
But if that love, Prince Edward doth require,  
Equal his virtues, and my chaste desire:  
If it be such as we may justly vaunt,  
A Prince may sue for, and a Lady grant:  
If it be such as may suppress my wrong,  
That from your vain unbridled youth hath sprung,  
That faith I send, that I from you receive,  
The rest unto your Princely thoughts I leave.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Twice as a Bride I have to Church been led. 
THe two husbands of which she maketh mention, objecting Bigamay against herself, as being therefore not meet to be married with a Batcheler-Prince, were Sir Thomas Holland Knight, & Sir William Montague, afterward made Earl of Salisbury.  That not my Father's grave and reverent years. 
A thing incredible, that any Prince should be so unjust to use the Father's means for the corruption of the daughter's chastity, though so the history importeth, her Father being so honourable, and a man of so singular desert, though Polidore would have her thought to be jane, the daughter to Edmund Earl of Kent, Uncle to Edward the third, beheaded in the Protectorship of Mortimer, that dangerous aspirer.  And I have gained my liberty with shame. 
Roxborough is a Castle in the North, mistermed by Bandello Salisbury Castle, because the king had given it to the Earl of Salisbury, in which her Lord being absent, the Countess by the Scots was besieged, who by the coming of the English Army were removed. here first the Prince saw her, whose liberty had been gained by her shame, had she been drawn by dishonest love to satisfy his appetite, but by her most praiseworthy constancy she converted that humour in him to an honourable purpose, & obtained the true reward of her admired virtues.  The rest unto your princely thoughts I leave. 
Lest any thing be left out which were worth the relation, it shall not be impertinent to annex the opinions that are uttered concerning her, whose name is said to have been A●lips, but that being rejected as a name unknown among us, Froisard is rather believed, who calleth her Alice. Polidore chose as before is declared, names her jane, who by Prince Edward had issue, Edward dying young, and Richard the second King of England, though (as he saith) she was divorced afterwards, because within the degrees of consanguinity prohibiting to marry, the truth whereof I omit to discuss, her husband the Lord Montague, being sent over with the Earl of Suffolk into Flaunders by King Edward, was taken prisoner by the French, & not returning, left his Countess a widow in whose bed succeeded Prince Edward, to whose last and lawful request the reioycefull Lady sends this loving answer.  
FINIS.     

To the Right Honourable and my very good Lord, Edward Earl of Bedford.  
THrice noble and my gracious Lord, the love I have ever borne to the illustrious house of Bedford, and to the honourable family of the harrington's, to the which by marriage your Lordship is happily united, hath long since devoted my true and zealous affection to your honourable service, and my Poems to the protection of my noble Lady, your Countess; to whose service I was first bequeathed, by that learned and accomplished Gentleman, Sir Henry Goodere, (not long since deceased,) whose I was whilst he was, whose patience pleased to bear with the imperfections of my heedless and unstated youth. That excellent and matchless Gentleman, was the first cherisher of my Muse, which had been by his death left a poor Orphan to the world, had he not before bequeathed it to that Lady whonne so dearly loved. Vouchsafe then my dear Lord to accept this Epistle, which I dedicate as zealously, as (I hope) you will patronize willingly, until some more acceptable service may be witness of my love to your honour.  
Your Lordships ever, Michael Drayton.   


Queen Isabella to Richard the second.  
¶ The Argument.  
Queen Isabella (the daughter of Charles King of France) being the second wife of Richard the second, the son of Edward the black Prince, the eldest son of King Edward the third; After the said Richard her husband was deposed from his crown and kingly dignity, by Henry Duke of Herford, the eldest son of john of Gaunt Duke of Lankaster, the fourth son of Edward the third, this Lady being then very young, was sent back again into France, without dower, at what time the deposed King her husband was sen● from the Tower of London (as a prisoner) unto Pomfret Castle. Whether this poor Lady bewailing her husband's misfortunes, writeth this Epistle from France.  
AS doth the yearly Auger of the spring  
In depth of woe, thus I my sorrow sing;  
words tuned with sighs, tears falling oft among  
A doleful bur●hen to a heavy song;  
Words issue forth to find my grief some way,  
Tears overtake them, and do bid them stay;  
Thus whilst one strives to keep the other back,  
Both once too forward, now are both too slack.  
If fatal Pomfret hath in former time  
Nurrished the grief of that unnatural Clime.  
Thither I send my sorrows to be fed,  
But where first borne, where fitter to be bred?  
They unto France be aliens and unknown,  
England from her doth challenge these her own.  
They say all mischief cometh from the North,  
It is too true, my fall doth set it forth;  
But why should I thus limmit grief a place,  
when all the world is filled with our disgrace?  
And we in bounds thus striving to contain it,  
The more resists the more we do restrain it.  
Oh how even yet I hate these wretched eyes,  
And in my glass oft call them faithless spies  
(Prepared for Richard) that unwares did look  
Upon that traitor, Henry Bolingbroke,  
But that excess of joy my sense bereaved  
So much my sight had never been deceived.  
Oh how unlike to my loved Lord was he,  
whom rashly I, sweet Richard took for thee,  
I might have seen the Courser's self did lack,  
That princely rider should bestride his back,  
He that (since nature her great work began)  
She made to be the mirror of a man,  
That when she meant to form some matchless limb  
Still for a pattern, took some part of him,  
And jealous of her cunning broke the mould,  
In his proportion done the best she could.  
Oh let that day be guilty of all sin,  
That is to come, or heretofore hath been,  
wherein great Norfolk's forward course was stayed,  
To prove the treasons he to Herford laid,  
when (with stern fury) both these Dukes enraged,  
Their warlike gloves at Coventry engaged,  
when first thou didst repeal thy former grant,  
Sealed to brave Mowbray, as thy Combatant,  
From his unnumbered hours let time divide it,  
Lest in his minutes, he should hap to hide it;  
Yet on his brow continually to bear it,  
That when it comes, all other days may fear it,  
And all ill-boding Planets, by consent,  
That day may hold their dreadful parliament,  
Be it in heavens Decrees enrolled thus,  
Black, dismal, fatal, inauspitious,  
Proud Herford then, in height of all his pride,  
Under great Mowbrayes' valiant hand had died;  
Nor should not thus from banishment retire,  
The fatal brand to set our Troy on fire.  
O why did Charles relieve his needy state?  
A vagabond, and straggling runagate;  
And in his Court, with grace did entertain  
This vagrant exile, this abjected Cain,  
Who with a thousand mother's curses went,  
Marked with the brands of ten years banishment.  
When thou to Ireland took'st thy last farewell,  
Millions of knees upon the pavements fell,  
And every where th'applauding echoes ring  
The joyful shouts that did salute a King;  
Thy parting hence, what pomp did not adorn?  
At thy return, who laughed thee not to scorn?  
Who to my Lord, a look vouchsafed to lend,  
Then all too few on Herford to attend.  
Princes (like suns) be evermore in sight,  
All see the clouds betwixt them and their light;  
Yet they which lighten all down from their skies,  
See not the clouds offending others eyes,  
And ●eeme their noontide is desired of all,  
When all expect clear changes by their fall.  
What colour seems to shadow herford's claim,  
when law and right his Father's hopes doth maim?  
Affirmed by Churchmen (which should bear no hate)  
That john of Gaunt, was illegitimate;  
whom his reputed Mother's tongue did spot,  
By a base Flemish Boor to be begot,  
whom Edward's Eaglets mortally did shun,  
Daring with them to gaze against the sun.  
Where lawful right and conquest doth allow,  
A triple crown on Richard's princely brow,  
Three kingly Lions bears his bloody field,  
No bastards mark doth blot his conquering shield,  
Never durst he attempt our hapless shore,  
Nor set his foot on fatal Ravenspore;  
Nor durst his slugging Hulks approach the strand,  
Nor stoop a top as signal to the land,  
Had not the Percyes' promised aid to bring,  
Against their oath unto their lawful King;  
Against their faith unto our Crowns true heir,  
Their valiant kinsman, Edmond Mortimer,  
When I to England came, a world of eyes  
Like stars attended on my fair arise,  
At my decline, like angry Planets frown,  
And all are set before my going down;  
The smooth-faced a●re did on my coming smile,  
But with rough storms are driven to exile;  
But Bullingbrooke devisd we thus should part,  
Fearing two sorrows should possess one heart;  
To make affliction stronger doth deny  
That one poor comfort left our misery.  
He had before divorced thy crown and thee,  
which might suffice, and not to widow me,  
But that to prove the utmost of his hate,  
To make our fall the greater by our state.  
Oh would Aume●le had sunk when he betrayed,  
The complot which that holy Abbot laid,  
when he infringed the oath which he first took  
For thy revenge on perjured Bullingbrooke.  
And been the ransom of our friends dear blood  
Untimely lost, and for the earth too good;  
And we untimely mourn our hard estate,  
They gone too soon, and we remain too late.  
And though with tears I from my Lord depart,  
This curse on Herford fall to ease my heart;  
If the foul breach of a chaste nuptial bed,  
May bring a curse, my curse light on his head;  
If murders guilt with blood may deeply stain,  
green, Scroop, and Bushie die his fault in grain;  
If perjury may heavens pure gates debar,  
Damned be the oath he made at Doncaster;  
If the deposing of a lawful King,  
Thy curse condemn him, if no other thing,  
If these disjoind, for vengeance cannot call,  
Let them united, strongly curse him all.  
And for the Percyes, heaven may hear my prayer,  
That Bullingbrooke now placed in Richard's chair,  
Such cause of woe unto their wives may be,  
As those rebellious Lords have been to me.  
And that proud Dame, which now controlleth all,  
And in her pomp triumpheth in my fall,  
For her great Lord may water her sad eyen,  
with as salt tears as I have done for mine;  
And mourn for Henry Hotspur, her dear son,  
As I for my sweet Mortimer have done;  
And as I am, so succourless be sent,  
Lastly, to taste perpetual banishment.  
Then lose thy care, where first thy crown was lost,  
Sell it so dearly, for it dearly cost;  
And sith they did of liberty deprive thee,  
Burying thy hope, let not thy care outlive thee.  
But hard (God knows) with sorrow doth it go,  
when woe becomes a comfort to woe;  
Yet much (me thinks) of comforter I could say,  
If from my heart pale fear were rid away;  
Some thing there is, which tells me still of woe,  
But what it is, that heaven above doth know,  
Grief to itself, most dreadful doth appear,  
And never yet was sorrow void of fear;  
But yet in death, doth sorrow hope the best,  
And with this farewell wish thee happy rest.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  If fatal Pomfret hath in former time 
POmfret Castle ever a fatal place to the Princes of England, and most ominous to the blood of Plantagenet.  
Oh how even yet I hate these wretched eyes  
And in my glass etc.  
When Bullingbrooke returned to London from the West, bringing Richard a prisoner with him, the Queen who little knew of her Husbands hard success, stayed to behold his coming in, little thinking to have seen her Husband thus led in triumph by his foe, and now seeming to hate her eyes, that so much had graced her mortal enemy.  Wherein great Norfolk's forward course was stayed. 
She remembreth the meeting of the two Dukes of Herforde and Norfolk at Coventry, urging the justness of Mowbrayes' quarrel against the Duke of Herford, & the faithful assurance of his victory.  
O why did Charles relieve his needy state?  
A vagabond etc.  
Charles the French King her father, received the Duke of Herford in his Court, and relieved him in France, being so nearly allied, as Cousin german to king Richard his son in Law, which he did simply, little thinking that he should after return into England, and dispossess King Richard of the Crown.  When thou to Ireland took'st thy last farewell. 
King Richard made a voyage with his Army into Ireland, against Onell & Mackemur which rebelled, at what time Henry entered here at home, and robbed him of all kingly dignity.  
Affirmed by Churchmen (which should bear no hate)  
That john of Gaunt was illegitimate.  
William Wickham, in the great quarrel betwixt john of Gaunt and the Clergy, of mere spite and malice (as it should seem) reported that the Queen confessed to him on her deathbed, being then her Confessor, that john of Gaunt, was the son of a Fleming, & that she was brought to bed of a woman child at Gaunt, which was smothered in the cradle by mischance, and that she obtained this child of a poor woman, making the king believe it was her own, greatly fearing his displeasure. Fox ex Chron. Alban●.  No bastards mark doth blot our conquering shield. 
Showing the true and indubitate birth of Richard, his right unto the Crown of England, as carrying the Arms without blot or difference.  
Against their faith unto the Crowns true heir,  
Their noble kinsman, etc.  
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, son of Earl Roger Mortimer which was son to Lady Philip, daughter to Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son to king Edward the third, which Edmund (king Richard going into Ireland) was proclaimed heir apparent to the Crown, whose Aunt called Ellinor, this Lord Fiercie had married.  
O would Aumerle had sunk when he betrayed  
The complot which that holy Abbot laid.  
The Abbot of Westminster had plotted the death of king Henry, to have been done at a Tilt at Oxford; of which confederacy there was, john Holland, Duke of Excester, Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, the Duke of Aumerle, Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, Spenser, Earl of Gloster, the Bishop of Carlisle, Sir Thomas Blunt, these all had bound themselves one to another by Indenture to perform it, but were all betrayed by the Duke of Aumerle.  Scroop, green, and Bushie, die his fault in grain, 
Henry going towards the Castle of Flint, where King Richard was, caused Scroop, green, & Bushie, to be executed at Bristol, as vile persons, which had seduced this king to this lascivious & wicked life.  Damned be the oath he made at Doncaster. 
After Henry's exile, at his return into England, he took his oath at Doncaster upon the Sacrament, not to claim the crown, or kingdom of England, but only the Dukedom of Lancaster, his own proper right, and the right of his wife.  
And mourn for Henry Hotspur, her dear son,  
As I for my &c.  
This was the brave courageous Henry Hotspur, that obtained so many victories against the Scots, which after falling out right with the curse of Queen Isabella, was slain by Henry, at the battle at Shrewsburie.    

Richard the second to Queen Isabell.  
WHat may my Queen, but hope for from that hand,  
Unfit to write; unskilful to command?  
A kingdoms greatness, hardly can he sway,  
That wholesome counsel never did obey;  
Ill this rude hand did guide a Sceptre then,  
Worse now (I fear me) governeth a pen,  
How shall I call myself, or by what name,  
To make thee know from whence these letters came?  
Not from thy husband, for my hateful life,  
Hath made thee widow, being yet a wife;  
Nor from a King, that title I have lost,  
Now of that name proud Bulling brook may boast:  
what I have been, doth but this comfort bring,  
That no woe is, to say, I was a King.  
This lawless life, which first procured my hate,  
This tongue, which then denounced my regal state,  
This abject mind, that did consent unto it,  
This hand, that was the instrument to do it;  
All these be witness, that I do deny  
All passed hopes, all former sovereignty.  
Didst thou for my sake leave thy father's Court,  
Thy famous Country, and thy virgin port,  
And vndertook'st to travail dangerous waves,  
Driven by awkward winds, and boisterous seas;  
And left's great Bourbon for thy love to me,  
who sued in marriage to be linked to thee;  
Offering for dower the Country's neighbouring nigh,  
Of fruitful Almain, and rich Burgundy;  
Didst thou all this, that England should receive thee,  
To miserable banishment to leave thee?  
And in my downfall, and my fortune's wrack,  
Forsaken thus, to France to send thee back.  
When quiet sleep (the heavy heart's relief)  
Hath rested sorrow, somewhat lessened grief,  
My passed greatness unto mind I call,  
And think this while I dreamt of my fall;  
with this conceit, my sorrows I beguile,  
That my fair Queen is but withdrawn awhile,  
And my attendants in some chamber by,  
As in the height of my prosperity.  
Calling aloud, and ask who is there,  
The Echo answering, tells me Woe is there,  
And when mine arms would gladly thee enfold,  
I clip the pillow, and the place is cold,  
which when my waking eyes precisely view,  
'tis a true token, that it is too true.  
As many minutes as in the hours there be,  
So many hours each minute seems to me;  
Each hour a day, morn, noontide, and a set,  
Each day a year, with miseries complete.  
A winter, spring-time, summer, and a fall,  
All seasons varying, but unseasoned all;  
In endless woe, my thread of life thus wears,  
By minutes, hours, days, months, and lingering years,  
They praise the Summer, that enjoy the South,  
Pomfret is closed in the Norths cold mouth:  
There pleasant Summer dwelleth all the year,  
Frost-starued-winter doth inhabit here;  
A place wherein despair may fitly dwell,  
Sorrow best suiting with a cloudy Cell:  
When Herford had his judgement of exile,  
Saw I the people's murmuring the while;  
Th'uncertain Commons touched with inward care,  
As though his sorrows mutually they bore:  
Fond women, and scarce speaking children mourn,  
Bewail his parting, wishing his return;  
Then being forced t'abridge his banished years,  
when they bedewed his footsteps with their tears:  
Yet by example could not learn to know  
To what his greatness by this love might grow,  
whilst Henry boasts of our atthievements done,  
Bearing the trophies our great fathers won;  
And all the story of our famous war  
Now grace the Annals of great Lancaster.  
Seven goodly scions in their spring did flourish,  
which one self root brought forth, one stock did nourish:  
Edward the top-braunch of that golden tree,  
Nature in him her utmost power did see,  
who from the bud still blossomed so fair,  
As all might judge what fruit it meant to bear:  
But I his graft of every weed o'ergrown,  
And from the kind, as refuse forth am thrown,  
From our brave Grandsire, both in one degree,  
Yet after Edward, john the youngest of three.  
Might princely Wales beget an Imp so base,  
(That to Gaunts issue should give sovereign place)  
That leading Kings from France returned home,  
As those great Caesars brought their spoils to Rome,  
whose name obtained by his fatal hand,  
was ever fearful to that conquered land;  
His fame increasing, purchased in those wars,  
Can scarcely now be bounded with the stars.  
With him is valour quite to heaven fled,  
(Or else in me is it extinguished,)  
who for his virtue and his conquests sake  
Posterity a demie God shall make,  
And judge this ●ile and abject spirit of mine  
Could not proceed from temper so divine:  
What earthly humour, or what vulgar eye  
Can look so low as on our misery?  
When Bulling brook is mounted to our throne,  
And makes that his, which we but called our own:  
Into our Counsels he himself intrudes,  
And who but Henry with the multitudes.  
His power disgrad's, his dreadful frown disgraceth,  
He throws them down, whom our advancement placeth;  
As my disable, and unworthy hand,  
Never had power belonging to command.  
He treads our sacred tables in the dust,  
And proves our acts of Parliament unjust;  
As though he hated that it should be said,  
That such a law by Richard once was made.  
Whilst I depresd before his greatness lie,  
Under the weight of hate and infamy.  
My back a footstool Bulling brook to raise,  
My looseness mocked, and hateful by his praise:  
Outlived mine honour, buried my estate,  
And nothing left me, but the people's hate.  
(Sweet Queen) i'll take all counsel thou canst give,  
So that thou bid'st me neither hope nor live;  
Secure that comes, when ill hath done his worst,  
But sharpens grief, to make us more accursed.  
Comfort is now unpleasing to mine ear,  
Past cure, past care, my bed become my Beer.  
Since now misfortune humbleth us so long,  
Till heaven be grown unmindful of our wrong,  
Yet they forbid my wrongs shall ever die,  
But still remembered to posterity;  
And let the crown be fatal that he wears,  
And ever wet with woeful mother's tears.  
Thy curse on Percy angry heavens prevent,  
who have not one cuise left, on him unspent,  
To scourge the world, now horrowing of my store,  
As rich of woe, as I a King am poor.  
Then cease (dear Queen) my sorrows to bewail,  
My wounds too great for pity now to heal,  
Age stealeth on, whilst thou complainest thus,  
My griefs be mortal, and infectious;  
Yet better fortunes, thy fair youth may try,  
That follow thee, which still from me doth fly.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  This tongue which first denounced my regal flate. 
RIchard the second, at the resignation of the Crown to the Duke of Herford, in the Tower of London, delivering the lame with his own hand, there confessed his disability to govern, utterly denouncing all kingly dignity.  And left'st great Bourbon for thy love to me, 
Before the Princess Isabella was married to the King, Lewes Duke of Bourbon sued to have had her in marriage, which was thought he had obtained, if this motion had not fallen out in the mean time; This Duke of Bourbon sued again to have received her at her coming into France, after the imprisonment of King Richard, but King Charles' her Father then crossed him as before, and gave her to Charles, son to the Duke of Orleans.  When Herford had his judgement of exile, 
When the combat should have been at Coventrie, betwixt Hen●ie Duke of Herford, and Thomas Duke of Norfolk; where Her●ord was adjudged to banishment for ten years, the Commons exceeding lamented, so greatly was he ever favoured of the people.  Then being forced t'abridge his banished years. 
When the Duke came to take his leave of the King, being then at Eltham, the King to please the Commons, rather than for any lou● he bear to Herford, repleaded four years of his banishment.  Whilst Henry boasts of our achievements done, 
Henry the eldest Son to john Duke of Lancaster, at the first Earl of Derby, then created Duke of Herford, after the death of the Duke john his Father, was Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, Earl of Derby, Leicester, and Lincoln; and after he had obtained the Crown, was called by the name of Bullingbrooke, which is a town in Lincolnshire, as usually all the Kings of England bore the name of the places where they were borne.  Seven goodly scions in their spring did flourish, 
Edward the third had seven Sons, Edward Prince of Wales, after called the black Prince, William of Hatfield the second, Lionel Duke of Clarence the third, john of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster the fourth, Edmond of Langley Duke of York the Fifth, Thomas of Woodstock Duke of Gloster the sixth, William of Windsor the seventh.  Edward the top-branch of that golden tree, 
Truly boasting himself to be the eldest Son of Edward the black Prince.  Yet after Edward, john the youngest of three. 
As disabling Henry Bullingbrooke, being but the son of the fourth brother: William and Lionel being both before john of Gaunt.  That leading Kings from France, returned home 
Edward the black Prince, taking john King of France prisoner, at the battle of Poict●●s, brought him into England, where at the Savoy he died.  Whose name achieved by his fatal hand, 
Called the black Prince, not so much of his complexion, as of the famous battle he fought, as is showed before: in the Gloss upon the Epistle of Edward to the Countess of Salisbury.  And proves our acts of Parliament unjust. 
In the next Parliament, after Richard's resignation of the Crown, Henry caused to be annihilated all the laws made in the Parliament, called the wicked Parliament, held in the twenty year of king Richard's reign.  
FINIS.     


Queen Katherine to Owen Tudor.  
The Argument.  
After the death of that victorious Henry the fifth, Queen Katherine, the dowager of England and France, daughter to Charles the French King, holding her estate with Henry her son, (than the sixth of that name,) falleth in love with Owen Tuder, a Welshman, a brave and gallant Gentleman of the Wardrobe to the young King her son; yet greatly fearing if her love should be discovered, the Nobility would cross her purposed marriage; or fearing, that if her fair & princely promises should not assure his good success, this high and great attempt, might (perhaps) daunt the forwardness of his modest and shamefast youth; wherefore to break the Ice to her intent, she writeth unto him this Epistle following.  
judge not a Princess worth impeached hereby  
That love thus triumphs over majesty;  
Nor think less virtue in this royal hand,  
which now entreats, that wont to command,  
For in this sort, though humbly now it woo,  
The day hath been, thou wouldst have kneeled unto.  
Nor think that this submission of my state,  
Proceeds from frailty, (rather judge it fate)  
Alcides' near more fit for wars stern shock,  
Then when for love sat spinning at the rock,  
Never less clouds did Phoebus' glory dim,  
Then in a clowns shape when he covered him;  
●oues great command was never more obeyed,  
Then when a satires antic parts he played.  
He was thy King that sued for love to me,  
She is thy Queen that sues for love to thee.  
When Henry was, what's tudor's now, was his;  
whilst yet thou art, what's Henries, tudor's is;  
My love to Owen, him my Henry giveth,  
My love to Henry, in my Owen liveth;  
Henry wooed me, whilst wars did yet increase,  
I woo my Tudor, in sweet calms of peace,  
To force affection, he did conquest prove,  
I fight with gentle arguments of love.  
Encamped at Melans, In wars hot alarms,  
First saw I Henry, clad in princely Arms.  
At pleasant Windsor, first these eyes of mine,  
My Tudor judged for wit and shape divine.  
Henry abroad, with puissance and with force,  
Tudor at home, with courtship and discourse,  
He then, thou now, I hardly can judge whether  
Did like me best, Plantagenet or Tether.  
A march, a measure, battle, or a dance,  
A courtly rapier, or a conquering Lance.  
His princely bed hath strengthened my renown,  
And on my temples set a double crown;  
which glorious wreath, (as Henry's lawful heir)  
Henry the sixth upon his brow doth bear.  
At Troy in Champain he did first enjoy  
My bridal-rites, to England brought from Troy,  
In England now, that honour thou shalt have,  
which once in Champain famous Henry gaue●  
I seek not wealth, three kingdoms in my power,  
If these suffice not, where shall be my dower?  
Sad discontent may ever follow her,  
which doth base pelf before true love prefer;  
If ●itles still could our affections tie,  
what is so great but majesty might buy?  
As I seek thee, so Kings do me desire,  
To what they would, thou easily may'st aspire.  
That sacred fire, once warmed my heart before,  
The fuel fit, the flame is now the more,  
And means to quench it, I in vain do prove,  
we may hide treasure, but not hide our love,  
And since it is thy fortune (thus) to gain it,  
It were too late, nor will I now restrain it.  
Nor these great titles vainly will I bring,  
wife, daughter, mother, sister to a King,  
Of grandsire, father, husband, son, & brother,  
More thou alone to me, than all the other.  
Nor fear my Tudor that this love of mine,  
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne great Lancastrian lin●,  
Nor stir the English blood, the Sun and Moon,  
T'repine at Lorraine, Bourbon, Alansoon;  
Nor do I think there is such different odds,  
They should alone be numbered with the Gods.  
Of Cadmus' earthly issue reckoning us,  
And they from ●oue, Mars, Neptune, Aeolus,  
Of great Latona's offspring only they,  
And we the brats of woeful Niobe,  
Our famous Grandsires (as their own) bestrid,  
That horse of fame, that God-begotten steed,  
whose bounding hoof ploughed that Boetian spring,  
where those sweet maids of memory do sing,  
Not only Henry's Queen, but boast as well,  
To be the child of Charles and Isabell.  
Nor do I know from whence their grief should grow,  
They by this match should be disparaged so,  
when john and Longshanks issue both affied,  
And to the Kings of Wales in wedlock tied,  
Showing the greatness of your blood thereby,  
Your race, and royal consanguinity.  
And Wales as well as haughty England boasts,  
Of Camelot, and all her Penticosts;  
A nephews room in great Pondragons' race,  
At Arthur's table held a princely place.  
If by the often conquest of your land  
They boast the spoils of their victorious hand,  
If these our ancient Chronicles be true,  
They altogether are not free from you.  
When bloody Rufus fought your utter sack,  
Twice entering Wales, yet twice was beaten back,  
When famous Cambria washed her in the flood,  
Made by th'effusion of the English blood;  
And oft returned with glorious victory,  
From Worster, Herford, Chester, Shrowesbury,  
whose power in every conquest so prevails,  
As once expulsed the English out of Wales.  
Although my beauty made my Country's peace,  
And at my bridal former broils did cease,  
Yet more than power, had not his person been,  
I had not come to England as a Queen.  
Nor took I Henry to supply my want,  
Because in France that time my choice was scant;  
when we had robbed all Christendom of men,  
And England's flower remained amongst us then;  
Gloster, whose counsels (Nestor-like) assist,  
Courageous Bedford, that great martialist;  
Clarence, for virtue honoured of his foes,  
And York, whose fame yet daily greater grows,  
Warwick, the pride of Nevels haughty race,  
Great Salisbury, so feared in every place.  
That valiant Pool, whom no atchivement dares,  
And Vere, so famous in the Irish wars,  
who though myself so great a Prince were borne,  
The worst of these my equal need not scorn;  
But Henry's rare perfections and his parts,  
As conquering kingdoms, so he conquered hearts.  
As chaste was I to him, as Queen might be,  
But freed from him, my chaste love vowed to thee;  
Beauty doth fetch all favour from thy face,  
All perfect courtship resteth in thy grace.  
If thou discourse, thy lips such accents break,  
As love a spirit, forth of thee seemed to speak.  
The British language, which our vowels wants,  
And jars so much upon harsh consonants,  
Comes with such grace from thy mellifluous tongue,  
As do the sweet notes of a well set song,  
And runs as smoothly from those lips of thine,  
As the pure Tuscan from the Florantine;  
Leaving such seasoned sweetness in the ear,  
As the voice past, yet still the found is there;  
In Nisus Tower, as when Apollo lay,  
And on his golden vial used to play,  
where senseless stones were with such music drowned,  
As many years they did retain the sound.  
Let not the beams that greatness doth reflect  
Amaze thy hopes with timorous respect,  
Assure thee Tudor, majesty can be  
As kind in love, as can the meanest degree,  
And the embraces of a Queen as true,  
As theirs (might judge them) much advanced by you,  
when in our greatness our affections crave  
Those secret joys that other women have;  
So I (a Queen) be sovereign in my choice,  
Let others fawn upon the public voice,  
Or what (by this) can ever hap to thee,  
Light in respect to be beloved of me.  
Let peevish worldlings prate of right and wrong,  
Leave plaints and pleas, to whom they do belong,  
Let old men speak of chances and events,  
And Lawyers talk of titles, and descents,  
Leave fond reports to such as stories tell,  
And covenants to those that buy and sell;  
Love my sweet Tudor, that becomes thee best,  
And to our good success refer the rest.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Great Henry sought to accomplish his desire,  
Armed, etc.  
HEnry the fifth making claim unto the Crown of France, first sought by Arms to subdue the French, and after sought by marriage to confirm what he got by conquest, the heat and fury of which invasion, is alluded to the fixtion of Semele in Ovid: which by the crafty persuasion of juno, requested jove to come unto her, as he was wont to come unto his wife juno, who at her request he yielding unto, destroyed her in a tempest.  
Encamped at Melans in wars hot alarms,  
First, etc.  
near unto Melans, upon the River of Scyne, was the appointed place of parley, between the two Kings of England, and France, to which place, Isabella the Queen of France, and the Duke of Burgoyne, brought the young Princess Katherine, where King Henry first saw her.  And on my temples set a double Crown. 
Henry the fifth, and Queen Katherine, were taken as King and Queen of France, and during the life of Charles the French King, Henry was called King of England, and heir of France, & after the death of Henry the fifth, Henry the sixth his son, then being very young, was crowned at Paris, as true and lawful king of England & France.  At Troy in Champain he did first enjoy, 
Troy in Champayn, was the place where that victorious king Henry the fifth married the Princess Katherine, in the presence of the chief nobility of the Realms of England and France.  
Nor these great titles vainly will I bring,  
Wife, daughter, Mother, etc.  
Few Queens of England, or France, were ever more princely allied then this Queen, as it hath been noted by Historiographers.  
Nor think so Tudor, that this love of mine,  
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne● etc.  
Noting the descent of Henry her husband, from john Duke of Lancaster, the fourth son of Edward the third, which Duke john was surnamed Gaunt, of the city of Gaunt in Flaunders, where he was borne.  
Nor stir the English blood, the sun and Moon,  
T'repine etc.  
Alluding the greatness of the English line, to Phoebus & Phoebe, feigned to be the children of Latona, whose heavenly kind might scorn to be joined with any earthly progeny: yet withal, boasting the blood of France, as not inferior to theirs. And with this allusion followeth on the history of the strife betwixt juno and the race of Cadmus, whose issue was afflicted by the wrath of heaven. The children of Niobe slain, for which the woeful mother became a Rock, gushing forth continually a fountain of tears.  And john and Longshanks issue, both affied, 
Lhewellin or Leolin ap jorwerth, married joan, daughter to King john, a most beautiful Lady. Some Authors affirm that she was base borne, Lhewellin ap Gryfith married Ellenor, daughter to Simon Montfort, Earl of Leicester, and Cousin to Edward Longshanks, both which Lhewellins were Princes of Wales.  
Of Camelot and all her Pentecosts,  
A nephews room, etc.  
Camelot, the ancient Palace of King Arthur, to which place all the Knights of that famous order yearly repaired at Penticost according to the law of the Table, and most of the famous home-born Knights were of that Country, as to this day is perceived by their ancient monuments.  When bloody Rufus sought your utter sack, 
Noting the ill success which that William Rufus had in two voyages he made into Wales, in which a number of his chief Nobility were slain.  
And oft returned with glorious victory.  
Nothing the divers sundry incursions that the Welshmen made into England, in the time of Rufus, john, Henry the second, & Longshanks.    

Owen Tudor to Queen Katherine.  
WHen first mine eyes beheld your princely name,  
And found from whence this friendly letter came,  
As in excess of joy myself forgot,  
whether I saw it, or I saw it not;  
My panting heart doth bid mine eyes proceed,  
My dazzled eye, invites my tongue to reed;  
Mine eye should guide my tongue, amazed missed it,  
My lips which now should speak, are dumb, and kissed it,  
And leaves the paper in my trembling hand,  
when all my senses so amazed stand;  
Even as a mother coming to her child,  
which from her presence hath been long exiled,  
with tender arms his gentle neck doth strain,  
Now kissing him, now clipping him again;  
And yet excessive you deludes her so,  
As still she doubts if this be hers or no;  
At length awakened from this pleasing dream,  
when passion somewhat leaves to be extreme,  
My longing eyes, with their fair object meet,  
where every letter's pleasing, each word sweet.  
It was not Henry's conquests, nor his Court,  
That had the power to win me by report,  
Nor was his dreadful terror-striking name,  
The cause that I from Wales to England came,  
For Christian Rhodes, and our religious truth,  
To great achievements first had won my youth;  
Before adventure did my valour prove,  
Before I yet knew what it was to love;  
Nor came I hither by some poor event,  
But by th'eternal Destinies consent,  
whose uncomprised wisdoms did foresee,  
That you in marriage should be linked to me.  
By our great Merlin, was it not foretold,  
(Amongst his holy prophecies enrolled)  
when first he did of tudor's fame divine,  
That Kings and Queens should follow in our line?  
And that the Helm, (the tudor's ancient Crest)  
Should with the golden Flower-delice be dressed;  
And that the Leek, (our Countries chief renown)  
Should grow with Roses, in the English Crown:  
As Charles fair daughter, you the Lily wear,  
As Henry's Queen, the blushing Rose you bear;  
By france's conquest, and by England's oath,  
You are the true made dowager of both;  
Both in your crown, both in your cheek together,  
join Tethers love to yours, and yours to Tether.  
Then make no future doubts, nor fear no hate,  
when it so long hath been foretold by Fate;  
And by the all-disposing doom of heaven,  
Before our births, unto one bed were given  
No Pallas here, nor juno is at all,  
when I to Venus give the golden ball;  
Nor when the Grecians wonder I enjoy,  
None in revenge to kindle fire in Troy.  
And have not strange events divined to us,  
That in our love we should be prosperous.  
When in your presence I was called to dance,  
In lofty tricks whilst I myself advance,  
And in my turn, my footing failed by hap,  
was't not my chance to light into your lap?  
who would not judge it fortunes greatest grace,  
Sith he must fall, to fall in such a place?  
His birth from heaven, your Tudor not derives,  
Nor stands on tiptoes in superlatives,  
Although the envious English do devise  
A thousand jests of our hyperboles;  
Nor do I claim that plot by ancient deeds,  
where Phoebus' pastures his fire-breathing steeds;  
Nor do I boast my God-made Grandsire's scars,  
Nor Giants trophies in the Tytans wars;  
Nor feign my birth (your princely ears to please)  
By three nights getting as was Hercules,  
Nor do I forge my long descent to run  
From aged Neptune, or the glorious Sun,  
And yet in Wales with them most famous be  
Our learned Bards do sing my pedigree,  
And boast my birth from great Cadwallader,  
From old Cair-septon, in Mount Palador,  
And from Eneons line, the South-wales King,  
By Theodor the tudor's name do bring.  
My royal mother's princely stock began,  
From her great Grandam fair Gwenellian;  
By true descent from Leolin the great,  
As well from North-wales as fair Powslands seat;  
Though for our princely Genealogy,  
I do not stand to make Apology;  
Yet who with judgements true unpartial eyes,  
Shall look from whence our name at first did rise,  
Shall find that Fortune is to us in debt;  
And why not Tudor, as Plantagenet;  
Nor that term Croggen, nickname of disgrace,  
Used as a byword now in every place,  
Shall blot our blood, or wrong a Welshman's name,  
which was at first begot with England's shame.  
Our valiant swords, our right did still maintain,  
Against that cruel, proud, usurping Dane;  
And buckled in so many dangerous fights,  
with Norway's, Swethens, and with Muscovites,  
And kept our native language now thus long,  
And to this day yet never changed our tongue;  
when they which now our Nation fain would tame,  
Subdued, have lost their Country, and their name:  
Nor never could the Saxons swords provoke,  
Our Britain necks to bear their servile yoke,  
where Cambria's pleasant Countries bounded be,  
with swelling Severne, and the holy Dee;  
And since great Brutus first arrived, have stood,  
The only remnant of the Trojan blood.  
To every man is not allotted chance,  
To boast with Henry to have conquered France;  
Yet if my fortunes thus may raised be,  
This may presage a farther good to me.  
And our S. David, in the Britons right,  
May join with George, the sainted English Knight,  
And old Caer-marden, Merlin's famous town,  
Not scorned by London, though of such renowre,  
Ah would to God, that hour my hopes attend,  
were with my wish, brought to desired end,  
Blame me not Madam, though I thus desire,  
when eyes, with envy do my hap admire;  
Till now your beauty in night's bosom slept,  
what eye durst stir, where awful Henry kept●  
Who durst attempt to sail but near the bay,  
where that all-conquering great Alcides lay?  
Thy beauty now is set a royal prize,  
And Kings repair to cheapen merchandise.  
If thou but walk to take the breathing air,  
Orithia makes me that I Boreas fear,  
If to the fire, jove once in lightning came,  
And fair Egina make me fear the flame.  
If in the sun, then sad suspicion dreams  
Phoebus should spread Lycothoe in his beams,  
If in a fountain thou dost cool thy blood,  
Neptune I fear, which once came in a flood;  
If with thy maids, I dread Apollo's rape,  
who cus●ed Chion in an old wives shape;  
If thou dost banquet Bacchus makes me dread,  
who in a grape Erigone did feed;  
And if myself the chamber door should keep,  
Yet fear I Hermes, coming in a sleep,  
Pardon (sweet Queen) if I offend in this,  
In these delays, love most impatient is;  
And youth wants power his hot spleen to suppress,  
when hope already banquets in excess.  
Though Henry's fame, in me you shall not find,  
Yet that which better shall content your mind;  
But only in the title of a King  
was his advantage, in no other thing:  
If in his love more pleasure you did take,  
Never let Queen trust Britain for my sake.  
Yet judge me not from modesty exempt,  
That I another Phaeton's charge attempt;  
My mind that thus your favours dare aspire,  
Declare a temper of celestial fire;  
If love a fault, the more is beauty's blame,  
when she herself is author of the same.  
All men to some one quality incline,  
Only to love, is naturally mine.  
Thou art by beauty famous, as by birth.  
Ordained by heaven, to cheer the drooping earth,  
Add faithful love unto your greater state,  
And then alike in all things fortunate.  
A King might promise more, I not deny,  
But yet (by heaven) he loved not more than I.  
And thus I leave, till time my faith approve,  
I cease to write, but never cease to love.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  And that the helm, the tudor's ancient Crest, 
THe Arms of Tudor was the Helms of men's heads, whereof he speaketh as a thing prophetically foretold of Merlin.  When in thy presence I was called to dance. 
Owen Tudor, being a courtly and active Gentleman, commanded once to dance before the Queen, in a turn (not being able to recover himself) fell into her lap, as she sat upon a little stool, with many of her Ladies about her.  
And yet with them in Wales most famous be,  
Our learned Bards, etc.  
This Berdh, as they call it in the British tongue, or as we more properly say Bard, or Bardus, be their Poets, which keep the records of Petigrees and descents, and sing in odes and measures to the Harps, after the old manner of the Lirick Poets.  And boast my blood from great Cadwallader. 
Cadwallader, the last King of the Britons, descended of the noble and ancient race of the Trojans, to whom an Angel appeared. commanding him to go to Rome to Pope Sergius, where he ended his life.  Since fair Caer-Septon in mount Paladar, 
Caer-Septon, now called Shaftsbury, at whose building it was said, an Eagle prophesied (or rather one named Aquila) of the fame of that place, and of the recovery of the I'll of the Britons, bringing back with them the bones of Cadwallader from Rome.  
And from Eneons line, the South-wales King,  
From Theodor, etc.  
This Eneon was slain by the Rebels of Gwentsland, he was a noble and worthy Gentleman, who in his life did many noble acts, and was Father to Theodor, or Tudor Maur, of whom descended the Princes of South-Wales.  From her great Grandam fair Guenelliam, 
Guenelliam, the daughter of Rees ap Greffeth, ap Theodor, Prince of South-wales, married Ednivet Vahan, ancestor to Owen Tudor.  By true descent from Liolin the great, 
This is the Lewhelin, called Liolinus magnus, Prince of North-wales.  Nor that word Croggen, nickname of disgrace. 
In the voyage that Henry the second made against the Welshmen, as his Soldiers passed Offas' ditch at Croggen Castle, they were overthrown by the Welshmen, which word Croggen, hath since been used to the welshmen's disgrace, which was at first begun with their honour.  And old Caer-Merdin, Merlin's famous town, 
Caer-Merdin, or Merlin's Town, so called of Merlin's being found there. This was Ambrose Merlin, whose prophecies we● have. There was another of that name, called Merlin Silvestris, borne in Scotland, surnamed Calidonius, of the Forest Calydon, where he prophesied.  And kept our native language now thus long. 
The Welshmen be those ancient Britons, which when the Picks, Danes, and Saxons invaded here, were first diven into those parts, where they have kept their language ever since the first, without commixion with any other language.  
FINIS.     

To my worthy and dearly esteemed Friend, Master james Huish.  
SIR, your own natural inclination to virtue, & your love to the Muses, assure me of your kind acceptance of my dedication. It is seated by custom (from which we are now bold to assume authority) to bear the names of our friends upon the fronts of our books, as Gentlemen use to set their Arms over their gates. Some say this use began by the Heroes and brave spirits of the old world, which were desirous to be thought to patronize learning; and men in requital honour the names of those brave Princes. But I think some after, put the names of great men in their books, for that men should say there was some thing good, only because indeed their names stood there; But for mine own part, (not to dissemble) I find no such virtue in any of their great titles to do so much for any thing of mine, and so let them pass. Take knowledge by this I love you, & in good faith, worthy of all love I think you, which I pray you may supply the place of further complement.  
Yours ever, M. Drayton.   


Elinor Cobham to Duke Humphrey.  
The Argument.  
Elinor Cobham, daughter to the Lord Cobham of Sterborough, and wife to Humphrey Plantagenet Duke of Gloucester, the son of Henry the fourth, King of England, surnamed Bullingbrooke. This noble Duke for his great wisdom and justice called the good, was by King Henry the fifth (brother to this Duke) at his death appointed Protector of the Land, during the nonage of Henry the sixth; this Elinor Duchess of Gloucester, a proud and ambitious woman, knowing that if young Henry died without issue, the duke her husband was the nearest of the blood, conspired with one Bullenbrooke, (otherwise called Only, a great Magician) Hun a priest, and jourdane witch of Eye, by sorcery to make away the king, & by conjuration to know who should succeed. Of this being justly convicted, she was adjudged to do penance three several times openly in London, & then to perpetual banishment in the I'll of Man, from whence she writeth this Epistle.  
ME thinks not knowing, who these lines should send,  
Thou strait turn'st over to the latter end,  
Where thou my name no sooner haste espied,  
But in disdain my letters casts aside;  
Why if thou wilt, I will myself deny,  
Nay, I'll affirm and swear I am not I,  
Or if in that thy shame thou dost perceive,  
I'll leave that name, that name myself shall leave,  
And yet me thinks, amazed thou shouldst not stand,  
Nor seem so much appalled at my hand,  
For my misfortunes have enured thine eye  
(Long before this) to sights of misery;  
No, no, read on, 'tis I the very same,  
All thou canst read, is but to read my shame.  
Be not dismayed, nor let my name affright,  
The worst it can, is but t'offend thy sight;  
It cannot wound, nor do thee deadly harm,  
It is no dreadful spell, nor magic charm;  
If she that sent it, love Duke Humphrey so,  
Is't possible her name should be his foe?  
Yes, I am Elinor, I am very she,  
who brought for dower, a virgin's bed to thee,  
Though envious Beuford slandered me before,  
To be Duke Humfreys wanton Paramore,  
And though indeed, I can it not deny,  
To magic once I did myself apply,  
I won thee not, as there be many think,  
with poisoning philtre, and betwitching drink,  
Nor on thy person did I ever prove,  
Those wicked potions, so procuring love,  
I cannot boast to be rich Holland's heir,  
Nor of the blood and greatness of Bavier,  
Yet Elinor, brought no foreign Armies in,  
To fetch her back, as did thy jacomin;  
Nor clamorous husbands followed me that fled,  
Exclaiming Humphrey to defile his bed,  
Nor wast thou forced the slander to suppress,  
To send me back as an adulteress;  
Brabant, nor Burgoyne, claimed me by force,  
Nor sued to Rome to hasten my divorce,  
Nor Belgias' pomp, defaced with Belgias fire,  
The just reward of her unjust desire,  
Nor Bedford's spouse, your noble sister Anne,  
That princely-issued great Burgunnian;  
Should stand with me, to move a woman's strife,  
To yield the place to the Protectors wife.  
If Cobham's name, my birth can dignify,  
Or Sterborough, renown my family,  
Where's Greenwich now, thy Elinor's Court of late?  
where she with Humphrey held a princely state.  
That pleasant Kent, when I abroad should ride,  
That to my pleasure, laid forth all her pride;  
The Thames, by water when I took the air,  
Danced with my Barge in launching from the stair,  
The anchoring ships, that when I passed the road  
were wont to hang their chequered tops abroad;  
How could it be, those that were wont to stand,  
To see my pomp, so goddesse-like on land,  
Should after see me mayld up in a sheet,  
Do shameful penance, three times in the street?  
Rung with a bell, a Taper in my hand,  
Barefoot to trudge before a Beedles wand;  
That little babes, not having use of tongue,  
Stood pointing at me as I came along.  
where's Humfreys power, where was his great command,  
waste thou not Lord-protector of the Land?  
Or for thy justice, who can thee deny,  
The title of the good Duke Humphrey?  
Hast thou not at thy life, and in thy look,  
The seal of Gaunt, the hand of Bullingbrooke?  
What blood extract from famous Edward's line,  
Can boast itself to be so pure as thine?  
who else next Henry should the Realm prefer?  
If it allow of famous Lancaster?  
But Rayners daughter must from France be fet,  
And with a vengeance on our throne be set;  
Mauns, Maine, and Anjou, on that beggar cast,  
To bring her home to England in such haste,  
And what for Henry thou hast laboured there,  
To join the King with Arminacks rich heir,  
Must all be dashed, as no such thing had been,  
Poole needs must have his darling made a Queen  
How should he with our Princes else be placed,  
To have his Earleship with a Dukedom graced?  
And raise the offspring of his blood so hie,  
As Lords of us, and our posterity.  
O that by Sea when he to France was sent,  
The ship had sunk wherein the traitor went;  
Or that the sands, had swallowed her before  
She ere set foot upon the English shore.  
But all is well, nay we have store to give,  
what need we more, we by her looks can live?  
All that great Henry's conquests ever heaped,  
That famous Bedford to his glory kept,  
Be given back, to Rayner all in post,  
And by this means, rich Normandy be lost;  
Those which have comen as Mistresses of ours,  
Have into England brought their goodly dowers  
which to our Coffers, yearly tribute brings,  
The life of subjects, and the strength of Kings;  
The means whereby fair England ever might  
Raise power in France, to back our ancient right,  
But she brings ruin, here to make abode,  
And cancels all our lawful claim abroad,  
And she must recapitulate my shame,  
And give a thousand bywords to my name,  
And call me Beldame, Gib, Witch, Nightmare, Trot,  
with all despite that may a woman spot:  
O that I were a Witch but for her sake,  
I faith her Queeneship little rest should take,  
I would scratch that face that may not feel the air,  
And knit whole ropes of witch-knots in her hair,  
O I would hag her nightly in her bed,  
And on her breast sit like a lump of led,  
And like a Fairy, pinch that dainty skin,  
Her wanton blood is now so cockered in,  
Or take me some such known familiar shape,  
As she my vengeance never should escape;  
were I a garment, none should need the more  
To sprinkle me with Nessus' poisoned gore,  
It were enough if she once put me on,  
To tear both flesh and sinews from the bone,  
were I a flower that might her smell delight,  
Though I were not the poisoning Aconite,  
I would send such a fume into her brow,  
Should make her mad, as mad as I am now.  
They say the Druids, once lived in this I'll,  
This fatal Man, the place of my exile,  
whose powerful charms, such dreadful wonders wrought  
which in the gothish Island tongue were taught,  
O that their spells to me they had resigned,  
wherewith they raised and calmed both sea and wind,  
And made the Moon pause in her palid sphere,  
whilst her grim Dragons drew them through the air,  
Their hellish power to kill the plough man's seed,  
Or to forespeak the flocks as they did feed,  
To nurse a damned spirit with humane blood,  
To carry them through earth, air, fire, and flood;  
Had I this skill that time hath almost lost,  
How like a Goblin, I would haunt her ghost.  
O pardon, pardon my misgoverned tongue,  
A woman's strength cannot endure my wrong.  
Did not the heavens her coming in withstand,  
As though affrighted when she came to land,  
The earth did quake, her coming to abide,  
The goodly Thames did twice keep back her tide,  
Paul's shook with tempests, and that mounting spire,  
with lightning sent from heaven was set on fire,  
Our stately buildings to the ground were blown,  
Her pride by these prodigious signs were shown;  
More fearful visions on the English earth,  
Than ever were at any death or birth.  
Ah Humphrey, Humphrey, if I should not speak,  
My breast would split, my very heart would break.  
I that was wont so many to command,  
worse now then with a clapdish in my hand;  
A simple mantle, covering me withal,  
A very leper of Cares hospital,  
That from my state, a presence held in awe,  
Glad here to kennel in a pad of straw;  
And like an Owl by night to go abroad,  
Roosted all day within an ivy tod,  
Amongst the sea cliffs, in the dampy caves,  
In charnel houses, or among the graves;  
Saw'st thou those eyes, in whose sweet cheerful look,  
Duke Humphrey once, such joy and pleasure took;  
Sorrow hath so despoiled me of all grace,  
Thou couldst not say, this was my Elinor's face,  
Like a foul Gorgon, whose dishevelled hair  
with every blast flies glaring in the air;  
Some standing up, like horns upon my head,  
Even like those women, that in Coos are bred:  
My lank breasts hang like bladders left unblown,  
My skin with loathsome jaundize overgrown;  
So pined away, that if thou longest to see  
Ruins true picture, only look on me,  
Sometime in thinking of what I have had,  
Even in a sudden ecstasy am mad;  
Then like a Bedlam, forth thy Elinor runs,  
Like one of Bacchus raging frantic Nuns,  
Or like a Tartar, when in strange disguise,  
Prepared unto a dismal sacrifice.  
That Prelate Be●ford, a foul ill befall him,  
Prelate said I, nay devil I should call him;  
Ah God forgive me, if I think amiss,  
His very name me thinks my poison is,  
Ah that vile judas, our professed foe,  
My curse pursue him where so ere he go;  
That to my judgement when I did appear,  
Laid to my charge those things which never were,  
I should partake with Bullenbrookes' intents,  
The hallowing of his magic instruments,  
That I procured Southwell to assist,  
which was by order consecrate a Priest,  
That it was I should cover all they did,  
That but for him, had to this day been hid.  
Ah that vile bastard, that himself dare vaunt  
To be the son of thy brave Grandsire Gaunt,  
whom he but fathered of mere charity,  
To rid his mother of that infamy,  
who if report of Elder times be true,  
Unto this day, his father never knew.  
He that by murders black and odious crime,  
To Henry's throne attempted once to climb;  
Having procured by hope of golden gain,  
A fatal hand his sovereign to have slain;  
who to his chamber closely he conveyed,  
And for that purpose fitly there had laid,  
Upon whose sword that famous Prince had died,  
If by a dog he had not been descried.  
But now the Queen, her Minion, Poole, and he,  
As it please them, so now must all things be,  
England's no place for any one beside,  
All is too little to maintain their pride:  
Henry alas, thou but a King's name art,  
For of thyself, thou art the lesser part;  
And I pray God, I do not live the day  
To see thy ruin, and thy realms decay,  
And yet as sure, as Humphrey seems to stand,  
He be preserved from that vile traitors hand;  
From Gloucester's seat, I would thou wert estranged,  
Or would to God that Dukedom's name were changed,  
For it portends no goodness unto us,  
Ah Humphrey, Humphrey, it is ominous;  
Yet rather than thy hap so hard should be,  
I would thou wert here banished with me;  
Humphrey adieu, farewell true noble Lord,  
My wish is all thy Elinor can afford.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  I sought that dreadful Sorceress of Eye. 
ELinor Cobham was accused by some that sought to withstand, and misliked her marriage with Duke Humphrey, that she practised to give him philtre and such poisoning potions, to make him love her, as she was slandered by Cardinal Beuford, to have lived as the Duke's Lemon, against the which Cardinal she exelaimeth in this Epistle in the verse before.  Though envious Beuford slandered me before, 
Noting the extreme hate he ever bore her.  
Nor Elinor brought thee foreign Armies in,  
To fetch her back as did thy jacomin.  
This was the chief and only thing that ever tuched the reputation of this good Duke; that dotingly he marred jacomin, or as some call her jaquet, daughter and heir to William Bavier Duke of Holland, married before, and lawful wife to john Duke of Brabant then living; which after as it is showed in this verse following.  
Brabant nor Burgoyne claimed me by force,  
Nor sued to Rome to hasten my divorce.  
Caused great wars, by reason that the Duke of Burgoyne took part with Brabant, against the Duke of Gloucester; which being arbittated by the Pope, the Lady was adjudged to be delivered back, to her former husband.  
Nor Bedford's spouse, your noble sister Anne,  
That Princely issued brave Burgunian.  
john Duke of Bedford, that scourge of France, and the glory of the Englishmen, married Anne, sister to the Duke of Burgundy, a virtuous and beautiful Lady, by which marriage, as also by his victories attained in France; he brought great strength to the English nation.  Where's Greenwich now, thy Elinor's Court of late? 
That fair and goodly Palace of Greenwich, was first builded by that famous Duke, whose rich and pleasant situation might remain an assured monument of his wisdom, if there were no other memory of the same.  They say the Druids once lived in this I'll, 
It would seem that there were two islands, both of them called Mona, though now distinquished the one by the name of Man, the other by the name of Anglesey, both which were full of many infernal ceremonies, as may appear by Agricolaes' voyage, made into the hither most Man, described by his son in law Cornelius Tacitus. And as superstition the daughter of bararisme and ignorance, so amongst these northerly nations, like as in America Magic was most esteemed. Druidae were the public ministers of their religion, as thoroughly taught in all rites thereof; their doctrine concerned the immortality of the soul, the contempt of death, and all other points which may conduce to resolution, fortitude, and magnanimity: their abode was in Groves and Woods, whereupon they have their name; their power extended itself to master the souls of men diseased, and to confer with Ghosts, and other spirits, about the success of things. Plutarch in his profound and learned discourse of the defect of Oracle's, reporteth that the outmost British Isles were the prison of I wot not what demi-gods, but it shall not need to speak any farther of the Druidae, then that which Lucan doth.  
Et vos barbaricus ritus, moremque sinestrum,  
Sacrorum, Druidae positis repetistis ab armis.  
Did not the heavens, her coming in withstand.  
Noting the prodigious and fearful signs that were seen in England, a little before her coming in: which Elinor expresseth in this Epistle, as foreshowing the dangers which should cause upon this unlucky marriage.  The hallowing of the magic instruments. 
The instruments which Bullenbrooke used in his conjurations, according to the devilish ceremonies and customs of these unlawful Arts, were dedicated at a Mass in the Lodge in Harnsey Park, by Southwell, Priest of Westminster.  Having procured by hopes of golden gain, 
This was one of the Articles that Duke Humphrey urged against the Cardinal Beuford, that conspired the death of Henry the fifth, by conveying a villain into his chamber, which in the night should have murdered him: but what ground of truth he had for the same, I leave to dispute.    

Duke Humphrey to Elinor Cobham.  
ME thinks thou shouldst not doubt, I could forget  
Her whom so many do remember yet;  
No, no, our joys away like shadows slide,  
But sorrows firm, in memory abide;  
Nay I durst answer, thou dost nothing less,  
But moved with passion, urged by thy distress;  
No Elinor no, thy woes, thy grief, thy wrong,  
Have in my breast been resident too long;  
Oh when report in every place had spread,  
My Elinor was to sanctuary fled,  
with cursed only, and the witch of Eye,  
As guilty, of their vile conspiracy;  
The dreadful spirits, when they did invocate,  
For the succession,, and the realms estate;  
when Henry's Image, they in wax had wrought,  
By which he should unto his death be brought;  
That as his picture did consume away,  
His person so, by sickness should decay;  
Grief that before, could near my thoughts control,  
That instant took possession of my soul.  
Ah would to God I could forget thine ill,  
As for mine own, let that instruct me still;  
But that before hath taken too sure hold,  
Forget it said I; would to God I could.  
Of any woe, if thou hast but one part,  
I have the whole remaining in my heart;  
I have no need of others cares to borrow,  
For all I have, is nothing else but sorrow.  
No my sweet Nell, thou took'st not all away,  
Though thou wentest hence, here still thy woes do stay,  
Though from thy husband thou wert forced to go,  
Those still remain, they will not leave me so;  
No eye bewails my ill, moans my distress,  
Our grief is more, but yet our debt is less;  
we owe no tears, no mourning days are kept;  
For those that yet for us have never wept;  
we hold no obijts, no sad exequys  
Upon the death-days of unweeping eyes.  
Alas good Nell, what should thy patience move,  
T'upbraid thy kind Lord, with a foreign love;  
Thou mightst have bid all former ils adieu,  
Forgot the old, we have such store of new.  
Did I omit thy love to entertain  
with mutual grief to answer grief again?  
Or think'st thou I unkindly did forbear,  
To bandy woe for woe, and tear for tear?  
Did I omit, or carelessly neglect,  
Those shows of love, that Ladies so respect?  
In mournful black, was I not seen to go?  
By outward shows to tell my inward woe:  
Nor dreary words, were wasted in lament,  
Nor cloudy brow, bewrayed my discontent,  
Is this the cause, if this be it, know then,  
One grief concealed, more grievous is then ten?  
If in my breast those sorrows sometimes were,  
And never uttered, still they must be there,  
And if thou knowst, they many were before,  
By time increasing, they must needs be more;  
England to me, can challenge nothing lent,  
Let her cast up, what is received, what spent,  
If I her own, can she from blame be free,  
If she but prove, a stepdame unto me?  
That if I should, with that proud bastard strive,  
To plead my birthright and prerogative;  
If birth allow, I should not need to fear it,  
For then my true nobility should bear it;  
If counsel aid, that, France will tell (I know)  
whose towns lie waste before the English foe;  
when thrice we gave the conquered French the foil,  
At Agincourt, at Cravant, and Vernoyle,  
If faith avail, these arms did Henry hold,  
To claim his crown, yet scarcely nine month's old.  
If Country's care have leave to speak for me,  
Grey hairs in youth, my witness then may be,  
If people's tongues give splendour to my fame,  
They add a title to Duke Humfreys name;  
If toil at home, French treason, English hate,  
Shall tell my skill in managing the state,  
If foreign travel my success may try,  
In Flaunders, Almain, Boheme, Burgundy,  
That rob of Rome, proud Beuford now doth wear,  
In every place such sway should never bear.  
The crosier staff, in his imperious hand,  
To be the Sceptre that controls the land;  
That home to England, despensations draws,  
which are of power to abrogate our laws,  
That for those sums, the wealthy Church should pay,  
Upon the needy commenty to lay,  
His ghostly counsels only do advise,  
The means how Langleys progeny may rise,  
Pathing young Henry's unadvised ways,  
A Duke of York from Cambridge house to raise,  
which after may our title undermine,  
Grafted since Edward, in Gaunts famous line  
Us of succession falfely to deprive,  
which they from Clarence, feignedly derive,  
Knowing the will old Cambridge ever bore,  
To catch the wreath that famous Henry wore.  
With Grace, and Scroop, when first he laid the plot  
From us, and ours, the garland to have got,  
As from the march-borne Mortimer to reign,  
whose title Glendour stoutly did maintain,  
when the proud Percies, haughty March and he,  
Had shared the Land by equal parts in three.  
His Priesthood now stern Mowbray doth restore,  
To stir the fire that kindled was before;  
Against the Yorkists shall their claim advance,  
To steel the point of Norfolk's sturdy Lance,  
Upon the breast of herford's issue bend,  
In just revenge of ancient banishment.  
He doth advise to let our prisoner go,  
And doth enlarge the faithless Scottish foe,  
Giving our heirs in marriage, that their dowres  
May bring invasion upon us and ours.  
Ambitious Suffolk so the helm doth guide,  
with Beufords' damned policies supplied  
He and the Queen in counsel still confer,  
How to raise him who hath advanced her;  
But my dear heart, how vainly do I dream,  
And fly from thee, whose sorrows are my theam●  
My love to thee, and England thus divided,  
which the most part, how hard to be decided,  
Or thee, or that, to whether I am loath,  
So near are you, so dear unto me both,  
Twixt that and thee, for equal love I find,  
England ingrateful, and my Elinor kind.  
But though my Country, justly I reprove,  
For Country's sake, unkind unto my love,  
Yet is thy Humfrey to his Elinor, now  
As when fresh beauty triumphed on thy brow,  
As when thy graces I admired most,  
Or of thy favours might the frankli'st boast;  
Those beauties were so infinite before,  
That in abundance I was only poor,  
Or which though time hath taken some again,  
I ask no more but what doth yet remain,  
Be patient gentle heart, in thy distress,  
Thou art a Princess, not a whit the less.  
Whilst in these breasts we bear about this life,  
I am thy husband, and thou art my wife;  
Cast not thine eye on such as mounted be,  
But look on those cast down as low as we;  
For some of them which proudly perch so high,  
Ere long shall come as low as thou or I.  
They weep for joy, and let us laugh in woe,  
we shall exchange when heaven will have it so.  
We mourn, and they in after time may mourn,  
woe past, may once laugh present woe to scorn,  
And worse than hath been, we can ne●er ●ast,  
worse cannot come, then is already past.  
In all extremes, the only depth of ill,  
Is that which comforts the afflicted still;  
Ah would to God thou wouldst thy grie●●s deny,  
And on my back let all the burden lie.  
Or if thou canst resign, make thine mine own,  
Both in one carridge to be undergone,  
Till we again our former hopes recover,  
And prosperous times, blow these misfortunes over,  
For in the thought of those forepast years,  
Some new resemblance of old joy appears.  
Mutual our care, so mutual be our love,  
That our affliction never can remove,  
So rest in peace, where peace hath hope to live,  
wishing thee more, than I myself can give.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  At Agincourt, at Cravant, and Vernoyle, 
THe three famous battles, fought by the English men in France: Agincourt by Henry the fifth, against the whole power of France, Gravant fought by Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, and the Duke of Burgoyne, against the Dolphin of France, & William Stuart, Constable of Scotland: Vernoyle, fought by john Duke of Bedford, against the Duke of Alencon, and with him most of the Nobility of France, Duke Humphrey an especial Counsellor in all these expeditions.  In Flaunders, Almain, Boheme, Burgundy. 
here remembering the ancient amity which in his Embassics he concluded betwixt the King of England and Sigismond Emperor of Almain, drawing the Duke of Burgoyne into the same league, giving himself as an hostage for the Duke of Saint Omers, while the Duke came to Calais to confirm the league. With his many other employments to foreign kingdoms.  That crosier staff in his imperious hand. 
Henry Beuford, Cardinal of Winchester, that proud and haughty Prelate, received his Cardinal's ha●te at Calais by the Pope's Legate, which dignity, Henry the fifth his nephew, forbade him to take upon him, knowing his haughty and malicious spirit unfit for that rob and calling.  The means how Langleys progeny may rise. 
As willing to show the house of Cambridge to be descended of Edmund Langley Duke of York, a younger brother to john of Gaunt, his Grandfather (as much as in him lay) to smother the title that the Yorkists made to the crown (from L●onell of Clarence, Gaunts ●lder brother) by the daughter of Mortimer.  His priesthood now; stern Mowbray doth restore. 
Noting the ancient grudge between the house of Lancaster and Norfolk, ever since Mowbray Duke of Norfolk was banished for the accusation of Henry Duke of Herford, (after the King of England Father to Duke Humphrey,) which accusation he came as a Combatant, to have made good in the Lists at Coventry.  And gives our heiresin marriage that their dowers. 
james Stuart, King of Scots, having been long prisoner in England, was released, and took to wife the daughter of john Duke of Somerset, sister to john Duke of Somerset, nee●e to the Cardinal and the Duke of Excester, and Cousin germane removed to the king, this King broke the oath he had taken, and became after a great enemy to England.  
FINIS.     

To my honoured Mistress, Mistress Elizabeth Tanfelde, the sole daughter and heir of that famous and learned Lawyer, Lawrence Tanfelde Esquire.  
Fair and virtuous Mistress, since first it was my good fortune to be a witness of the many rare perfections wherewith nature and education ●aue adorned you, I have been forced since that time to attribute more admiration to your sex, than ever Petrarch could before persuade me to by the praises of his Laura. Sweet is the Fr●●ch tongue, more sweet the Italian, but most sweet are they both if spoken by your admired self. If poesy were praiselesse, your virtues alone were a subject sufficient to make it esteemed, though among the barbarous Geteses: by how much the more your tender years give scarcely warrant for your more than womanlike wisdom, by so much is your judgement and reading the more to be wondered at. The Graces shall have one more Sister by yourself, and England to herself shall add one Muse more to the Muses. I rest the humble devoted servant, to my dear and modest Mistress, to whom I wish the happiest fortunes I can devise.  
Michael Drayton.   


William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, to Queen Margaret.  
¶ The Argument.  
William de la Pole, first Marquis, and after created Duke of Suffolk, being sent into France by King Henry the sixth, concludeth a marriage between the King his Master, and Margaret, daughter to Rayner Duke of Anjou; who only ●ad the title of the King of Sicily and jerusalem. This marriage being made contrary to the liking of the Lords and Counsel of the Realm (by reason of the yielding up Anjou and Maine into the Duke's hands, which shortly after proved the loss of all Aquitaine,) they ever after continually hated the Duke, and after (by means of the Commons) banished him at the parliament at Berry; where after he had the judgement of his exile, being then ready to depart, he writeth back to the Queen this Epistle.  
IN my disgrace (dear Queen) rest thy content,  
And Margaret's health from Suffolk's banishment;  
Not one day seems five years exile to me,  
But that so soon I must depart from thee;  
Where thou not present, it is ever night,  
All be exiled that live not in thy sight.  
Those Savages which worship the suns rise,  
would hate their God, if they beheld thine eyes,  
The world's great light, mightst thou be seen abroad,  
would at our noone-●tead ever make abode;  
And make the poor Antipodes to mourn,  
Fearing lest he would never more return.  
Were't not for thee, it were my great'st exile  
To live within this Sea-inuirond I'll.  
Poles courage brooks not limmitting in bands,  
But that (great Queen) thy sovereignty commandest  
Our Falcon's kind cannot the cage endure,  
Nor buzzard-like doth stoop to every lure;  
Their mounting brood in open air doth rove,  
Nor will with Crows be cooped within a grove;  
We all do breath upon this earthly ball,  
Likewise one heaven encompasseth us all,  
No banishment can be to him assigned,  
who doth retain a true resolved mind.  
Man in himself, a little world doth bear,  
His soul the Monarch ever ruling there,  
where ever then his body doth remain,  
He is a King that in himself doth reign,  
And never feareth Fortune's hot'st alarms,  
That bears against her, Patience for his Arms.  
This was the mean proud Warwick did invent  
To my disgrace at Leicester parliament,  
That only my base yielding up of Maine,  
Should be the loss of fertile Aquitaine,  
with the base vulgar sort to win him fame,  
To be the heir of good Duke Humfreys name;  
And so by treason spotting my pure blood,  
Make this a mean to raise the Nevels brood.  
With Salisbury his vile ambitious Sire,  
In York's stern breast, kindling long hidden fire,  
By Clarence title working to supplant,  
The Eagle airy of great john of Gaunt.  
And to this end did my exile conclude,  
Thereby to please the rascal multitude;  
Urged by these envious Lords to spend their breath,  
Calling revenge on the Protectors death,  
That since the old decrepit Duke is dead,  
By me of force he must be murdered.  
If they would know who robbed him of his life,  
Let them call home Dame Ellinor his wife,  
who with a Taper walked in a sheet,  
To light her shame at no one through London street;  
And let her bring her Necromantic book,  
That foul ●ag jordane, Hun, and Bullenbrooke,  
And let them call the spirits from hell again,  
To know how Humphrey died, and who shall reign.  
For twenty years and have I served in France,  
Against great Charles, and bastard Orleans?  
And seen the slaughter of a world of men,  
Victorious now, and conquered again;  
And have I seen Vernoylas batfull fields.  
Strewed with ten thousand Helms, ten thousand● shields,  
Where famous Bedford did our fortune try,  
Or France or England for the victory?  
The sad investing of so many Towns,  
Scored on my breast in honourable wounds;  
when Montacute and Talbot of such name,  
Under my Ensign, both first won their fame;  
In heat and cold all fortunes have endured,  
To rouse the French, within their walls immured?  
Through all my life, these perils have I passed,  
And now to fear a banishment at last?  
Thou knowst how I (thy beauty to advance,)  
For thee refused the infant Queen of France,  
Broke the contract Duke Humphrey first did make  
Twixt Henry, and the Princess Arminacke;  
Only (sweet Queen) thy presence I might gain,  
I gave Duke Rayner, Anjou, Mauns, and Maine,  
Thy peerless beauty for a dower to bring,  
To counterpoise the wealth of England's King;  
And from Aumerle withdrew my warlike powers,  
And came myself in person first to Towers,  
Th' Ambassadors for truce to entertain,  
From Belgia, Denmark, Hungary, and Spain,  
And telling Henry of thy beauty's story,  
I taught my tongue a lovers oratory,  
As the report itself did so indite,  
And make it ravish tears with such delight;  
And when my speech did cease (as telling all)  
My looks show'd more, that was Angelical.  
And when I breathed again, and paused next,  
I left mine eyes to comment on the text;  
Then coming of thy modesty to tell,  
In musics numbers my voice rose and fell:  
And when I came to paint thy glorious style,  
My speech in greater caden●es to file,  
By true descent to wear the Diadem,  
Of Naples, Cicils, and jerusalem.  
And from the Gods thou didst derive thy birth,  
If heavenly kind could join with brood of earth;  
Gracing each title that I did recite,  
with some mellifluous pleasing Epithet,  
Nor left him not till he for love was sick,  
Beholding thee in my sweet Rhetoric.  
A fifteens tax in France I freely spent  
In triumphs, at thy nuptial Tournament;  
And solemnized thy marriage in a gown,  
Valued at more than was thy father's Crown;  
And only striving how to honour thee,  
Gave to my King, what thy love gave to me.  
judge if his kindness have not power to move,  
who for his lovest sake gave away his love.  
Had he which once the prize to Greece did bring,  
(Of whom old Poets long ago did sing)  
Seen thee for England but embarked at Deep,  
would overboard have cast his golden sheep,  
As too unworthy ballast to be thought,  
To pester room, with such perfection fraught.  
The briny seas which saw the ship enfold thee,  
would vault up to the hatches to behold thee,  
And falling back, themselves in thronging smother,  
Breaking for grief, envying one another;  
when the proud Bark, for joy thy steps to feel,  
Scorned the salt waves should kiss her furrowing keel,  
And tricked in all her flags, herself she braves,  
Capering for joy upon the silver waves;  
when like a Bull, from the Phenician strand,  
jove with Europa, tripping from the land,  
Upon the bosom of the main doth scud,  
And with his swannish breast cleaving the flood,  
towered the fair fields, upon the other side,  
Beareth Agenor's joy, Phenicias' pride.  
All heavenly beauties, join themselves in one,  
To show their glory in thine eye alone;  
Which when it turneth that celestial ball,  
A thousand sweet stars rise, a thousand fall.  
Who justly saith, mine banishment to be,  
when only France for my recourse is free?  
To view the plains where I have seen so oft,  
England's victorious Engines raised aloft;  
when this shall be my comfort in my way,  
To see the place where I may boldly say,  
here mighty Bedford forth the vaward led,  
here Talbot charged, and here the Frenchmen fled  
here with our Archers valiant Scales did lie.  
here stood the Tents of famous Willoughby;  
here Montacute ranged his unconquered band,  
here forth we marched, and here we made a stand.  
What should we stand to mourn and grieve all day,  
For that which time doth easily take away:  
What fortune hurts, let patience only heal,  
No wisdom with extremities to deal;  
To know ourselves to come of human birth,  
These sad afflictions cross us here on earth;  
A tax imposed by heavens eternal law,  
To keep our rude rebellious will in awe.  
In vain we prize that at so dear a rate  
whose best assurance is a fickle state,  
And needless we examine our intent,  
when with prevention, we cannot prevent;  
when we ourselves foreseeing cannot shun,  
That which before, with destiny doth run.  
Henry hath power, and may my life depose,  
Mine honour mine, that none hath power to lose,  
Then be as cheerful, (beauteous royal Queen)  
As in the Court of France we erst have been;  
As when arrived in Porchesters' fair road,  
(where, for our coming Henry made abode)  
when in mine arms I brought thee safe to land;  
And gave my lou●, to Henry's royal hand;  
The happy hours, we passed with the King,  
At fair Southampton, long in banqueting,  
with such content as lodged in Henry's breast,  
when he to London brought thee from the West;  
Through golden Cheap, when he in pomp did ride,  
To Westminster, to entertain his Bride.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Our Faeulcons' kind cannot the Cage endure. 
HE alludes in these verses to the Falcon, which was the ancient device of the Poles, comparing the greatness and haughtiness of his spirit, to the nature of this bird.  
This was the mean, proud Warwick● did invent,  
To my disgrace, etc.  
The Commons, at this Parliament, through Warwick● means accused Suffolk of treason, and urged the accusation so vehemently that the king was forced to exile him for five years.  
That only my base yielding up of Maine,  
Should be the loss of fertile Aquitaine.  
The Duke of Suffolk being sent into France to conclude a peace, chose Duke Rainers daughter, the Lady Margaret, whom he espoused for Henry the sixth, delivering for her to her Father, the Countries of Anjou and Maine, and the City of Mauns. Whereupon the Earl of Arminach (whose daughter was before promised to the King) seeing himself to be deluded, caused all the Englishmen to be expulsed Aquitaine, Gascoigne, and Guienne.  
With the base vulgar sort to win him fame,  
To be the heir of good Duke Humfreys name.  
This Richard that was called the great Earl of Warwick, when Duke Humphrey was dead, grew into exceeding great favour with the Commons.  
With Salisbury, his vile ambitious Sire,  
In Yorks stern breast, kindling long hidden fire,  
By Clarence title, working to supplant,  
The Eagle Airy of great john of Gaunt.  
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, in the time of Henry the sixth, claimed the Crown, (being assisted by this Richard Nevell Earl of Salisbury, and father to the great Earl of Warwick, who favoured exceedingly the house of York) in open Parliament, as heir to Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third Son of Edward the third, making his title by Anne his Mother, wife to Richard Earl of Cambridge, Son to Edmund of Langley, Duke of York; which Anne was daughter to Roger Mortimer Earl of March, which Roger, was son and heir to Edmund Mortimer that married the Lady Philip, daughter and heir to Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son of King Edward, to whom the Crown after Richard the seconds death, lineally descended he dying without issue. And not to the heirs of the Duke of Lancaster, that was younger brother to the Duke of Clarence. Hall. cap. 1. Tit. Yor. & Lanc.  
Urged by these envious Lords to spend their breath,  
Calling revenge on the Protectors death.  
Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, and Lord Protector in the 25. year of Henry the sixth by the means of the Queen, and the Duke of Suffolk was arrested by the Lord Beumond at the Parliament holden at Berrie, and the same night after murdered in his bed.  
If they would know who robbed him, etc. To this verse,  
To know how Humphrey died, and who shall reign.  
In these verses he jests at the Protectors wife, who (being accused and convicted of treason, because with john Hun a Priest, Roger Bullenbrooke a Necromancer, and Margery jordane, called the Witch of Eye, she had consulted by sorcery to kill the King) was adjudged to perpetual prison in the I'll of Man, & to do penance openly in three public places in London.  For twenty years and have I served in France, 
In the sixth year of Henry the sixth, the Duke of Bedford being deceased then Lieutenant generell, and Regent of France; this Duke of Suffolk, was promoted to that dignity, having the Lord Talbot, Lord Scales, and the Lord Montacute to assist him.  Against great Charles, and bastard Orleans. 
This was Charles the seventh, that after the death of Henry the fifth obtained the crown of France, and recovered again much of that his father had lost. Bastard Orleans, was son to the Duke of Orleans, begotten of the Lord Cawnies wife, preferred highly to many notable offices, because he being a most valiant Captain, was continual enemy to the Englishmen, daily infesting them with divers incursions.  And have I seen Vernoyla's batfull fields, 
Vernoyle is that noted place in France, where the great battle was fought in the beginning of Henry the sixth his reign, where the most of the French Chivalry were overcome by the Duke of Bedford.  And from Aumerle withdrew my warlike powers, 
Aumerle is that strong defenced town in France, which the Duke of Suffolk got after 24. great assaults given unto it.  
And came myself in person first to Tower's  
Th'ambassadors for tru●e to entertain,  
From Belgia, Denmark, Hungary and Spain.  
Towers is a City in France, built by Brutus as he came into Britain, where, in the twenty and one year of the reign of Henry the sixth, was appointed a great diet to be kept, whether came the Ambassadors of the Empire, Spain, Hungary, and Denmark, to entreat for a perpetual peace, to be made between the two Kings of England and France.  
By true descent to wear the Diadem,  
Of Naples, Cicile, and jerusalem.  
Rayner Duke of Anjou, Father to Queen Margaret, called himself King of Naples, Sicily, and jerusalem, having the title alone of King of those Countries.  A fifteens tax in France I freely spent, 
The Duke of Suffolk, after the marriage concluded twixt King Henry and Margarit, daughter to Duke Rayner, asked in open Parliament a whole fifteenth to fetch her into England.  Seen thee for England but imbaqued at Deep. 
Deep is a Town in France, bordering upon the Sea, where the Duke of Suffolk with Queen Margaret, took ship for England.  As when arrived in Porchesters' fair Roadel 
Porchester, a Haven Town in the south-west part of England, where the King tarried, expecting the Queen's arrival, whom from thence he conveyed to Southampton.    

Queen Margaret to William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk.  
WHat news (sweet Pole) look'st thou my lines should tell,  
But like the tolling of the doleful bell?  
Bidding the deathsman to prepare the grave,  
Expect from me no other news to have,  
My breast, which once was mirths imperial throne,  
A vast and desert wilderness is grown;  
Like that cold Region, from the world remote,  
On whose breeme seas, the Icy mountains float  
where those poor creatures banished from the light,  
Do live imprisoned in continual night.  
No joy presents my souls eternal eyes,  
But divination of sad tragedies,  
And care takes up her solitary In,  
where youth and joy, their Court did once begin.  
As in September, when our year resigns,  
The glorious Sun unto the watery signs,  
which through the clouds looks on the earth in scorn;  
The little bird, yet to salute the morn,  
Upon the naked branches sets her foot,  
The leaves now lying on the mossy root;  
And there a silly chirripping doth keep,  
As though she fain would sing, yet fain would weep,  
Praising fair Summer, that too soon is gone,  
Or sad for Winter too fast coming on.  
In this strange plight I mourn for thy depart,  
Because that weeping cannot ease my heart.  
Now to our aid, who stirs the neighbouring Kings?  
Or who from France a puissant Army brings?  
Who moves the Norman to abet our war?  
Or stirs up Burgoyne, to aid Lancaster?  
Who in the North our lawful claim commends,  
To win us credit with our valiant friends?  
To whom shall I my secret grief impart?  
whose breast I made the closet of my heart.  
The ancient Hero's fame thou didst revive,  
And didst from them thy memory derive;  
Nature by thee, both gave and taketh all,  
Alone in Pole she was too prodigal;  
Of so divine and rich a temper wrought,  
As heaven for him, perfections deep had sought;  
Well knew King Henry what he pleaded for,  
when he chose thee to be his Orator;  
whose Angell-eye, by powerful influence,  
Doth utter more than humane eloquence,  
That when jove would his youthful sports have tried,  
But in thy shape, himself would never hide;  
Which in his love had been of greater power,  
Then was his nymph, his flame, his swan, his shower.  
To that allegiance York was bound by oath,  
To Henry's heirs, and safety of us both,  
No longer now he means record shall bear it,  
He will dispense with heaven, and will unswear it.  
He that's in all the world's black sins forlorn,  
Is careless now how oft he be forsworn;  
And now of late his title hath set down,  
By which he makes his claim unto the crown.  
And now I hear, his hateful Duchess chats,  
And rips up their descent unto her brats,  
And blesseth them as England's lawful heirs,  
And tells them that our Diadem is theirs.  
And if such hap her Goddess fortune bring,  
If three sons fail, she'll make the fourth a King.  
He that's so like his Dam, her youngest Dick,  
That foul, ill-favoured, crookbacked stigmatic,  
That like a carcase stolen out of a Tomb;  
Came the wrong way out of his mother's womb;  
With teeth in's head, his passage to have torn,  
As though begot an age ere he was borne.  
Who now will curb proud York when he shall rise,  
Or Arms our right against his enterprise?  
To crop that bastard weed which daily grows  
To overshadow our vermilion Rose?  
Or who will muzzle that unruly Bear,  
whose presence strikes our people's hearts with fear?  
Whilst on his knees this wretched King is down,  
To save them labour, reaching at his Crown,  
where like a mounting Cedar he should bear,  
His plumed top, aloft into the air;  
And let these shrubs sit underneath his shrouds,  
whilst in his arms he doth embrace the clouds,  
O that he should his Fathers right inherit,  
Yet be an alien to that mighty spirit,  
How were those powers dispersed, or whether gone,  
Should sympathise in generation,  
Or what opposed influence had force,  
To abuse kind, and alter nature's course?  
All other creatures follow after kind,  
But man alone doth not beget the mind.  
My Daysie-flower, which erst perfumed the air,  
which for my favours Princes once did wear,  
Now in the dust lies trodden on the ground,  
And with York's garlands every one is crowned.  
When now his rising waits on our decline,  
And in our setting he begins to shine,  
Now in the skies that dreadful Comet waves,  
And who be stars but Warwick's bearded staves?  
And all those knees which bended once so low,  
Grow stiff, as though they had forgot to bow;  
And none like them, pursue me with despite,  
which most have cried, God save Queen Margarite,  
When fame shall brute thy banishment abroad,  
The Yorkish faction then will lay on load;  
And when it comes once to our Western coast,  
O how that hag Dame Elinor will boast,  
And labour strait, by all the means she can,  
To be called home, out of the I'll of Man,  
To which I know great Warwick will consent,  
To have it done by act of Parliament,  
That to my teeth my birth she may defy,  
Slandering Duke Rayner with base beggary;  
The only way she could devise to grieve me,  
wanting sweet Suffolk, which should most relieve me.  
And from that stock doth sprout another bloom,  
A Kentish Rebel, a base upstart groom;  
And this is he the white-rose must prefer,  
By Clarence daughter, matched with Mortimer,  
Thus by York's means, this rascal peasant Cade,  
Must in all haste, Plantagenet be made;  
Thus that ambitious Duke sets all on work  
To sound what friends affect the claim of York,  
Whilst he abroad doth practise to command,  
And makes us weak by strengthening Ireland;  
More his own power still seeking to increase,  
Then for King Henry's good, or England's peace.  
Great Winchester untimely is deceased,  
That more and more my woes should be increased.  
Beuford, whose shoulders proudly bore up all  
The Church's prop, that famous Cardinal,  
The Commons (bend to mischief) never let,  
with France t'upbraid that valiant Somerset,  
Railing in tumults on his soldiers loss,  
Thus all goes backward, cross comes after cross,  
And now of late, Duke Humfreys old allies,  
with banished Elnor's base accomplices,  
Attending their revenge, grow wondrous crouse,  
And threaten death and vengeance to our house;  
And I alone the woeful remnant am,  
● endure these storms with woeful Buckingham.  
I pray thee Pole have care how thou dost pass,  
Never the Sea yet half so dangerous was;  
And one foretold by water thou shouldst die,  
(Ah foul befall that foul tongues prophecy)  
And every night am troubled in my dreams,  
That I do see thee tossed in dangerous streams;  
And oft-times shipwrecked, cast upon the land,  
And lying breathless on the queachy sand;  
And oft in visions see thee in the night,  
where thou at Sea maintain'st a dangerous sight;  
And with thy proved Target and thy sword,  
Beatest back the Pirate which would come aboard.  
Yet be not angry that I warn thee thus,  
The truest love is most suspicious,  
Sorrow doth utter what us still doth grieve,  
But hope forbids us sorrow to believe;  
And in my counsel yet this comfort is,  
It cannot hurt, although I think amiss;  
Then live in hope, in triumph to return,  
when clearer days shall leave in clouds to mourn;  
But so hath sorrow girt my soul about,  
That, that word hope (me thinks) comes slowly out;  
The reason is, I know it here would rest,  
where it would still behold thee in my breast.  
Farewell sweet Pole, fain more I would indite,  
But that my tears do blot as I do write.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Or brings in Burgoyne to aid Lancaster. 
Philip Duke of Burgoyne and his son, were always great favourites of the house of Lancaster, howbeit they often dissembled both with Lancaster and York.  
Who in the North our lawful claim commends  
To win us credit with our valiant friends.  
The chief Lords of the North-parts, in the time of Henry the 6. withstood the Duke of York at his rising giving him two great overthrows.  
To that allegiance York was bound by oath  
To Henry's heirs, and safety of us both,  
No longer now he means records shall bear it,  
He will dispense with heaven, and will unswear it.  
The duke of York, at the death of Henry the fifth, & at this king's coronation took his oath to be true subject to him, and his heirs for ever; but afterward dispensing therewith, claimed the crown as his rightful and proper inhearitance.  If three sons fail, she'll make the fourth a King. 
The duke of York had four sons, Edward Earl of March, that afterward was duke of York, and king of England, when he had deposed Henry the sixth, and Edmond Earl of Rutland, slain by the lord Clifford at the battle at Wakefield; & George duke of Clarence that was murdered in the Tower: and Richard duke of Gloucester, who was (after he had murdered his brother's sons) King by the name of Richard the third.  
〈◊〉 that's so like his Dam, her youngest Dick,  
That foul ●fauoured crookbacked Stigmatic, etc.  
Till this verse, As though begot an age, etc.  
This Richard, (whom ironically she here calls Dick,) that by treason after his Nephews murdered, obtained the crown, was a man low of stature, crookebacked, the left shoulder much higher than the right, & of a very crabbed & sour countenance: his mother could not be delivered of him, he was borne toothed, & with his feet forward, contrary to the course of nature.  To overshadow our vermilion Rose, 
The red Rose was the badge of the house of Lancaster, and the white Rose of York, which by the marriage of Henry the seventh, with Elizabeth indubitate heir of the house of York, was happily united.  Or who will muzzle that unruly bear. 
The Earl of Warwick, the setter up and puller down of Kings, gave for his Arms the white Bear rampant, & the ragged staff.  
My daisy flower which erst perfumed the air,  
Which for my ●auour Pri●●●es once did were &c.  
The daisy in French is called Margaret, which was Queen Margaret's badge, wherewithal the Nobility and chivalry of the Land at the first arrival were so delighted, that they wore it in their Hats in token of honour.  And who be stars but Warwick's bearded slaves. 
The ragged or bearded staff was a part of the Arms belonging to the Earldom of Warwick.  Slandering Duke Rayner with base baggary. 
Rayner Duke of Anjou, called himself King of Naples, Cicile, and jerusalem, having neither inhearitance nor tribute from those parts, & was not able at the marriage of the Queen, of his own charges to send her into England though he gave no dower with her: which by the Duchess of Gloucester was often in disgrace cast in her teeth.  A Kentish Rebel, a base upstart Groom. 
This was jack Cade, which caused the kentishmen to rebel in the 28. year of Henry the sixth.  
And this is he the white Rose must prefer,  
By Clarence daughter matched to Mortimer.  
This jack Cade instructed by the Duke of York, pretended to be descended from Mortimer which married Lady Philip, daughter to the Duke of Clarence.  And makes us weak by strengthening Ireland. 
The Duke of York being made Deputy of Ireland, first there began to practise his long pretended purpose, strengthening himself by all means possible that he might at his return into England by open war, claim that which so long he had privily gone about to obtain.  Great Winchester untimely is deceased, 
Henry Beuford, Bishop and Cardinal of Winchester, son to john of Gaunt, begot in his age, was a proud & ambitious Prelate, favouring mightily the Queen & the Duke of Suffolk, continually heaping up innumerable treasure, in hope to have been Pope, as himself on his death bed confessed.  With France t' upbraid the valiant Somerset. 
Edmund Duke of Somerset, in the 24. of Henry the sixth, was made Regent of France, and sent into Normandy to defend the English territories against the French invasions, but in short time he lost all that King Henry the fifth won, for which cause the Nobles and the Commons ever after hated him.  T'endure these storms with woeful Buckingham. 
Humphrey duke of Buckingham, was a great favourite of the Queen Faction, in the time of Henry the sixth.  And one foretold by water thou shouldst die. 
The Witch of Eye received answer by her spirit, that the duke of Suffolk should take heed of water: which the Queen forwarnes him of, as remembering the Witches prophecy, which afterward came to pass.  
FINIS.     

To the Right Worshipful Sir Thomas Munson, Knight.  
SIR, amongst many which most deservedly love you, though ● the least, yet am loath to be the last, whose endeavours may make known how highly they esteem of your noble and kind disposition; Let this Epistle Sir (I beseech you) which unworthily wears the badge of your worthy name, acknowledge my zeal with the rest, (though much less deserving) which for your sake do honour the house of the Mounsons. I know true generosity accepteth what is zealously offered, though not ever deservingly excellent, yet for love of the Art from whence it receiveth resemblance. The light Phrygian harmony stirreth delight, as well as the melancholy Doric moveth passion, both have their motion in the spirit, as the liking of the soul moveth the affection. Your kind acceptance of my labour● shall give some life to my Muse, which yet ●ouers in the uncertainty of the general censure.  
Mich: Drayton.   


Edward the fourth to Shore's wife.  
¶ The Argument.  
This Mistress Shore, king Edward the fourth's beauteous paramour, was so called of her husband a Goldsmith, dwelling in Lombard street. Edward the fourth, son to Richard Duke of York, after he had obtained the crown by deposing Henry the sixth, (which Henry was after murdered in the Tower by Richard Crookeback) & after the battle fought at Barnet, where the famous Earl of Warwick was slain, and that King Edward quietly possessed the crown, hearing (by report of many) the rare and wonderful beauty of the aforesaid Shore's wife, cometh himself disguised to London to see her; where after he had once beheld her, he was so surprised with her admirable beauty, as not long after he rob her husband of his dearest jewel; but first by this Epistle he writeth unto her.  
Unto the fayr'st that ever breathed this air,  
From English Edward to that fairest fair;  
Ah would to God thy title were no more,  
That no remembrance might remain of Shore,  
To countermand a Monarch's high desire,  
And bar mine eyes of what they most admire.  
O why should Fortune make the City proud,  
To give that more than is the Court allowed?  
Where they like (wretches) hoard it up to spare,  
And do engross it, as they do their ware.  
When fame first blazed thy beauty here in Court,  
Mine ears repulsd it, as a light report,  
But when mine eyes saw that mine ear had hard,  
They thought report too niggardly had spared;  
And strooken dumb with wonder, did but mutter,  
Conceiving more than she had words to utter.  
Then think of what thy husband is possessed,  
when I envy that Shore should be so blest,  
when much abundance makes the needy mad,  
And having all, yet knows not what is had;  
Into fools bosoms this good fortune creeps,  
And wealth comes in the whilst the miser sleeps.  
If now thy beauty be of such esteem,  
which all of so rare excellency deem,  
what would it be, and prized at what rate,  
where it adorned with a kingly state?  
Which being now but in so mean a bed,  
Is like an uncut Diamond in led,  
Ere it be set in some high-prized ring,  
Or garnished with rich enamiling;  
we see the beauty of the stone is spilled,  
wanting the gracious ornament of guilt.  
When first attracted by thy heavenly eyes,  
I came to see thee, in a strange disguise,  
Passing thy shop, thy husband calls me back,  
Demanding what rare jewel I did lack?  
I want (thought I) one that I dare not crave,  
And (one I fear) thou wilt not let me have;  
He calls for Caskets forth, and shows me store,  
But yet I knew he had one jewel more;  
And deadly cursed him that he did dinie it,  
That I might not for love or money buy it.  
O might I come a Diamond to buy,  
That had but such a lustre as thine eye.  
Would not my treasure serve, my Crown should go,  
If any jewel could be prized so;  
An Agate, branched with thy blushing strains,  
A sapphire, but so azur'd, as thy veins;  
My kingly Sceptre only should redeem it,  
At such a price if judgement could esteem it.  
How fond and senseless, be those strangers then,  
who bring in toys to please the English men.  
I smile to think how fond th'Italians are,  
To judge their artificial gardens rare,  
when London in thy cheeks can show them here,  
Roses and Lilies growing all the year;  
The Portugal, that only hopes to win,  
By bringing stones from farthest India in,  
when happy Shore can bring them forth a girl,  
whose lips be Rubies, and her teeth be pearl.  
How silly is the Polander and Dane,  
To bring us Crystal from the frozen main?  
When thy clear skins transparence doth surpass.  
Their Crystal, as the Diamond doth glass.  
The foolish French, which brings in trash and toys,  
To turn our women men, or girls to boys,  
when with what tire thou dost thyself adorn,  
That for a fashion only shall be worn;  
which though it were a garment but of hair,  
More rich than rob that ever Empress ware.  
Me thinks thy husband takes his mark awry,  
To set his plate to sale when thou art by;  
when they which do thy Angell-locks behold,  
Like basest dross do but respect his gold;  
And wish one hair before that massy heap,  
And but one lock before the wealth of Cheap;  
And for no cause else, hold we gold so dear,  
But that it is so like unto thy hair.  
And sure I think Shore cannot choose but flout  
Such as would find the great Elixir out,  
And laugh to see the Alchemists, that choke  
Themselves with fumes, and waste their wealth in smoke.  
when if thy hand but touch the grossest mould,  
It is converted to refined gold,  
when theirs is chaffered at an easy rate,  
well known to all to be adulterate;  
And is no more when it by thine is set,  
Then paltry Be●gle, or light-prized jet.  
Let others wear perfumes, for thee unmeet,  
If there were none, thou couldst make all things sweet.  
Thou comfor'st sense, and yet all sense dost waste,  
To hear, to see, to smell, to feel, to taste;  
Thou a rich ship, whose very refuse ware,  
A romaticks, and precious odours are.  
If thou but please to walk into the Pawn,  
To buy thee Cambric, calico, or Lawn,  
If thou the whiteness of the same wouldst prove,  
From thy more whiter hand pluck off thy glove;  
And those which by, as the beholders stand,  
will take thy hand for Lawn, Lawn for thy hand.  
A thousand eyes, closed up by envious night,  
Do wish for day, but to enjoy thy sight;  
And when they once have blest their eyes with thee,  
Scorn every object else, what ere they see,  
So like a Goddess beauty still controls,  
And hath such powerful working in our souls.  
The Merchant which in traffic spends his life,  
Yet loves at home to have dainty wife,  
The blunt-spoke Cynic, poring on his book,  
Sometimes (aside) at beauty loves to look.  
The Churchman, by whose teaching we are led,  
Allows what keeps love in the marriage bed;  
The bloody Soldier spent in Arms and broils,  
with beauty yet content to share his spoils;  
The busy Lawyer wrangling in his pleas;  
Findeth that beauty gives his labour ease;  
The toiling tradesman, and the sweeting Clown,  
would have his wench fair, though his bread be brown;  
So much is beauty pleasing unto all,  
To Prince and peasant like in general;  
Nor never yet did any man despise it,  
Except too dear, and that he could not prise it,  
Unlearned is learning, artless be all Arts,  
If not employed to praise thy several parts;  
Poor plodding Schoolmen, they are far too low,  
which by probations, rules, and axiom's go,  
He must be still familiar with the skies,  
which notes the revolutions of thine eyes;  
And by that skill which measures sea and land,  
See beauties all, thy waist, thy foot, thy hand,  
where he may find, the more that he doth view,  
Such rare delights as are both strange and new;  
And other worlds of beauty more and more,  
which never were discovered before;  
And to thy rare proportion to apply,  
The lines and circles in Geometry,  
Using alone Arithmeticks strong ground,  
Numbering the virtues that in thee are found.  
And when these all have done what they can do,  
For thy perfections all to little too.  
When from the East the dawn hath broken out,  
And gone to seek thee all the world about,  
within thy Chamber hath she fixed her light,  
where but that place, the world hath all been night;  
Then is it fit that every vulgar eye,  
Should see love banquet in her majesty?  
We deem those things our sight doth most frequent,  
To be but mean, although most excellent;  
For strangers still the streets are swept and strewed,  
Few look on such as daily come abroad;  
Things much restrained, doth make us much desire them,  
And beauties seldom seen, makes us admire them.  
Nor is it fit a City shop should hide,  
The world's delight, and natures only pride,  
But in a Prince's sumptuous gallery.  
Hung all with Tissue, flored with Tapestry;  
Where thou shalt sit, and from thy state shalt see,  
The tylts and triumphs that are done for thee.  
Then know the difference (if thou list to prove)  
Betwixt a vulgar, and a kingly love;  
And when thou findest, as now thou doubtest the troth,  
Be thou thyself unpartial judge of both.  
Where hearts be knit, what helps if not enjoy?  
Delays breeds doubts, no cunning to be coy.  
Whilst lazy Time his turn by tarriance serves,  
Love still grows sickly, and hope daily starves.  
Mean while receive that warrant by these lines,  
which princely rule and sovereignty resigns;  
Till when, these papers by their Lords command,  
By me shall kiss thy sweet and dainty hand.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
THis Epistle of Edward to Shore's wife, and of hers to him, being of unlawful affection, ministereth small occasion of historical notes, for had he mentioned the many battles betwixt the Lancastrian faction and him, or other warlike dangers, it had been more like to Plautus boasting Soldier then a kingly Courtier. Notwithstanding, it shall not be amiss to annex a line or two.  From English Edward to the fairest fair. 
Edward the fourth was by nature very chivalrous & very amorous, applying his sweet and amiable aspect to attain his wanton appetite the rather, which was so well known to Lewes the French King, who at their interview invited him to Paris, that as Comineus reports, being taken at his word, he notwithstanding broke off the matter, fearing the Parisian Dames with their witty conversation, would detain him longer than should be for his benefit, by which means Edward was disappointed of his journey; and albeit Princes whilst they live have nothing in them but what is admirable, yet we need not mistrust the flattery of the Court in those times, for certain it is that his shape was excellent, his hair drew near to a black, making his faces favour see me more delectable. Though the smallness of his eyes full of a shining moisture, as it took away some com●●nesse, so it argued much sharpness of understanding, and cruelty mingled therewith. And indeed George Buchanan (that imperious Scot) chargeth him & other Princes of those times, with affectation of tyranny, as Richard the third manifestly did.  When first attracted by thy heavenly eyes, 
Edward's intemperate desires, with which he was wholly overcome, how tragically they in his offspring were punished, is universally known. A mirror representing their oversight, that rather leave their children what to possess, than what to imitate.  
How silly is the Polander and Dane,  
To bring us Crystal from the frozen main.  
Alluding to their opinions, who imagine Crystal to be a kind of Ice, and therefore it is likely, they who come from the frozen parts, should bring great store of that transparent stone, which is thought to be congealed with extreme cold. Whether Crystal be Ice or some other liquor, I omit to dispute, yet by the examples of Amber and Coral there may be such an induration, for S●lmus out of Pliny mentioneth, that in the Northerly Region a yellow jelly is taken up out of the Sea at low tides, which he calls Succinum, we Amber; so likewise out of the Ligusticke deep, a part of the Meridian Sea, a greenish stalk is gathered, which hardened in the air, becomes to be Coral, either white or red. Amber notwithstanding is thought to drop out of trees, as appears by Marshal's Epigram.  
Et latet, et lucet Phaethontide gutta,  
Vt videantur apis nectare clausa suo,  
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit ille laborum,  
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mor●.  
To behold a Bee enclosed in Electrum, is not so rare as that a boy's throat should be cut with the fall of an Icesicle, the which Epigram is excellent, the 18. lib. 4. He calls it Paethontis gutta, because of that fable which Ovid rehearseth, concerning the Heliades, or Phaeton's sisters metamorphozed into those trees, whose gum is Amber, where flies alighting, are oftentimes tralucently imprisoned.    

The Epistle of Shore's wife to King Edward the fourth.  
AS the weak child, that from the mother's wing,  
Is taught the Lutes delicious fingering,  
At every strings soft touch, is moved with fear,  
Noting his masters curious listening ear;  
whose trembling hand, at every strain bewrays,  
In what doubt he, his new set lesson plays;  
As this poor child, so sit I to indite,  
At every word still quaking as I write.  
Would I had led an humble shepherds life,  
Nor known the name of Shore's admired wife,  
And lived with them in Country fields that range,  
Nor seen the golden Cheap, nor glittering Change  
To stand a Comet gazed at in the skies,  
Subject to all tongues, object to all eyes,  
Oft have I heard my beauty praised of many,  
But never yet so much admired of any;  
A Prince's Eagle-eye to find out that,  
which vulgar sights do seldom wonder at,  
Makes me to think affection flatters sight,  
Or in the object some thing exquisite.  
To housed beauty, seldom stoop's report,  
Fame must attend on that which lives in Court.  
What Swan of great Apollo's brood doth sing  
To vulgar love, in courtly Sonneting?  
Or what immortal Poets sugared pen,  
Attends the glory of a Citizen?  
Oft have I wondered what should blind your eye,  
Or what so far seduced Majesty,  
That having choice of beauties so divine,  
Amongst the most to choose this least of mine?  
More glorious suns adorn fair London's pride,  
Then all rich England's continent beside;  
Who takes in hand to make account of this,  
May number Rumneys flowers, or Isis' fish;  
who doth frequent our Temples, walks, and streets,  
Noting the sundry beauties that he meets,  
Thinks not that Nature left the wide world poor,  
And made this place the Chequer of her store?  
As heaven and earth were lately fallen at jars,  
And grown to vying wonders, dropping stars.  
That if but some one beauty should incite,  
Some sacred Muse, some ravished spirit to write,  
here might he fetch that true Promethian fire,  
As after ages should his lines admire;  
Gathering the honey from the choicest flowers,  
Scorning the withered weeds in Country bowers.  
here in this Garden (only) springs the Rose,  
In every common hedge the Bramble grows,  
Nor are we so turned Neapolitan,  
That might incite some foule-mouth Mantuan,  
To all the world to lay out our defects,  
And have just cause to rail upon our sex;  
To prank old wrinkles up in new attire,  
To alter nature's course, prove time a liar,  
Abusing fate, and heavens just doom reverse,  
On beauty's grave to set a Crimson hearse,  
with a deceitful foil to lay a ground,  
To make a glass to seem a Diamond.  
Nor cannot without hazard of our Name,  
In fashion follow the Venetian Dame,  
Nor the fantastic French to imitate,  
Attired half Spanish, half Italianate;  
Nor wast, not curl, body nor brow adorn,  
That is in Florence, or in Genoa borne.  
But with vain boasts how witless fond am I,  
Thus to draw on mine own indignity?  
And what though married when I was but young,  
Before I knew what did to love belong,  
Yet he which now's possessed of the room,  
Cropped beauties flower when it was in the bloom,  
An● goes away enriched with the store,  
whilst others glean, where he hath reaped before;  
And he dares swear that I am true and just,  
And shall I then deceive his honest trust?  
Or what strange hope should make you to assail,  
where strongest battery never could prevail?  
Belike you think that I repulsed the rest,  
To leave a King the conquest of my breast,  
Or have thus long preserved myself from all,  
A Monarch now should glory in my fall.  
Yet rather let me die the vildest death,  
Then live to draw that sinne-polluted breath;  
But our kind hearts, men's tears cannot abide,  
And we least angry oft, when most we chide;  
Too well know men what our creation made us,  
And nature too well taught them to invade us.  
They know but too well, how, what, when, and where,  
To write, to speak, to sue, and to forbear,  
By signs, by sighs, by motions, and by tears,  
when vows should serve, when oaths, when smiles, when prayers,  
what one delight our humours most doth move,  
Only in that you make us nourish love.  
If any natural blemish blot our face,  
You do protest it gives our beauty grace,  
And what attire we most are used to wear,  
That of all other excellentest you swear.  
And if we walk, or sit, or stand, or lie,  
It must resemble some one Deity,  
And what you know we take delight to hear,  
That are you ever sounding in our ear;  
And yet so shameless when you tempt us thus,  
To lay the fault on beauty, and on us.  
Rome's wanton Ovid did those rules impart,  
O that your nature should behelped with Art.  
Who would have thought, a King that cares to reign,  
Enforced by love, so Poet-like should feign?  
To say that beauty, Times stern rage to shun,  
In my cheeks (Lilies) hid her from the sun;  
And when she meant to triumph in her May,  
Made that her East, and here she broke her day,  
And swearest that Summer still is in my sight,  
And but where I am, all the world is night;  
As though the fayr'st, ere since the world began,  
To me, a sunburnt, base Egyptian;  
But yet I know more than I mean to tell,  
(O would to God you knew it not too well)  
That women oft their most admirers raise,  
Though publicly not flattering their own praise.  
Our churlish husbands, which our youth enjoyed,  
who with our dainties have their stomachs cloyed,  
Do loath our smooth hand with their lips to feel,  
T'enrich our favours, by our beds to kneel;  
At our command to wait, to send, to go,  
As every hour our amorous servants do;  
which makes a stolen kiss often we bestow,  
In earnest of a greater good we owe;  
When he all day torments us with a frown,  
Yet sports with Venus in a bed of Down;  
whose rude embracement, but too ill beseems  
Her span-broade waist, her white and dainty limbs,  
And yet still preaching abstinence of meat,  
when he himself, of every dish will eat.  
Blame you our husbands then, if they deny  
Our public walking, our loose liberty,  
If wi●h exception still they us debar,  
The circuit of the public Theatre;  
To hear the smooth-tongued Poets Siren vain,  
Sporting in his lascivious Comic scene;  
Or the young wanton wits, when they applaud  
The sly persuasions of some subtle Bawd,  
Or passionate Tragedian in his rage,  
Acting a lovesick passion on the stage;  
when though abroad restraining us to room,  
They very hardly keep us safe at home,  
And oft are touched with fear and inward grief,  
Knowing rich prizes soon tempt a thief.  
What sports have we, whereon our minds to set?  
Our dog, our Parrot, or our Marmuzet;  
Or once, a week to walk into the field;  
Small is the pleasure that those toys do yield,  
But to this grief, a medicine you apply,  
To cure restraint with that sweet liberty;  
And sovereignty, (o that bewitching thing)  
Yet made more great, by promise of a King;  
And more, that honour which doth most entice  
The holiest Nun, and she that's near so nice.  
Thus still we strive, yet overcome at length,  
For men want mercy, & poor women strength:  
Yet grant, that we could meaner men resist,  
when kings once come, they conquer as they list.  
Thou art the cause Shore pleaseth not my sight,  
That his embraces give me no delight;  
Thou art the cause I to myself an strange,  
Thy coming, is my full, thy set, my change.  
Long winter nights be minutes, if thou here,  
Short minutes if thou absent, be a year.  
And thus by strength thou art become my sate,  
And mak'st me love, even in the midst of hate.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Would I had led an humble shepherds life,  
Nor known the name of Shore's admired 〈◊〉  
TWo or three Poems written by sundry men, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 woman's beauty; whom that ornament of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 more particular glory, Sir Thomas Moor, very highly 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 her beauty, she being alive in his time, though 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Her stature was mean, her hair of a dark 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 full, her eye gra●, delicate harmony being betwixt each parts proportion, and each proportion's colour, her body fat, white, & smooth, her countenance cheerful, and like to her condition. That picture which I have seen of hers, was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich mantle cast under one arm over her shoulder, and sitting in a chair on which her naked arm did lie. What her father's name was, or where she was borne is not certainly known; but Shore a young man of right good person, wealth, and behaviour, abandoned her bed after the King had made her his Concubine. Richard the third causing her to do open penanc● in Paul's Churchyard, commanded that no man should relieve her, which the tyrant did not so much for his hatred to sin, but that by making his brother's life odious, he might cover his horrible treason the more cunningly.  May number Rumneys flowers or Isis' fish. 
Rumney is that famous Marsh in Kent, at whose side Rye a Haven-towne doth stand. Hereof the excellent English Antiquary Master Camden, and Master Lambert in his preambulation do make mention, and Marshes are commonly called those low grounds, which about upon the sea, and from the Latin word are so denominated. Isis is here used for Thamesis by a Senecdochicall kind of speech or by a Poetical liberty in using one for another, for it is said that Thamesis is compounded of Tame and Isis, making when they are met, that renowned water running by London, a City much more renowned then that water: which being plentiful of fish, is the cause also why all things else are plentiful therein. Moreover, I am persuaded that there is no River in the world beholds more stately buildings on either side clean through, than the Thames. Much is reported of the Grand Canale in Venice, for that the Fronts on either side are so gorgeous.  That might entice some foul-mouthed Mantuan, 
Mantuan a pastoral Poet in one of his Eglogs bitterly inucyeth against womankind, some of the which by way of an Appendex, might be here inserted, seeing the fantastic & insolent humours of many of that sex deserve much sharper physic, were it not that they are grown wiser, then to amend, for such an idle Poet's speech as Mantuan, yea, or for Euripides himself, or Senecas inflexible Hippolytus.  The circuit of the public Theatre. 
Ovid, a most fit Author for so dissolute a Sectary, calls that place Chastities ship wrack, for though Shore's wife wanton plead for liberty, which is the true humour of a Courtesan, yet much more is the praise of modesty then of such liberty. Howbeit the Vestal Nuns had seats assigned them in the Roman Theatre, whereby it should appear, it was counted no impeachment to modesty; though they offending therein were buried quick: a sharp law for them, who may say as Shore's wife doth.  
When though abroad restraining us to room,  
They very hardly keep us safe at home.  
FINIS.     

To the Right Worshipful Sir Henry Goodere of Powlesworth Knight.  
SIR, this Poem of mine, which I imparted to you, at my being with you at your lodging at London in May last, brought at length to perfection, (emboldened by your wont favours) I adventure to make you Patron of. Thus Sir you see I have adventured to the world, with what like or dislike, I know not, if it please, (which I much doubt of) I pray you then be partaker of that which I shall esteem not my least good; if dislike, it shall lessen some part of my grief, if it please you to allow but of my love: howsoever, I pray you accept it as kindly as I offer it, which though without many protestations, yet (I assure you) with much desire of your honour. Thus until such time as I may in some more larger measure make known my love to the happy & generous family of the Gooderes, (to which I confess myself to be beholding to, for the most part of my education) I wish you all happiness.  
Mich: Drayton.   


Mary the French Queen, to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.  
The Argument.  
Mary, the daughter of that renowned Prince King Henry the seventh being very young at her Father's death, after by her brother King Henry the eight, was given in marriage to Lewes' King of France, being a man old and decrepit; This fair and beautiful Lady, long before had placed her affection on Charles Brandon, Duke of suffolk, a brave and courageous young Gentleman, and an especial favourite of the King her brother, and a man raised by him. King Lewes, the husband of this beautiful Queen, lived not long after he was married; and Charles Brandon having commission from the King to bring her back into England, but being delayed by some sinister means, the French Queen writeth this Epistle, to hasten the Duke forward on his intended voyage to France.  
Such health from heaven myself may wish to me,  
Such health from France, Queen Mary sends to thee,  
Brandon, how long mak'st thou excuse to stay,  
And knowst how ill we women brook delay?  
If one poor Channel thus can part us two,  
Tell me (unkind) what would an Ocean do?  
Leander had an Hellespont to swim,  
Yet this from Hero could not hinder him;  
His bark (poor soul) his breast, his arms, his oars:  
But thou a ship, to land thee on our shores;  
And opposite to famous Kent doth lie,  
The pleasant fields of flowery Picardy,  
where our fair Calais, walled in her sands,  
In kenning of the clifie Dover stands.  
here is no Beldame Nurse to pout or lower,  
when wantoning, we revel in my Tower;  
Nor need I top my Turret with a light,  
To guide thee to me, as thou swim'st by night;  
Compared with me, wert thou but half so kind,  
Thy sighs should stuff thy sails, though wanting wind;  
But thy breast is becalmed, thy sighs be slack,  
And mine too stiff, and blow thy broad sails back.  
But thou wilt say, that I should blame the stood;  
Because the wind so full against thee stood;  
Nay blame it not, it did so roughly blow,  
For it did chide thee, for thou wast so slow:  
For it came not to keep thee in the Bay,  
But came from me, to bid thee come away.  
But that thou vainly lettest occasion slide,  
Thou mightst have wafted hither with the tide.  
If when thou comest, I knit mine angry brow,  
Blame me not Brandon, thou hast broke thy vow;  
Yet if I meant to frown, I might be dumb,  
For this may make thee stand in doubt to come:  
Nay come sweet Charles, have care thy ship to guide;  
Come my sweet heart, in faith I will not chide.  
When as my brother and his lovely Queen  
In sad attire for my depart were seen,  
The utmost date expired of my stay,  
when I from Dover did depart away,  
Thou knowst what woe I suffered for thy sake,  
How oft I feigned of thee my leave to take;  
God and thou knowst with what a heavy heart  
I took my farewell when I should depart;  
And being shipped, gave signal with my hand,  
Up to the Cliff, where I did see thee stand,  
Nor could refrain in all the people's view,  
But cried to thee, sweet Charles adieu, adieu.  
Look how a little infant that hath lost,  
The things wherewith it was delighted most,  
weary with seeking, to some corner creeps,  
And there (poor soul) it sits it down and weeps;  
And when the Nurse would fain content the mind,  
Yet still it mourns for that it cannot find:  
Thus in my careful Cabin did I lie,  
when as the ship out of the Road did sly.  
Think'st thou my love was faithful unto thee,  
when young Castille to England sued for me?  
Be judge thyself, if it were not of power,  
when I refused an Empire for my dower.  
To England's Court, when once report did brings  
How thou in France didst revel with the King,  
when he in triumph of his victory,  
Under a rich embroidered Canapy,  
Entered proud Tournay, which did trembling stand,  
To beg for mercy at his conquering hand;  
To hear of his enderements, how I joyed?  
But see, this calm was suddenly destroyed,  
When Charles of Castille there to banquet came,  
with him his sister that ambitious Dame,  
Savoys proud Duchess, knowing how long she,  
By her love sought to win my love from me;  
Fearing my absence might thy vows acquit,  
To change thy Mary for a Margarite,  
when in King Henry's Tent of cloth of gold,  
She often did thee in her arms enfold;  
where you were feasted more deliciously,  
Then Cleopatra did Marke-Anthony,  
where sports all day did entertain your sight,  
And then in masks you passed away the night;  
But thou wilt say, 'tis proper unto us,  
That we by nature all are jealous.  
I must confess 'tis oft found in our sex,  
But who not love, not any thing suspects?  
True love doth look with pale suspicious eye,  
Take away love, if you take jealousy.  
When Henry, Turwin, and proud Turnay won,  
Little thought I the end when this begun;  
when Maximilian to those wars addressed,  
wore England's Cross on his imperial breast,  
And in our Army let his Eagle fly,  
And had his pay from Henry's treasury,  
Little thought I when first began these wars,  
My marriage day should end those bloody jars;  
From which I vow, I yet am free in thought,  
But this alone by Woolseys' wit was wrought.  
To his advise the King gave free consent,  
That will I, nill I, I must be content.  
My virgins right, my state could not advance,  
But now enriched with the dower of France;  
Then, but poor Suffolk's Duchess had I been,  
Now, the great Dowager, the most Christian Queen.  
But I perceive where all thy grief doth lie,  
Lewes of France had my virginity;  
He had indeed, but shall I tell thee what,  
Believe me Brandon he had scarcely that;  
Good feeble King, he could not do much harm,  
But age must needs have something that is warm;  
Small drops (God knows) do quench that heatlesse fire,  
when all the strength is only in desire.  
And I could tell (if modesty might tell,)  
There's somewhat else that pleaseth Lovers well,  
To rest his cheek, upon my softer cheek,  
was all he had, and more he did not seek.  
So might the little baby clip the nurse,  
And it content, she never a whit the worse;  
Then think this Brandon, if that makes thee frown,  
For maidenhead he, on my head set a Crown,  
who would exchange a Kingdom for a kiss?  
Hard were the heart that would not yield him this;  
And time yet half so swiftly doth not pass,  
Not full five months yet elder than I was.  
When thou to France conducted was by fame,  
with many Knights which from all Countries came,  
Installed at S. Dennis in my throne,  
where Lewes held my coronation;  
Where the proud Dolphin, for thy valour sake,  
Chose thee at tilt his princely part to take;  
when as the staves upon thy cask did light,  
grieved therewith, I turned away my sight;  
And spoke aloud, when I myself forgot,  
'tis my sweet Charles, my Brandon, hurt him not:  
But when I feared the King perceived this,  
Good silly man, I pleased him with a kiss;  
And to extol his valiant son began,  
That Europe never bred a braver man;  
And when (poor King) he simply praised thee,  
Of all the rest I asked which thou shouldst be?  
Thus I with him, dissembled for thy sake,  
Open confession now amends must make.  
Whilst this old King upon a pallet lies,  
And only holds a combat with mine eyes;  
Mine eyes from his, by thy sight stolen away,  
which might too well their Mistress thoughts bewray.  
But when I saw thy proud unconquered Lance,  
To bear the prize from all the flower of France,  
To see what pleasure did my soul embrace,  
Might easily be discerned in my face.  
Look as the dew upon a Damaske-Rose,  
How through that clearest pearl his blushing shows,  
And when the soft air breathes upon his top,  
From those sweet leaves falls easilly drop by drop;  
Thus by my cheek, down raining from mine eyes,  
One tear for joy, another's room supplies.  
Before mine eye (like touch) thy shape did prove,  
Mine eye condemned my too too partial love;  
But since by others I the same do try,  
My love condemns my too too partial eye.  
The precious stone most beautiful and rare,  
when with itself we only do compare,  
we deem all other of that kind to be,  
As excellent as that we only see;  
But when we judge of that with others by,  
Too credulous we do condemn our eye,  
which then appears more orient & more bright  
As from their dimness, borrowing great light.  
Alansoon, a fine timbered man, and tall,  
Yet wants the shape thou are adorned withal;  
Vandon, good carriage, and a pleasing eye,  
Yet hath not Suffolk's Princely majesty;  
Courageous Bourbon, a sweet manly face,  
But yet he wants my Brandon's courtly grace.  
Proud Long avile, our Court judged had no peer,  
A man scarce made (was thought) whilst thou wast here.  
County S. Paul, brav'st man a● arms in France,  
would yield himself a Squire to bear thy Lance;  
Galleas and Bounearme, matchless for their might,  
Under thy towering blade have couched in fight.  
If with our love, my brother angry be,  
I'll say for his sake I first loved thee;  
And but to frame my liking to his mind,  
Never to thee had I been half so kind.  
Should not the sister like as doth the brother,  
The one of us should be unlike the other.  
Worthy my love, the vulgar judge no man,  
Except a Yorkist, or Lancastrian;  
Nor think that my affection should be set,  
But in the line of great Plantagenet.  
I pass not what the idle Commons say,  
I pray thee Charles make hah and come away.  
To thee what's England, if I be not there?  
Or what to me is France, if thou not here?  
Thy absence makes me angry for a while,  
But at thy presence I must needlsy smile.  
When last of me his leave my Brandon took,  
He swore an oath, (and made my lips the book)  
He would make haste, which now thou dost deny  
Thou art forsworn, o wilful perjury.  
Sooner would I with greater sins dispense,  
Then by entreaty pardon this offence.  
But yet I think, if I should come to shrive thee,  
Great were the fault that I should not forgive thee;  
Yet wert thou here, I should revenged be,  
But it should be with too much loving thee.  
ay, that is all that thou shalt fear to taste,  
I pray thee Brandon come, sweet Charles make haste.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
The utmost date expired of my stay,  
When I for Dover did depart away.  
KIng Henry the 8. with the Queen and Nobles, in the 6. year of his reign, in the month of September, brought this lady to Dover, where she took shipping for France.  
Think'st thou my love was faithful unto thee,  
When young Castille ' to England sued for me.  
It was agreed and concluded betwixt Hen. the 7. and Philip King of Castille, Son to Maximilean the Emperor, that Charles eldest son of the said Philip, should marry the Lady Mary, daughter to King Henry, when they came to age: which agreement was afterward in the 8. year of Henry the 8. annihilated.  
When he in triumph of his victory,  
Under a rich embroidered Canapy,  
Entered proud Turney which did trembling stand. etc.  
Henry the 8. after th● long siege of Turnay, which was delivered to him upon composition, entered the City in triumph, under a Canopy of cloth of gold, borne by four of the chief and most noble Citizens; the King himself mounted upon a gallant courser barbed with the Arms of England, France, and Ireland.  
When Charles of Castille there to banquet came,  
With him his sister, that ambitious Dame,  
Savoys proud Dutches.  
The King being at Tournay, there came to him the Prince of Castille, & the Lady Margaret Duchess of Savoy his sister, to whom King Henry gave great entertainment.  
Savoys proud Duchess, knowing how long she  
By her love sought to win my love from me.  
At this time there was speech of a marriage to be concluded, between Charles Brandon then L. Lisle, & the Duchess of Savoy, the L. Lisle being highly favoured, & exceedingly beloved of the Dutches.  When in King Henrie● Tent of cloth of gold, 
The King caused a rich Tent of cloth of gold to be erected, where he feasted the Prince of Castille & the Duchess, and entertained them with sumptuous masks and banquets during their abode.  
When Maximilian to those wars addressed  
W●re England's Cross on his imperial breast,  
Maximilian the Emperor with all his soldiers, which served under King Henry, wore the cross of S. George, with the Rose on their breasts.  And in our Armi● let his Eagle fly, 
The black Eagle is the badge imperial, which here is used for the displaying of his ensign or standard.  And had his pay from Henry's treasury. 
Henry the 8. at his wars in France, retained the Emperor & all his Soldiers in wages, which served under him during those wars.  But this alone by Wolsey's wit was wrought, 
Thomas Wolsey, the King's Almoner, than Bishop of Lincoln, a man of great authority with the king, & afterward Cardinal, was the thief cause that the Lady Mary was married to the old French king, with whom the French King had dealt underhand to be friend him in that match.  
When the proud Dolphin for thy valour sake,  
Chose thee at tilt his princely part to take.  
Francis Duke of Valois, and Dolphin of France, at the marriage of the Lady Mary, in honour thereof proclaimed a justs, where he chose the Duke of Suffolk, and the Marquis Dorset for his aids, at all martial exercises.  Galeas, and Bounarme, matchless for their might, 
This County Galeas at the justs ran a course with a Spear, which was at the head five inches square on every side, and at the But nine inches square, whereby here showed his wondrous force and strength. This Bounarme, a Gentleman of France, at the same time came into the field armed at all points with ten spears about him● in each stirrup three, under each thigh one, one under his left arm, and one in his hand, and putting his horse to the career, never stopped him till he had broken every staff. Hall.    

Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, to Mary the French Queen.  
But that thy faith commands me to forbear,  
The fault thine own, if I impatient were;  
were my dispatch such as should be my speed,  
I should want time thy loving lines to reed,  
here in the Court, chameleon like I fare,  
And as that creature, only live by air,  
All day I wait, and all the night I watch,  
And starve mine ears to hear of my dispatch;  
If Dover were th'Abydos of my rest,  
Or pleasant Calais were my Maries Cest,  
Thou shouldst not need, fair Queen to blame me so,  
Did not the distance to desire say no,  
No tedious night from travel should be free,  
Till through the waves, with swimming unto thee  
A snowy path I made unto thy Bay,  
So bright as is that Nectar-stayned way  
The restless sun by travailing doth wear,  
Passing his course to finish up the year.  
But Paris locks my love within the main,  
And London yet they Brandon doth detain,  
Of thy firm love thou puttest me still in mind,  
But of my faith, not one word can I find.  
When Longavile to Mary was affied,  
And thou by him waste made King Lewis bride,  
How oft I wished that thou a prize mightst be  
That I in Arms might combat him for thee,  
And in the madness of my love distraught,  
A thousand times his murder have forethought  
But that th'all-seeing powers which sit above,  
Regard not mad men's oaths, nor faults in love,  
And have confirmed it by the grant of heaven,  
That lovers sins on earth should be forgiven;  
For never man is half so much distressed,  
As he that loves to see his love possessed.  
Coming to Richmond after thy depart  
(Richmond, where first thou stolest away my heart)  
Me thought it looked not as it did of late,  
But wanting thee, forlorn, and desolate,  
In whose fayere walks thou often hast been seen,  
To sport with Katherine, Henry's beauteous Queene●  
Astonishing sad winter with thy sight,  
As for thy sake, the day hath put back night;  
That the birds thinking to approach the spring,  
Forgot themselves, and have begun to sing:  
So oft I go by Thames, so oft return,  
Me thinks for thee the River yet doth mourn,  
who I have seen to let her stream at large,  
which like a Handmaid waited on thy Barge;  
And if thou hapst against the flood to row,  
which way it ebbed before, now would it flow,  
weeping in drops upon thy labouring oars,  
For joy that it had got thee from the shores.  
The Swans with music that the Roothers make  
Ruffing their plumes, come gliding on the lake,  
As the fleet Dolphins, by Arion's strings,  
were brought to land with their sweet ravish,  
The flocks & herds that pasture near the flood,  
To gaze upon thee, have forborn their food;  
And sat down sadly, mourning by the brim,  
That they by nature were not made to swim●  
When as the Post to England's royal Court,  
Of thy hard passage brought the true report,  
How in a storm thy well rigged ships were tossed,  
And thou thyself in danger to be lost,  
I knew 'twas Venus' loathed that aged bed,  
where beauty so should be dishonoured;  
Or feared the Sea-nymphs haunting of the Lake,  
If thou but seen, their Goddess should forsake.  
And whirling round her Dove-drawne Coach about,  
To view thy Navy now in launching out,  
Her airy mantle loosely doth unbind,  
Which fanning forth a rougher gale of wind,  
wafted thy fails with speed unto the land,  
And runs thy ship on Bullins harbouring strand.  
How should I joy of thy arrive to hear?  
But as a poor seafaring passenger,  
After long travail, tempest-torne & wracked,  
By some unpitting Pirate that is sacked;  
heareth the false robber that hath stolen his wealth,  
Landed in some safe harbour, and in health,  
Enriched with invaluable store,  
For which he long hath travailed before.  
When thou to Abuile held'st th'appointed day,  
we heard how Lewes met thee on the way,  
where thou in glittering Tissue strangely dight,  
Appearedst unto him, like the Queen of light,  
In cloth of silver all thy virgin train,  
In beauty sumptuous, as the Northern wain;  
And thou alone the foremost glorious star,  
which leadest the team of that great Wagoner.  
What could thy thought be, but as I do think,  
when thine eyes tasted, what mine ears did drink?  
A cripple King laid bedrid long before,  
Yet at thy coming crept out of the door,  
'Twas well he rid, he had no legs to go,  
But this thy beauty forced his body to;  
For whom a cullis had more fitter been,  
Then in a golden bed a gallant Queen.  
To use thy beauty as the miser gold,  
which hoards it up but only to behold,  
Still looking on it with a jealous eye,  
Fearing to lend, yet loving usury;  
O Sacrilege, (if beauty be divine,)  
The profane hand should touch the hallowed shrine.  
To surfeit sickness on the sound man's diet,  
To rob Content, yet still to live unquiet,  
And having all, to be of all beguiled,  
And yet still longing like a little child●  
When Marquis Dorset and the valiant Gray's  
To purchase fame first crossed the narrow Seas,  
with all the Knights that my associates went,  
In honour of thy nuptial tournament,  
Thinkst thou I joyed not in thy Beauty's pride?  
when thou in triumph didst through Paris ride,  
where all the streets as thou didst place along  
with Arras, Bisse, and Tapestry were hung;  
Ten thousand gallant Citizens prepared,  
In rich attire thy princely self to guard;  
Next them, three thousand choice religious men,  
In golden vestments followed on again;  
And in procession as they came along,  
with Hymeneus sang thy marriage song.  
Then five great Dukes, as did their places fall,  
To each of these, a Princely Cardinal,  
Then thou on thy imperial Chariot set,  
Crowned with a rich imperled Coronet,  
whilst the Parisian Dames, as thy train past,  
Their precious Incense in abundance cast.  
As Cynthia from the wave-embatteld shrouds,  
Opening the west, comes streaming through the clouds,  
with shining troops of siluer-tressed stars  
Attending on her, as her Torchbearers,  
And all the lesser lights about her throne,  
With admiration stand as lookers on;  
whilst she alone in height of all her pride,  
The Queen of light, along her sphere doth glide,  
When on the tilt my Horse like thunder came,  
No other signal had I but thy name,  
Thy voice my trumpet, and my guide thine eyes,  
And but thy beauty, I esteemed no prize.  
That large● limd Almain of the giants race,  
which bare strength on his breast, fear in his face,  
whose sinewed arms, with his steele-tempered blade,  
Through plate and male, such open passage made,  
Upon whose might the Frenchman's glory lay,  
And all the hope of that victorious day,  
Thou saw'st thy Brandon beat him on his knee,  
Offering his shield a conquered spoil to thee,  
But thou wilt say, (perhaps) I vainly boast  
And tell thee that which thou already knowst,  
No sacred Queen, my valour I deny,  
It was thy beauty, not my chivalry;  
One of thy tressed curls which falling down,  
As loath to be imprisoned in thy Crown,  
I saw the soft air sportively to take it,  
To divers shapes and sundry forms to make it,  
Now parting it to four, to three, to twain,  
Now twisting it, and then untwist again;  
Then make the threads to dally with thine eye,  
A sunny candle, for a golden fly.  
At length from thence one little tear it got,  
which falling down as though a star had shot,  
My up-turnd eye pursues it with my sight,  
The which again redoubleth all my might.  
'tis but in vain, of my descent to boast,  
when heavens Lamp shines, all other lights be lost,  
Falcons gaze not, the Eagle sitting by,  
whose brood surveys the sun with open eye;  
Else might my blood find issue from his force,  
In Bosworth plain, beat Richard from his horse,  
whose puissant Arms, great Richmond chose to wield,  
His glorious colours in that conquering field;  
And with his sword in his dear sovereigns' fight,  
To his last breath, stood fast in Henry's right.  
Then beauteous Empress, think this safe delay,  
Shall be the even to a joyful day;  
Foresight doth still on all advantage lie,  
wisemen must give place to necessity,  
To put back ill, our good we must forbear,  
Better first fear, then after still to fear.  
'twere oversight in that at which we aim,  
To put the hazard on an aftergame;  
with patience then let us our hopes attend,  
And till I come, receive these lines I send.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  When Longavile to Mary was affied, 
THE Duke of Longavile which was prisoner in England upon the peace to be concluded between England & France, was delivered, and married the Princess Mary, for Lewes the French king his master●  
How in a storm thy well rigged ships were tossed,  
And thou etc.  
As the Queen sailed for France, a mighty storm arose at sea, so that the Navy was in great danger, & was severed, some driven upon the coast of Flanders, some on Britain: the ship wherein the queen was, was driven into the Havon at Bullen with very great danger.  When thou to Abuile heldst th'appointed day. 
King Lewes met her by Abuile, near to the Forest of Arders, and ●rought her into Abuile with great solemnity.  Appearedst unto him like the Queen of Light. 
Expressing the sumptuous attire of the Queen & her train, attended by the chief of the Nobility of England, with 36. Ladies all in cloth of silver, their horses trapped with Crimson velvet.  A cripple King laid bedrid lo●g before. 
King Lewes, was a man of great years, troubled much with the gout, so that he had of long time before little use of legs.  When Marquis Dorset, and the valiant Gray's. 
The Duke of Suffolk when the proclamation came into England, of justs to be holden in France at Paris, he for the Queen's sake his Mistress, obtained of the King to go thither: with whom went the Marquis Dorcet and his four brothers, the Lord Clinton, Sir Edward Nevell, Sir Gyles Chapel, Tho. Cheyney: which went all over with the Duke as his assistants.  When thou in triumph didst through Paris ride 
A true description of the Queen's ●ntring into Paris, after her coronation performed at S. Dennis.  Then five great Dukes as did their places fall. 
The Dukes of Alansoon, Bourbon, Vandome, Longavile, Suffolk, with five Cardinals.  That large-limd Almain of the giants race. 
Francis Valois, the Dolphin of France envying the glory, that the Englishmen had obtained at the tilt, brought in an Almain secretly, a man thought almost of incomparable strength, which encountered. Charles Brandon at Barriers, but the Duke grappling with him, so bea● him about the head with the pommel of his sword, that the blood came out of the sight of his Cask.  
Else might my blood find issue from his force,  
In Bosworth, etc.  
Sir William Brandon standard-beater to the Earl of Richmond (after Henry the 7.) at Bosworth field, a brave and gallant Gentleman; who was slain by Richard there, this was Father to this Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk.  
FINIS.     

To my most dear friend Master Henry Lucas, son to Edward Lucas Esquire.  
SIR, to none have I been more beholding, then to your kind parents, far (I must truly confess) above the measure of my deserts: Many there be in England of whom for some particularity I might justly challenge greater merit, had I not been borne in so evil an hour, as to be poisoned with that gall of ingratitude: to yourself am I engaged for many more courtesies than I imagined could ever have been found in one of so few years: nothing do I more desire than that those hopes of your toward and virtuous youth, may prove so pure in the fruit as they are fair in the bloom: long may you live to their comfort that love you most; and may I ever wish you the increase of all good fortunes.  
Yours ever, Michael Drayton.   


Henry Howard Earl of Surrey to Geraldine.  
The Argument.  
Henry Howard, that true noble Earl of Surrey, and excellent Poet, falling in love with Geraldine; descended of the noble family of the Fitzgeralds of Ireland, a fair & modest Lady; and one of the honourable maids to Queen Katherine Dowager: eternizeth her praises in many excellent Poems, of rare and sundry inventions: and after some few years being determined to see that famous Italy, the source and Helicon of all excellent Arts; first visiteth that renowned Florence, from whence the gerald's challence their descent, from the ancient family of the Geraldi; there in honour of his mistress be advanceth her picture: and challengeth to maintain her beauty by deeds of Arms against all that durst appear in the lists, where after the proof of his brave and incomparable valour, whose arm crowned her beauty with eternal memory, he writeth this Epistle to his dearest Mistress.  
FRom learned Florence, (long time rich in same)  
From whence thy race, thy noble Grandsires came,  
To famous England, that kind nurse of mine,  
Thy Surrey sends to heavenly Geraldine,  
Yet let not Tuscan think I do her wrong,  
That I from thence write in my native tongue,  
That in these harsh-tuned cadences I sing,  
Sitting so near the Muse's sacred spring,  
But rather think herself adorned thereby,  
That England reads the praise of Italy.  
Though to the Tuscans, I the smoothness grant,  
Our dialect no majesty doth want,  
To set thy praises in as high a key,  
As France, or Spain, or Germany, or they,  
That day I quit the Fore-land of fair Kent,  
And that my ship her course for Flandersbent;  
Yet think I with how many a heavy look,  
My leave of England and of thee I took,  
And did entreat the tide (if it might be)  
But to convey me one sigh back to thee,  
Up to the deck a billow lightly skips,  
Taking my sigh, and down again it slips;  
Into the gulf itself, it headlong throws,  
And as a Post to England-ward it goes;  
As I sit wondering how the rough seas stirred,  
I might far off perceive a little bird,  
which as she fain from shore to shore would fly  
Hath lost herself in the broad vasty sky,  
Her feeble wing beginning to deceive her,  
The seas, of life still gaping to bereave her;  
Unto the ship she makes which she discovers,  
And there (poor fool) a while for refuge hovers,  
And when at length her flagging pineon fails  
Panting she hangs upon the rattling fails,  
And being forced to lose her hold with pain,  
Yet beaten off, she strait lights on again,  
And tossed with flaws, with storms, with wind, with wether,  
Yet still departing thence, still turneth thither,  
Now with the Poop, now with the Prow doth bear,  
Now on this side, now that, now heer●, now there,  
Methinks these storms should be my sad depart,  
The silly helpless bird, is my poor bart,  
The ship, to which for succour it repairs,  
That is yourself, (regardless of my cares)  
Of every surge doth fall, or wave doth rise,  
To some one thing I sit and moralise.  
When for thy love I left the Belgic shore,  
Divine Erasmus, and our famous Moor,  
whose happy presence gave me such delight  
As made a minute of a winter's night;  
with whom a while I staid at Roterdame,  
Now so renowned by Erasmus name.  
Yet every hour did seem a world of time,  
Till I had seen that soule-reviuing clime,  
And thought the foggy Netherlands unfit,  
A watery soil to clog a fiery wit;  
And as that wealthy Germany I passed,  
Coming unto the Emperor's Court at last,  
Great learned Agrippa, so profound in Art,  
who the infernal secrets doth impart,  
when of thy health I did desire to know,  
Me in a glass my Geraldine did show,  
Sick in thy bed, and for thou couldst net sleep,  
By a watch Taper set thy light to keep;  
I do remember thou didst read that Ode,  
Sent back whilst I, in Thanet made abode,  
where as thou cam'st unto the word of love,  
Even in thine eyes I saw how passion strove;  
That snowy Lawn which covered thy bed,  
Me thought looked white, to see thy cheek so red,  
Thy rosy cheek, oft changing in my sight,  
Yet still was red, to see the Lawn so white;  
The little Taper which should give thee light,  
Me thought waxed dim, to see thy eye so bright;  
Thine eye again supplies the Tapers turn,  
And with his beams doth make the Taper burn;  
The shrugging air about thy Temple hurls,  
And wraps thy breath in little clouded curls,  
And as it doth ascend, it strait doth cease it,  
And as it sinks, it presently doth raise it;  
Canst thou by sickness banish beauty so?  
Which if put from thee, knows not where to go;  
To make her shift, and for her succour seek,  
To every riveled face, each bankrupt cheek,  
If health preserved, thou beauty still dost cherish,  
If that neglected, beauty soon doth perish.  
Care, draws on care, woe comforts woe again,  
Sorrow breeds sorrow, one grief brings forth twain,  
If live or die, as thou dost, so do I,  
If live, I live, and if thou die, I die,  
One heart, one love, one joy, one grief, one troth,  
One good, one ill, one life, one death, to both,  
If howard's blood, thou hold'st as but too vile,  
Or not esteemest of Norfolk's Princely style,  
If Scotland's coat no mark of fame can lend,  
That Lion placed in our bright silver bend,  
which as a Trophy beautifies our shield,  
Since Scottish blood discoloured Floden field;  
When the proud Cheviot our brave Ensign bear,  
As a rich jewel in a Lady's hair,  
And did fair Bramstons' neighbouring valies choke,  
with clouds of Canons, fire disgorged smoke,  
Or Surrey's Earldom insufficient be,  
And not a dower so well contenting thee;  
Yet am I one of great Apollo's heirs,  
The sacred Muses challenge me for theirs;  
By Princes, my immortal lines are sung,  
My flowing verses graced with every tongue;  
The little children when they learn to go,  
By painful mothers daded to and fro,  
Are taught my sugared numbers to rehearse,  
And have their sweet lips seasoned with my verse;  
when heaven would strive to do the best it can,  
And put an Angel's spirit into a man;  
The utmost power in that great work doth spend,  
when to the world a Poet it doth intend,  
That little difference twixt the Gods and us,  
(By them confirmed) distinguished only thus,  
whom they in birth, ordain to happy days,  
The Gods commit, their glory to our praise,  
To eternal life when they dissolve that breath,  
we likewise share a second power by death:  
When time shall turn those Amber curls to grey,  
My verse again shall gild and make them gay,  
And trick them up in knotted curls anew,  
And in the autumn give a summers hue;  
That sacred power, that in my Ink remains,  
Shall put fresh blood into thy withered veins,  
And on thy red decayed, thy whiteness dead,  
Shall set a white, more white, a red, more red;  
When thy dim sight thy glass cannot descry.  
Thy crazed mirror cannot see thine eye;  
My verse to tell, what eye, what mirror was,  
Glass to thine eye, an eye unto thy glass,  
where both thy mirror and thine eye shall see,  
what once thou saw'st, in that, that saw in thee,  
And to them both shall tell the simple truth,  
what that in pureness was, what thou in youth.  
If Florence once should lose her old renown,  
As Famous Athences, now a fisher town,  
My lines for thee a Florence shall erect,  
which great Apollo ever shall protect,  
And with the numbers from my pen that falls,  
Bring Marble mines to recrect those walls;  
Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongue's report,  
To be the glory of the English Court,  
Shall by our Nation be so much admired,  
If ever Surrey truly were inspired.  
And famous Wyatt, who in numbers sings,  
To that enchanting Thracian Harpers strings,  
To whom Phoebus (the Poet's God) did drink,  
A bowl of Nectar, filled unto the brink,  
And sweet-tongued Bryan (whom the Muses kept  
And in his Cradle rocked him whilst he slept,)  
In sacred verses (so divinely penned)  
Upon thy praises ever shall attend.  
What time I came unto this famous Town,  
And made the cause of my arrival known,  
Great Medici's a list (for triumphs) built,  
within the which, upon a tree of gilt,  
with thousand sundry rare devices set,)  
I did erect thy lovely counterfeit,  
To answer those Italian Dames desire,  
which daily came thy beauty to admire.  
By which my Lion in his gaping jaws  
Holdeth my Lance, and in his dreadful paws,  
Reacheth my Gauntlet unto him that dare  
A beauty with my Geraldine's compare.  
which when each manly valiant arm assays,  
After so many brave triumphant days,  
The glorious prize upon my Lance I bore,  
By Herald's voice proclaimed to be thy share;  
The shivered staves here for thy beauty broke,  
with fierce encounters passed at every shock,  
when stormy courses answered cuff for cuff,  
Denting proud Bevers with the counterbuff,  
Upon an Altar burnt with holy flame,  
And sacrificed as incense to thy fame.  
Where, as the Phoenix from her spiced fume,  
Renews herself in that she doth consume,  
So from these sacred ashes live we both,  
Even as that one Arabian wonder doth.  
When to my chamber I myself retire,  
Burnt with the sparks that kindled all this fire,  
Thinking of England which my hope contains,  
The happy Isle where Geraldine remains,  
Of Honsdon where, those sweet celestial eyen,  
At first did pierce this tender breast of mine;  
Of Hampton Court, and Windsor, where abound,  
All pleasures that in Paradise were found;  
Near that fair Castle is a little grove,  
with hanging rocks all covered from above,  
which on the bank of lovely Thames doth stand,  
Clipped by the water from the other Land,  
whose bushy top doth bid the sun forbear,  
And checks those proud beams that would enter there,  
whose leaves still muttering as the air doth breath,  
with the sweet bubbling of the stream beneath,  
Doth rock the senses (whilst the small birds sing,)  
Lulled a sleep with gentle murmuring,  
where lightfoot Fairies sport at prison base,  
No doubt there is some power frequents the place,  
There the soft popler and smooth beech do bear,  
Our names together carved every where,  
And Gordian knots do curiously entwine,  
The names of Henry, and of Geraldine.  
O let this Grove in happy times to come,  
Be called, The lovers blessed Elysium,  
whether my Mistress wont to resort,  
In summers heat, in pleasant shades to sport,  
A thousand sundry names I have it given,  
And called it Wonder-hider, Cou●● heaven,  
The roof where beauty her rich 〈◊〉 doth keep,  
Under whose compass all the stars do sleep.  
There is one tree, which now I call to mind,  
Doth bear these verses carved in his rind,  
When Geraldine shall sit in thy fair shade,  
Fan her sweet tresses with perfumed air,  
Let thy large boughs a Canopy be made,  
To keep the Sun from gazing on my fair,  
And when thy spreading branched arms be sunk,  
And thou no sap nor pith shalt more retain,  
e'en from the dust of thy unwieldy Trunk,  
I will renew thee Phoenixlike again,  
And from thy dry decayed root will bring,  
A new-born Stem, another AEsons● spring.  
I find no cause, nor judge I reason why  
My country should give place to Lombary;  
As goodly flowers on Thamisis do grow,  
As beautify the banks of wanton Poo;  
As many Nymphs as haunt rich Arnus strand,  
By silver Sabrine tripping hand in hand.  
Our shades as sweet, though not to us so dear,  
Because the sun hath greater power here,  
This distant place but gives me greater woe,  
Far off, my sighs the farther have to go.  
Ah absence why, thus shouldst thou seem so long?  
Or wherefore shouldst thou offer time such wrong?  
Summer so soon, should steal on winter's cold,  
Or winter's blasts, so soon make summer old?  
Love did us both with one self arrow strike,  
Our wounds both one, our ●ure should be the like,  
Except thou hast found out some mean by Art,  
Some powerful medicine to withdraw the dart,  
But mine is fixed, and absents physic proved,  
It sticks too fast, it cannot be removed.  
Adieu, adieu, from Florence when I go,  
By my next letters Geraldine shall know,  
Which if good fortune shall my course direct,  
From Venice by some messenger expect,  
Till when I leave thee to thy heart's desire,  
By him that lives thy virtues to admire.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  From learned Florence, long time rich in fame. 
FLorence a City of Tuscan, standing upon the River Arnus, (celebrated by Dante, Petrarch, and other, the most noble wits of Italy,) was the original of the family out of which this Geraldine did spring, as Ireland the place of her birth, which is intimated by these ver●es of the Earl of Surrey's.  
From Tuscan came my Ladies worthy race,  
Fair Florence was sometime her ancient seat,  
The Western I'll, whose pleasant shore doth face  
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat.  
Great learned Agrippa so profound in Art.  
Cornelius Agrippa, a man in his time so famous for magic (which the books published by him, concerning that argument do partly prove) as in this place needs no further remembrance. Howbeit, as those abstruse and gloomy Arts are but illusions, so in the honour of so rare a Gentleman as this Earl, (and therewithal so noble a Poet) (a quality by which his other titles receive their greatest lustre) invention may make somewhat more bold with Agrippa above the barren truth.  That Lion set in our bright silver bend. 
The blazon of the Howards honourable armour, was Gules between six crosselets Fitches a bend Argent, to which afterwards was added by atchivement, In the Canton point of the bend an escutcheon, or within the Scottish tressure a Demption rampant Gules etc. as Master Camden now Clarenceaulx from authority noteth. Never shall time nor bitter envy be able to obscure the brightness of so great a victory as that for which this addition was obtained. The Historian of Scotland George Beuchanan reporteth, that the Earl of Surrey gave for his badge a silver Lion, (which from antiquity belonged to that name) tearing in pieces A Lion prostrate Gules, and withal that this which he terms insolency, was punished in him & his posterity, as if it were fatal to the conqueror to do his sovereign such loyal service as a thousand such severe censurers were never able to perform.  Since Scottish blood discoloured Floden field. 
The battle was fought at Bramstone near to Flodden hill being a part of the Cheviot, a mountain that exceedeth all the mountains in the North of England for bigness, in which the wilful perjury of james the fifth was punished from heaven by the Earl of Surrey, being left by King Henry the eight (then in France before Turwin) for the defence of his Realm.  
Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongues report  
To be the glory etc.  
Of the beauty of that Lady, he himself testifies in an Elegy which he writ of her refusing to dance with him, which he seemeth to alegorize under a Lion and a Wolf. And of himself he saith.  A Lion saw I late, as white as any snow. 
And of her.  
I might perceive a Wolf as white as Whalls bone,  
A fairer beast, of fresher hue, beheld I never none,  
But that her looks were coy, and froward was her grace.  
And famous Wyatt who in numbers sings  
Sir Thomas Wyatt the elder, a most excellent Poet, as his Poems extant do witness, besides certain Enconiums written by the Earl of Surrey upon some of David's Psalms, by him translated.  
What holy grave, what worthy Sepulchre,  
To wyatts Psalms shall Christians purchase then.  
And afterward upon his death the said Earl writeth thus.  
What virtues rare were tempered in thy breast?  
Honour that England such a jewel bred,  
And kiss the ground whereas thy corpse did rest.  
At Honsdon, where those sweet celestial eyen,  
It is manifest by a Sonnet written by this noble Earl, that the first time he beheld his Lady, was at Hunsdon.  Honsdon did first present her to mine eyen, 
Which Sonnet being altogether a description of his love, I do allege in divers places of this gloss, as proofs of what I write.  
Of Hampton Court and Windsor where abound,  
All pleasures, etc.  
That he enjoyed the presence of his fair and virtuous mistress, in those two places, by reason of queen Katherine's usual abode there, (on whom this Lady Geraldive was attending) I prove by these yerses of his.  
Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine,  
Windsor alas doth chase me from her sight.  
And in another Sonnet following.  
When Windsor walls sustained my wearied arm,  
My hand my chin, to ease my restless head.  
And that his delight might draw him to compare Windsor to Paradise, an Elegy may prove, where he remembreth his passed pleasures in that place.  
With a King's son my childish years I passed,  
In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy:  
And again in the same Elegy.  
Those large green Courts, where we were wont to rove,  
With eyes cast up unto the maidens Tower,  
With easy sighs, such as men draw in love.  
And again in the same.  
The stately seats, the Ladies bright of hue.  
The dances short, long tales of sweet delight.  
And for the pleasantness of the place, these verses of his may tosusie in the same Elegy before recited.  
The secret groves which we have made resound,  
With silver drops the meads yet spread for ruth,  
As goodly flowers from Thamisis do grow. etc.  
I had thought in this place not to have spoken of Thames being so oft remembered by me before in sundry other places on this occasion: but thinking of that excellent Epigram, which as I judge either to be done by the said Earl or Sir Francis Brian: for the worthiness thereof I will here insett, which as it seems to me was compiled at the Authors being in Spain.  
Tagus farewell, which Westward with thy streams,  
Turnest up the grains of gold already tried,  
For I with spur and sail go seek the Thames,  
Against the sun that shows her wealthy pride;  
And to the town that Brutus sought by dreams,  
Like bended Moon that leans her lusty side,  
To seek my Country now, for whom I live,  
O mighty jove, for this the winds me give.  
FINIS.    

Geraldine to Henry Howard Earl of Surrey.  
Such greeting as the noble Surrey sends,  
The same to thee thy Geraldine commends;  
A maidens thoughts do check my trembling hand,  
On other terms, or compliments to stand,  
which (might my speech be as my heart affords)  
Should come attired in far richer words;  
But all is one, my faith as firm shall prove,  
As hers that makes the greatest show of love.  
In Cupid's School I never read those books,  
whose lectures oft we practise in our looks,  
Nor ever did suspicions rival eye,  
Yet lie in wait my favours to espy,  
My virgin thoughts are innocent and meek,  
As the chaste blushes sitting on my cheek:  
As in a Fever I do shiver yet,  
Since first my pen was to the paper set.  
If I do err, you know my sex is weak,  
Fear proves a fault, where maids are forced to speake●  
Do I not ill? ah soothe me not herein,  
O, if I do, reprove me of my sin,  
Chide me infaith, or if my fault you hide,  
My tongue will teach myself, myself to chide.  
Nay noble Surrey, blot it if thou wilt,  
Then too much boldness should return my guilt;  
For that should be even from ourselves concealed,  
which is disclosed, if to our thoughts revealed,  
For the least motion, more the smallest breath  
That may impeach our modesty, is death,  
The Page that brought thy Letters to my hand,  
(Methinks) should marvel at my strange demand,  
For till he blushed, I did not yet espy,  
The nakedness of my immodesty,  
which in my face he greater might have seen,  
But that my fan I quickly put between;  
Yet scarcely that my inward guilt could hide,  
Fear seeing all, fears it of all espied.  
Like to a Taper lately burning bright,  
Now wanting matter to maintain his light.  
The blaze a●cending forced by the smoke,  
Living by that which seeks the same to choke;  
The flame still hanging in the air doth burn,  
Until drawn down, it back again return.  
Then clear, then dim, then spreadeth, and then closeth,  
Now getteth strength, and now his brightness looseth.  
As well the best discerning eye may doubt,  
Whether it yet be in, or whether out:  
Thus in my cheek my divers passions showed,  
Now ashy pale, and now again it glowed;  
If in your verse there be a power to move,  
It's you alone who are the cause I love,  
It's you bewitch my bosom by mine ear,  
Unto that end I did not place you there.  
Airs to assuage the bloody Soldiers mind,  
Poor women we are naturally kind.  
Perhaps you'll think that I these terms enforce,  
For that in Court this kindness is of course,  
Or that it is that honey-steeped gall,  
we oft are said to bait our loves withal,  
That in one eye we carry strong desire,  
The other drops which quickly quench the fire,  
Ah what so false can Envy speak of us,  
But shall find some too vainly credulous?  
I do not so, and to add proof thereto,  
I love in faith, in faith sweet Lord I do;  
Nor let the envy of envenomed tongues,  
which still is grounded on poor Lady's wrongs,  
Thy noble breast diasterly possess,  
By any doubt to make my love the less:  
My house from Florence I do not pretend,  
Nor from Giraldi claim I to descend,  
Nor hold those honours insufficient are,  
That I receive from Desmond or Kyldare;  
Nor add I greater worth unto my blood,  
Than Irish milk to give me Infant food,  
Nor better air will ever boast to breath,  
Then that of Lenster, Monster, or of Meathe,  
Nor crave I other foreign far allies,  
Then Windsor or Fitz-geralds families.  
It is enough to leave unto my heirs,  
If they will but acknowledge me for theirs.  
To what place ever did the Court remove,  
But that the house gives matter to my love,  
At Windsor still I see thee sit and walk,  
There mount thy courser, there devise, there talk:  
The robes, the garter, and the state of Kings,  
Into my thoughts thy hoped greatness brings;  
Nonsuch, the name imports (me thinks) so much,  
None such as thou, nor as my Lord, none such,  
In Hamptons' great magnificence I find,  
The lively image of thy Princely mind;  
Fair Richmond's towers like goodly pillars stand  
Reared by the power of thy victorious hand;  
Whitehalls triumphing Galleries are yet,  
Adorned with rich devices of thy wit,  
In Greenwich yet as in a glass I view,  
where last thou badst thy Geraldine adieu,  
with every little gentle breath that blows,  
How are my thoughts confused with joys and woes,  
As through a gate, so through my longing ears,  
Pass to my heart whole multitude of fears;  
O in a map that I might see thee show,  
The place where now in danger thou dost go;  
In sweet discourse to travail with our eye,  
Romania, Tuscaine, and fair Lombary  
Or with thy pen exactly to set down,  
The model of that Tempell or that Town,  
And to relate at large where thou hast been,  
And there, & there, & what thou there hast seen.  
Or to describe by figure of thy hand,  
There Naples lies, and there doth Florence stand;  
Or as the Grecians finger dipped in wine,  
Drawing a River in a little line,  
And with a drop, a gulf to figure out,  
To model Venice moated round about;  
Then ading more, to counterfeit a Sea,  
And draw the front of stately Genoa.  
These from thy lips were like harmonious tones,  
which now do sound like Mandrakes dreadful groans.  
Some travel hence t'enrich their minds with skill,  
Leave here their good, and bring home others ill:  
which seem to like all countries but their own,  
Affecting most where they the least are known.  
Their leg, their thigh, their back, their neck, their head,  
There formed, there fetched, there found, there borrowed.  
In their attire, their gesture, and their gate,  
Fond in each one, in all Italianate.  
Italian, French, Dutch, Spanish altogether,  
Yet not all these, nor one entirely neither.  
So well in all deformity in fashion,  
Borrowing a limb of every several Nation,  
And nothing more than England hold in scorn,  
So live as strangers where as they were borne.  
But thy return in this I do not reed,  
Thou art a perfect Gentleman indeed;  
O God forbid that Howards noble line,  
From ancient virtue should so far decline,  
The Muse's train (whereof yourself are chief)  
Only with me participate their grief:  
To soothe their humours, I do lend them ears,  
He gives a Poet, that his verses hears.  
Till thy return, by hope they only live,  
Yet had they all, they all away would give;  
The world and they, so ill according be,  
That wealth and Poets never can agree.  
Few live in Court that of their good have care,  
The Muse's friends are every where so rare;  
Some praise thy worth, thy worth that never know,  
Only because the better sort do so,  
whose judgement never further doth extend,  
Than it doth please the greatest to commend,  
So great an ill upon desert doth chance,  
when it doth pass by beastly Ignorance.  
Why art thou slack whilst no man puts his hand  
To raise the Mount where Surrey's Towers must stand?  
Or who the groundsel of that work doth lay  
whilst like a wandrer thou abroad dost stray?  
Clipped in the arms of some lascivious Dame,  
when thou shouldst rear an Ilium to thy name.  
When shall the Muses by fair Norwich dwell,  
To be the City of the learned Well?  
Or Phoebus' Altars there with Incense heaped  
As once in Cyrrha or in Thebae kept?  
Or when shall that fair hoofe-plowed spring distill  
From great Mount Surrey, out of leonard's hill?  
Till thou return, the Court I will exchange,  
For some poor cottage, or some country Grange,  
where to our distaves as we sit and spin,  
My maid and I will tell of things have been;  
Our Lutes vnstrung shall hang upon the wall,  
Our lessons serve to wrap our Tow withal,  
And pass the night, whilst winter tales we tell,  
Of many things that long ago befell;  
Or tune such homely Carols as were song  
In Country sports when we ourselves were young.  
In pretty Riddles to bewray our loves,  
In questions, purpose, or in drawing gloves.  
The noblest spirits to virtue most inclined,  
These here in Court thy greatest want do find;  
Other there be, on which we feed our eye,  
Like Arras work, or such like Imagery;  
Many of us desire Queen Kathe●ines state,  
But very few her virtues imitate.  
Then as Ulysses wife write I to thee,  
Make no reply, but come thyself to me.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Then Winds●re, or Fitzgeralds families. 
THE cost of many Kings, which from time to time have adorned the Castle at Windsor with their princely magnificence, hath made it more noble than that it need to be spoken of now as though obscure, and I hold it more meet to refer you to our vulgar monuments for the founders and ●inishers thereof, then to meddle with matter nothing near to the purpose. As for the family of the Fitz-geralds, of whence this excellent Lady was lineally descended, the original was English, though the branches did spread themselves into distant places and names nothing consonant, as in former times it was usual to denominate themselves of their manors or forenames: as may pattly appear in that which ensueth, the light whereof proceeded from my learned and very worthy friend, Master Fra●cis Thyn●. Walter of Windsor, the son of Oterus, had issue William, of whom Henry now Lord Windsor is descended, and Robert of Windsor, of whom Robert the now Earl of Essex, and Gerald of Windsor his third son, who married the daughter of Rees the great Prince of Wales, of whom came Nesta, paramour to Henry the first. Which Gerald had issue Maurice Fitzgerald, ancestor to Thomas Fitzmaurice, justice of I●eland buried at Trayly; leaving issue john his eldest son, first Earl or Kildare, ancestor to Geraldine, and Maurice his second son, first Earl of Desmond.  To raise the mount where Surrey's Towers must stand, 
Alludeth to the sumptuous house which was afterward builded by him upon leonard's hill right against Norwich, which in the rebellion of Norfolk under Kett, in King Edward the 6. time, was much desaced by that impure rabble. Betwixt the hill and the City as Alexander Nevell describes it, the River of Yarmouth runs, having West and South thereof a wood, and a little Village called Thorp, and on the North, the pastures of Moushol which contains about six miles in length and breadth. So that besides the stately greatness of Mount-Surrey, which was the houses name, the prospect and site thereof was passing pleasant and commodious; and no where else did that increasing evil of the Norfolk fury enkennell itself but then there, as it were for a manifest token of their intent, to debase all high things, and to profane all holy.  Like Arras work, or other imagery. 
Such was he whom juvenal taxeth in this manner.  
— truncoque similimus Herme  
Null● quip alio vincis discrimine quamquod,  
Illi marmoreum caput est, tua vivit imago.  
Being to be borne for nothing else but apparel and the outward appearance, entitled Complement, with whom the ridiculous fable of the Ape in Esope sorteth sitly, who coming into a carvers house, and viewing many Marble works, took up the head of a man very cunningly wrought, who greatly in praising did seem to pity it, that having so comely an outside, it had nothing within, like empty figures walk and talk in every place, at whom the noble Geraldi●e modestly glanceth.  
FINIS.     

To the virtuous Lady, the Lady Francis Goodere, wife to Sir Henry Goodere, Knight.  
MY very gracious and good Mistress, the love and duty I bore to your Father whilst he lived now after his deceasase is to your hereditary; to whom by the blessing of your birth he left his virtues. Who bequeathed you those which were his, gave you whatsoever good is mine, as devoted to his, he being gone, whom I honoured so much whilst he lived; which you may justly challenge by all laws of thankfulness. Myself having been a witness of your excellent education, and mild disposition (as I may say) ever from your Cradle, dedicate this Epistle of this virtuous and goodly Lady to yourself; so like her in all perfection, both of wisdom and learning, which I pray you accept, till time shall enable me to leave you some greater monument of my love.  
Mich: Drayton.   


The Lady jane Grace to the Lord Gilford Dudley.  
The Argument.  
After the death of that virtuous young Prince King Edward the sixth, the son of that famous King Henry the eight, jane the daughter of Henry Grace, Duke of Suffolk by the consent of john Dudley Duke of Northumberland, was proclaimed Queen of England, being married to Gilford Dudley, the fourth son of the foresaid Duke of Northumberland; which match was concluded by their ambitious Fathers, who, went about by this means to bring the Crown unto their children, and to dispossess the Princess Mary, eldest daughter of King Henry the eight, ●eire to King Edward her brother. Queen Mary rising in Arms to claim her rightful crown, taketh the said jane Grace, and the Lord Gilford her husband, being lodged in the Tower for their more safety, which place being lastly their Palace, by this means became their prison; where being severed in sundry prisons, they write these Epistles one to another.  
MIne own dear Lord, sith thou art locked from me,  
In this disguise my love must steal to thee,  
Since to renew all loves, all kindness past,  
This refuge scarcely left, yet this the last.  
My Keeper coming, I of thee inquire,  
who with thy greeting answers my desire;  
which my tongue willing to return again,  
Grief stops my words, and I but strive in vain;  
wherewith amazed, away in hast he goes,  
when through my lips, my heart thrusts forth my woes;  
when as the doors that make a doleful sound,  
Drive back my words, that in the noise are drowned,  
which somewhat hushed, the echo doth record,  
And twice or thrice reiterates my word,  
when like an adverse wind in Isis' course,  
Against the tide bending his boisterous force;  
But when the flood hath wrought itself about,  
He following on, doth headlong thrust it out;  
Thus strive my sighs with tears ere they begin,  
And breaking out, again sighs drive them in.  
A thousand forms present my troubled thought,  
Yet prove abortive when they forth are brought,  
From strongest woe, we hardly language wrest,  
The depth of grief, with words are sounded least,  
As tears do fall and rise, sighs come and go,  
So do these numbers ebb, so do they flow.  
These briny tears do make my Ink look pale,  
My Ink clothes tears in this sad mourning vail,  
The letters mourners, weep with my dim eye,  
The paper pale, grieved at my misery.  
Yet miserable ourselves, why should we deem?  
Sith none is so, but in his own esteem;  
Who in distress, from resolution flies,  
Is rightly said to yield to miseries;  
They which begot us, did beget this sin,  
They first begun, what did our grief begin,  
we tasted not, 'twas they which did rebel,  
Not our offence, but in their fall we fell;  
They which a Crown would to my Lord have linked,  
A●ll hope, all life, all liberty extinct;  
A subject borne, a Sovereign to have been,  
Hath made me now, nor subject, nor a Queen.  
Ah vile ambition, how dost thou deceive us,  
which show'st us heaven, and yet in hell dost leave us?  
Seldom untouched doth innocence escape,  
when error cometh in good counsels shape,  
A lawful title counterchecks proud might,  
The weakest things become strong props to right;  
Then my dear Lord, although affliction grieve us,  
Yet let our spotless innocence relieve us.  
Death but an acted passion doth appear,  
where truth gives courage, and the conscience clear,  
And let thy comfort thus consist in mine,  
That I bear part of whatsoe'er is thine;  
As when we lived untouched with these disgraces,  
when as our kingdom was our sweet embraces;  
At Durham Palaces where sweet Hymen sang,  
whose buildings with our nuptial music rang?  
when Prothalamions praised that happy day,  
wherein great Dudley matched with noble Grace,  
when they devisd to link by wedlock's band,  
The house of suffolk to Northumberland;  
Our fatal Dukedom to your Dukedom bound,  
To frame this building on so weak a ground●  
For what avails a lawless usurpation?  
which gives a sceptre, but not rules a nation,  
Only the surfeit of a vain opinion,  
what gives content, gives what exceeds dominion.  
When first mine ears were pierced with the fame,  
Of jane proclaimed by a Princess name,  
A sudden fright my trembling heart appalls,  
The fear of conscience entereth iron walls.  
Thrice happy for our Fathers had it been,  
If what we feared, they wisely had foreseen,  
And kept a mean gate in an humble path,  
To have escaped these furious tempest's wrath.  
The Cedar-building Eagle hears the wind,  
And not the Falcon, though both Hawks by kind;  
That kingly bird doth from the clouds command,  
The fearful foul that moves but near the Land,  
Though Mary be from mighty Kings descended,  
My blood not from Plantagenet pretended;  
My Grandsire Brandon did our house advance,  
By princely Mary, Dowager of France;  
The fruit of that fair stock which did combine,  
And Yorks sweet branch with Lancaster's entwine,  
And in one stalk did happily unite,  
The pure vermilion Rose, with purer white;  
I the untimely slip of that rich stem,  
whose golden bud brings forth a Diadem.  
But oh forgive me Lord, it is not I,  
Nor do I boast of this, but learn to die,  
whilst we were as ourselves conjoined then,  
Nature to nature, now an alien.  
The purest blood, polluted is in blood,  
Nearness contemned, if sovereignty withstood;  
A Diadem once dazzling the eye,  
The day too dark to see affinity;  
And where the arm is stretched to reach a Crown,  
Friendship is broke, the dearest things thrown down;  
For what great Henry most strove to avoid,  
The heavens have built, where earth would have destroyed,  
And seating Edward on his regal throne,  
He gives to Mary, all that was his own,  
By death assuring what by life is theirs,  
The lawful claim of Henry's lawful heirs.  
By mortal laws, the bound may be divorced,  
But heavens decree, by no means can be forced,  
That rules the case, when men have all decreed,  
who took him hence, foresaw who should succeed,  
In vain be counsels, statutes, humane laws,  
when chief of counsels pleads the justest cause;  
Thus rule the heavens in their continual course,  
That yields to fate, that doth not yield to force.  
Man's wit doth build for time but to devour,  
But virtue's free from time and fortune's power;  
Then my kind Lord, sweet Gilford be not grieved,  
The soul is heavenly, and from heaven relieved;  
And as we once have plighted troth together,  
Now let us make exchange of minds to either;  
To thy fair breast take my resolved mind,  
Armed against black despair, and all her kind,  
And to my bosom breath that soul of thine,  
There to be made as perfect as is mine;  
So shall our faith as firmly be approved,  
As I of thee, or thou of me beloved.  
This life no life, wert thou not dear to me,  
Nor this no death, were I not woe for thee.  
Thou my dear husband, and my Lord before,  
But truly learn to die, thou shalt be more.  
Now live by prayer, on heaven fix all thy thought,  
And surely find, what ere by zeal is sought;  
For each good motion that the soul awakes,  
A heavenly figure sees, from whence it takes  
That sweet resemblance, which by power of kind,  
Forms (like itself) an Image in the mind,  
And in our faith the operations be,  
Of that divinenes, which by faith we see;  
which never errs, but accidentally,  
By our frail flesh's imbecility;  
By each temptation over-apt to slide,  
Except our spirit becomes our body's guide;  
For as our body's prisons, be these towers,  
So to our souls, these bodies be of ours;  
whose fleshly walls hinder that heavenly light,  
As these of stone deprive our wished sight,  
Death is the key which unlocks misery,  
And lets them out to blessed liberty.  
Then draw thy forces all unto thy heart,  
The strongest fortress of this earthly part;  
And on these three let thy assurance lie,  
On faith, repentance, and humility;  
Humility to heaven, the step, the stair,  
Is for devotion, sacrifice, and Prayer;  
The next place doth to true repentance fall,  
A salve, a comfort, and a cordial;  
He that hath that, the keys of heaven hath,  
That is the guide, that is the port, the path;  
Faith, is thy fort, thy shield, thy strongest aid,  
Never controlled, near yielded, near dismayed,  
which doth dilate, unfold, foretell, expresseth.  
which gives, rewards, investeth, and possesseth.  
Then thank the heaven, preparing us this room,  
Crowning our heads with glorious martyrdom,  
Before the black and dismal days begin,  
The days of all Idolatry and sin,  
Not suffering us to see that wicked age,  
when persecution vehemently shall rage,  
when tyranny new tortures shall invent,  
Inflicting vengeance on the innocent.  
Yet heaven forbids, that Mary's womb shall bring,  
England's fair Sceptre to a foreign King,  
But unto fair Elizabeth shall leave it,  
which broken, hurt, and wounded, shall receive it;  
And on her temples having placed the Crown,  
Root out the dregs Idolatry hath sown;  
And Zion's glory shall again restore,  
Laid ruin, waist, and desolate before;  
And from black cinders, and rude heaps of stones,  
Shall gather up the Martyr's scattered bones,  
And shall extirp the power of Rome again,  
And cast aside, the heavy yoke of Spain.  
Farewell sweet Gilford, know our end is near,  
Heaven is our home, we are but strangers here.  
Let us make haste to go unto the blessed,  
which from these weary worldly labours rest,  
And with these lines my dearest Lord, I greet thee,  
Until in heaven thy jane again shall meet thee.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  They which begot us, did beget this sin, 
Showing the ambition of the two Dukes their Fathers, whose pride was the cause of the utter overthrow of their children.  
At Durham Palace where sweet Hymen sang,  
The buildings, etc.  
The Lord Gilford Dudley, fourth son to john Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, married the Lady jane Grace, daughter to the duke of Suffolk at Durham house in the Strand.  
When first mine ears were pierced with the fame,  
Of jane proclaimed by a Princess name.  
Presently upon the death of King Edward, the Lady jane was taken as Queen, conveyed by water to the Tower of London for her safety, and after proclaimed in divers parts of the Realm, as so ordained by King Edward's Letters-pattents, and his will.  
My Grandsire Brandon did our house advance,  
By princely Mary, dowager of France.  
Henry Grace, Duke of Suffolk, married Francis the eldest daughter of Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, by the French queen, by which Francis he had this Lady jane: this Mary the French Queen, was daughter to king Henry the seventh, by Elizabeth his Queen, which happy marriage conjoined the two noble families of Lancaster & York.  For what great Henry most strove to avoid, 
Noting the distrust that King Henry the eight ever had in the Princess Mary his daughter, ●earing she should alter the state of Religion in the Land, by matching with a stranger, confessing the right that King Henry's issue had to the Crown.  And unto fair Elizabeth shall leave it. 
A prophecy of queen Mary's barrenness, & of the happy & glorious reign of Queen Elizabeth, her restoring of Religion, the abolishing of the Romish servitude, & casting aside the yoke of Spain.    

The Lord Gilford Dudley, to the Lady jane Grace.  
AS Swanlike singing at thy dying hour,  
Such my reply, returning from this tower.  
O if there were such power but in my verse,  
As in these woes, my wounded heart do pierce,  
Stones taking sense, th'obdurate flint that hears,  
Should at my plaints dissolve itself to tears.  
Lend me a tear, I'll pay thee with a tear,  
And interest to, if thou the stock forbear;  
woe, for a woe, and for thy interest lone,  
I will return thee frankly two for one;  
And if thou think too soon one sorrow ends,  
Another twice so long shall make amends.  
Perhaps thow'lt judge, in such extremes as these  
That words of comfort might far better please,  
But such strange power in thy perfection liveth,  
As smiles in tears, and tears in gladness giueth●  
Yet think not jane, that cowardly I faint,  
As begging mercy by this sad complaint;  
Or yet suppose my courage daunted so,  
That thou shouldst stand betwixt me, and my so,  
That grim-aspected death should now control,  
And seem so fearful to my parting soul,  
For were one life, a thousand lives to me,  
Yet were all those too few to die with thee;  
when thou my woes so patiently dost bear,  
As if in death, no cause of sorrow were,  
And no more dost lives dissolution shun,  
Then if cold age his longest course had run.  
Thou which didst once give comfort in my woe,  
Now art alone, become my comforts foe;  
Not that I leave wherein I did delight,  
But that thou art debarred my wished sight;  
For if I speak, and would complain my wrong,  
Straightways thy name doth come into my tong●  
And thou art present as thou still didst lie,  
Or in my heart, or in my lips, or eye,  
No evil planet reigned at thy birth,  
Nor was that hour prodigious here on earth;  
No fatal mark of froward destiny,  
Could be divined, in thy nativity;  
'tis only I, that did thy fall devise,  
And thou by me art made a sacrifice;  
As in those Countries, where the loving wives,  
Do with their husbands ever end their lives,  
And crowned with garlands, in their bride's attire,  
Go with their husbands to that holy fire;  
And she unworthy thought to live, of all,  
when fear of death, or danger doth appall.  
I boast not of Northumberlands great name,  
Nor of Kets conquest, which adorns the same;  
when he to Norfolk led his troops from far,  
And yoked the rebels in the chain of war,  
when our white Bear, did furiously respire●  
The flames that singed their Villages with fire,  
And brought sweet peace in safety to our doors,  
Yet left our fame upon the Eastern shores;  
Nor of my princely brothers which might grace,  
And plant true honour in the Dudleys' race;  
Nor of Gray's match, my children borne by thee,  
Allied to great Plantagenet should be;  
But of thy virtues proudly boast I dare,  
That she is mine, whom all perections are.  
I craved no Kingdom, though I thee did crave,  
And having thee, I wished no more to have.  
Yet let me say, how ever it befell,  
Me thinks a Crown should have becomed thee well,  
Me thinks thy wisdom was ordained alone,  
To bless a Sceptre, beautify a throme;  
Thy lips a sacred Oracle retain,  
wherein all holy prophecies remain;  
More highly prized thy virtues were to me,  
Than crowns, than Kingdoms, or than Sceptres b●.  
So chaste thy love, so innocent thy life,  
A wived virgin, and a mayded wife;  
The greatest gifts that heaven could give me here,  
Nothing on earth to me was half so dear.  
This was the joy wherein we lived of late,  
Ere worldly cares did us excruciate,  
Before these troubles did our peace confound,  
By war, by weapon, massacre, or wound;  
Ere dreadful Armies did disturb our shores,  
Or walls were shaken, with the Cannons roars.  
Suspect bewrays our thoughts, bewrays our words;  
One Crown is guarded with a thousand swords;  
To mean estate but common woes are shown,  
But Crowns have cares that ever be unknown,  
And we by them are to those dangers led,  
Of which the least we are experienced.  
When Dudley led his Armies to the East,  
Of all the bosom of the land possessed,  
what Earthly comfort was it that he lacked,  
That with a Counsels warranty was backed?  
That had a Kingdom, and the power of laws,  
Still to maintain the justness of his cause;  
And with the Clergies help, the Commons aid,  
In every place the peopled Kingdom swayed.  
But what (alas) can Parliaments avail,  
when Mary's right, must Edward's acts repeale●  
When suffolk's power, doth Suffolk's hopes withstand,  
Northumberland, doth leave Northumberland.  
And those which should our greatness under prop,  
Raze our foundation, overthrow our top.  
Ere greatness come, we wish it with our heart,  
But being come, desire it would depart,  
And indiscreetly follow that so fast,  
which when it comes, brings peril at the last,  
If any man do pity our offence,  
Let him be sure to get him far from hence;  
here is no place, no comfort here at all,  
For any one that shall bewail our fall,  
And we in vain of mercy should but think,  
Our briny tears the sullen earth doth drink.  
O that all tears for us should be forlorn,  
And all should die so soon as they be borne;  
Mothers that should their children's fortunes rue,  
Fathers in death too kindly bid adieu;  
Friends of their friends, a kind farewell to take,  
The faithful servant mourning for our sake;  
Brothers and sisters waiting on our Beer,  
Mourners to tell what we were living here;  
Those ears are stopped which should bewail our fall,  
And we the Mourners, and the dead and all;  
And that which first our Palace was ordained,  
The prison, which our liberty restrained,  
And where our Court we held in princely state,  
There now alone, are left disconsolate  
Thus then resolved, as thou, resolved am I.  
Die thou for me, and I for thee will die;  
And yet that heaven Elizabeth may bless,  
Be thou (sweet jane) a faithful Prophetess,  
With that health gladly resaluting thee,  
Which thy kind farewell wished before to me.  

Notes of the Chronicle History.  Nor of Kets conquest, which adorns the same. 
IOhn Duke of Northumberland, when before he was Earl of Warwick in his expedition against Ket, overthrew the rebels of Norfolk and suffolk, encamped at Mount-Surrey in Norfolk.  Nor of my princely brothers which might grace, 
Gilford Dudley as remembering in this place the towardness of his brothers, which were all likely indeed to have raised that house of the Dudleyes, of which he was a fourth brother, if not suppressed by their Father's overthrow.  Nor of Gray's match, my children borne by thee, 
Noting in this place the alliance of the Lady jane Grace, by her mother, which was Francis the daughter of Charles Brandon, by Mary the French Queen, daughter to Henry the seventh, and sister to Henry the eight.  To bless a Sceptre, beautify a throne, 
Seldom hath it ever been known of any woman endued with such wonderful gifts, as was this Lady, both for her wisdom and learning, of whose skill in the tongues one reporteth by this Epigram.  
Miraris janam Graio, sermone ●alere,  
Qu● primum nata est tempore Graia Fuit.  
When Dudley led his armies to the East.  
The Duke of Northumberland prepared his power at London for his expedition against the Rebels in Norfolk, and making hast away, appointed the rest of his forces to meet him at Newmarket Heath: of whom this saying is reported, that passing through Shoreditch, the Lord Grace in his company, seeing the people in great numbers, came to see him, he said, the people press to see us, but none bid God speed us.  That with the Counsels warranty was backed, 
john Dudley Duke of Northumberland, when he went out against Queen Mary, had his Commission sealed for the generalship of the Army, by the consent of the whole Counsel of the Land; insomuch that passing through the Counsel chamber at his departure, the Earl of Arondell wished that he might have gone with him in that expedition, and to spend his blood in the quarrel.  
When suffolk's power doth Suffolk's hopes withstand,  
Northumberland doth leave Northumberland.  
The Suffolk men were the first, that ever resotted to Queen Mary in her distress, repairing to her succours, whilst she remained both at Keningall and at Fermingham Castle, still increasing her aids, until the Duke of Northumberland, was left forsaken at Cambridge.    
FINIS.   


Idea.  
THE world's fair Rose, and Henry's frosty fire,  
john's tyranny; and chaste Matilda's wrong,  
Th'enraged Queen, and furious Mortimer,  
The scourge of France, and his chaste love I song;  
Deposed Richard, Isabella exiled,  
The gallant Tudor, and fair Katherine,  
Duke Humphrey, and old Cobham's hapless child,  
Courageous Pole, and that brave spiritful Queen,  
Edward, and the delicious London Dame,  
Brandon, and that rich dowager of France,  
Surrey, with his fair paragon of fame,  
Dudleys' mishap, and virtuous Gray's mischance;  
Their several loves since I before have shown,  
Now give me leave, at last to sing mine own.   

To the Reader of his Poems.  
Sonnet. 2.  
INto these loves who but for passion looks,  
At this first sight, here let them lay them by,  
And seek elsewhere in turning other books,  
which better may his labour satisfy.  
No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast,  
Love from mine eye, a tear shall never wring,  
Nor in ah-mees my whining Sonnets dressed,  
(A Libertine) fantastickly I sing;  
My verse is the true image of my mind,  
Ever in motion, still desiring change,  
To choice of all variety inclined,  
And in all humours sportively I range;  
My active Muse is of the world's right strain,  
That cannot long one fashion entertain.   

Sonnet. 3.  
MAny there be excelling in this kind,  
whose well-tricked rhymes with all invention swell,  
Let each commend as best shall like his mind,  
Some Sidney, Constable, some Daniel.  
That thus their names familiarly I sing,  
Let none think them disparaged to be,  
Poor men with reverence may speak of a King,  
And so may these be spoken of by me;  
My wanton verse near keeps one certain stay,  
But now, at hand; then, seeks invention far,  
And with each little motion runs a stray,  
wild, madding, jocund, and irregular;  
Like me that lust, my honest merry rhymes,  
Nor care for Critic, nor regard the times.   

Sonnet. 4.  
THine eyes taught me the Alphabet of love,  
To con my Crosrow ere I learned to spell,  
For I was apt, a Scholar like to prove,  
Gave me sweet looks when as I learned well,  
Vows were my vowels when I then begun  
At my first lesson in thy sacred name,  
My consonants the next when I had done,  
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame;  
My liquids then, were liquid Crystal tears,  
My cares my mutes, so mute to crave relief,  
My doleful Dipthongs, were my life's despairs  
Redoubling sighs, the accents of my grief;  
My loves Schoole-mistres now hath taught me so,  
That I can read a story of my woe.   

Sonnet. 5.  
MY heart was slain, and none but you and I,  
who should I think the murder should commit?  
Since but yourself, there was no creature by  
But only I, guiltless of murdering it.  
It slew itself; the verdict on the view  
Do quit the dead and me not accessary;  
Well, well, I fear it will be proved by you,  
The evidence so great a proof doth carry.  
But ●, see, see, we need inquire no further,  
Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found,  
And in your eye, the boy that did the murder,  
Your cheeks yet pale since first they gave the wound,  
BY this, I see, how ever things be past,  
Yet heaven will still have murder out at last.   

Sonnet. 6.  
TAking my pen, with words to cast my woes,  
Duly to count the sum of all my cares  
I find, my grief innumerable grows,  
The reckonings rise to millions of despairs;  
And thus dividing of my fatal hours,  
The payments of my love I read, and cross  
Substracting, set my sweets unto my sowers,  
My joys are rage leads me to my loss;  
And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye,  
which by extortion gaineth all their looks,  
My heart hath paid such grievous usury,  
That all his wealth lies in thy beauty's books;  
And all is thine which hath been due to me,  
And I a Bankrupt, quite undone by thee.   

An allusion to Narcissus.  
Sonnet. 7.  
BEauty sometime in all her glory crowned,  
Passing by that clear fountain of thine eye,  
Her sunshine face there chancing to espy,  
Forgot herself, deeming she had been drowned,  
And thus whilst Beauty, on her beauty gazed,  
who then (yet living) thought she had been dying;  
And yet in death some hope of life espying,  
with her own rare perfections so amazed,  
Twixt joy and grief, yet with a smiling frowning,  
The glorious sunbeams of her eyes bright shining,  
And she on her own destiny divining,  
Cast in herself, to save herself by drowning;  
The well of Nectar, paved with pearl and gold,  
where she remains for all eyes to behold.   

Sonnet. 8.  
NOthing but no and I, and I and no,  
How falls it out so strangely you reply?  
I tell ye (Fair) i'll not be answered so,  
with this affirming no, denying I,  
I say I love, you slightly answer I,  
I say you love, you pule me out a no;  
I say I die, you echo me with ay,  
Save me I cry, you sigh me out a no:  
Must woe and I, have nought but no and I?  
No, I am I, if I no more can have,  
Answer no more, with silence make reply,  
And let me take myself what I do trave;  
Let no and I, with I and you be so,  
Then answer no, and I, and I, and no.   

To Harmony.  
Sonnet. 9  
Love once would dance within my Mistress eye,  
And wanting music fitting for the place,  
Swore that I should the instrument supply,  
And suddenly presents me with her face;  
Straightways my pulse play lively in my veins,  
My panting breath doth keep a meaner time,  
My quau'ring arteries be the tenors strains,  
My trembling sinews serve the Counterchime,  
My hollow sighs the deepest base do bear,  
True diapazon in distincted sound;  
My panting heart the treble makes the air,  
And descants finely on the music's ground;  
Thus like a Lute or Viol did I lie,  
whilst he proud slave danced galliards in her eye.   

Sonnet. 10.  
Love in an humour played the prodigal,  
And bids my senses to a solemn feast,  
Yet more to grace the company withal,  
Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest;  
No other drink would serve this gluttons turn  
But precious tears distilling from mine eyen,  
which with my sighs this Epicure doth burn,  
Quaffing carouses in this costly wine,  
where, in his cups or ' come with foul excess,  
Begins to play a swaggering Ruffians part,  
And at the banquet, in his drunkenness  
Slew my dear friend, his kind and truest heart;  
A gentle warning friends, thus may you see  
what 'tis to keep a drunkard company.   

To the Moon.  
Sonnet. 11.  
PHoebe look down, and here behold in me,  
The elements within thy sphere enclosed,  
How kindly Nature plated them under thee,  
And in my world, see how they are disposed;  
My hope is earth, the lowest, cold and dry,  
The grosser mother of deep melancholy,  
water my tears, cooled with humidity,  
wan, phlegmatic, inclined by nature wholly;  
My sighs, the air, hot, moist, ascending hire,  
Subtle of sanguine, died in my heart's dolour,  
My thoughts, they be the element of fire,  
hot, dry, and piercing, still inclined to choler,  
Thine eye the Orb unto all these, from whence  
Proceeds th'effects of powerful influence.   

To Lunacy.  
Sonnet. 12.  
AS other men, so I myself do muse,  
why in this sort I wrest Invention so,  
And why these giddy metaphors I use,  
Leaving the path the greater part do go;  
I will resolve you; I am lunatic,  
And ever this in mad men you shall find,  
what they last thought on when the brain grew sick,  
In most distraction keep that still in mind.  
Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,  
Reason and I, (you must conceive) are twain,  
'tis nine yeees, now, since first I lost my wit,  
Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain;  
with diet and correction, men distraught,  
(Not too far passed) may to their wits be brought.   

Sonnet. 13.  
TO nothing fitter can I thee compare,  
Then to the son of some rich penny-father,  
who having now brought on his end with care,  
Leaves to his son all he had heaped together;  
This new rich novice, lavifh of his chest,  
To one man gives, and on another spends,  
Then here he riots, yet amongst the rest,  
Haps to send some to one true honest friend.  
Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste,  
False friends thy kindness, borne but to deceive thee,  
Thy loue● that is on the unworthy placed,  
Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leave thee;  
Only that little which to me was lent,  
I give thee back, when all the rest is spent.   

Sonnet. 14.  
YOu not alone, when you are still alone,  
O God from you that I could private be,  
Since you one were, I never since was one,  
Since you in me, myself since out of me  
Transported from myself into your being  
Though either distant, present yet to either,  
Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing,  
And only absent when we are together.  
Give me myself, and take yourself again,  
devise some means but how I may forsake you,  
So much is mine that doth with you remain,  
That taking what is mine, with me I take you,  
You do bewitch me, ● that I could fly  
From myself you, or from your own self I.   

To the Soul.  
Sonnet. 15.  
THat learned Father which so firmly proves  
The soul of man immortal & divine,  
And doth the several offices define,  
Anima. Gives her that name as she the body moves,  
Amor. Then is she love embracing Charity,  
Animus. Moving a will in us, it is the mind,  
men's. Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind;  
Memoria. As intellectual it is the memory,  
Ratio. In judging, Reason only is her name,  
Sensus. In speedy apprehension it is sense,  
Conscientia. In right or wrong, they call her conscience.  
Spiritus. The spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame.  
These of the soul the several functions be,  
which my heart lightened by thy love doth see.   

To the shadow.  
Sonnet. 16.  
Letter's and lines we see are soon defaced,  
Mettles do waste, & fret with cankers rust,  
The Diamond shall once consume to dust,  
And freshest colours with foul stains disgraced,  
Paper and ink, can paint but naked words,  
To write with blood, of force offends the sight,  
And i● with tears, I find them all too light,  
And sighs and signs, a silly hope affords.  
O sweetest Shadow, how thou feru'st my turn,  
which still shalt be, as long as there is Sun,  
Nor whilst the world is, never shall be done,  
whilst Moon shall shine, or any fire shall burne●  
That every thing whence shadow doth proceed,  
May in his shadow, my loves story read.   

Sonnet. 17.  
IF he from heaven that filched that living fire,  
Condemned by love to endless torment be,  
I greatly marvel how you still go free  
That far beyond Promethius did aspire?  
The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind,  
which from above he craftily did take,  
Of liveles clods us living men to make,  
Again bestowed in temper of the mind.  
But you broke in to heavens immortal store,  
where virtue, honour, wit, and beauty lay,  
which taking thence, you have escaped away,  
Yet stand as free as ere you did before,  
But old Promethius punished for his rape,  
Thus poor thieves suffer, when the greater escape.   

Sonnet. 18.  
VIewing the glass of my youths miseries,  
I see the face of my deformed cares,  
Wi●h withered brows, all wrinkled with despairs,  
That for my youth the tears fall from mine eyes,  
Then in these tears, the mirrors of these eyes,  
Thy fairest youth and beauty do I see,  
Imprinted there by looking still on thee;  
Thus midst my woes, ten thousand joys arise.  
Yet in these joys the shadows of my good,  
In this ●a●re limmed ground as white as snow  
Painted the blackest image of my woe,  
with murdering hands imbrued in mine own blood,  
And in this image his dark cloudy eyes,  
My life, and love, I here anatomize.   

To the Phoenix.  
Sonnet. 19  
WIthin the compass of this spacious round  
Amongst all birds the Phoenix is alone,  
Which but by you could never have been known,  
None like to that, none like to you is found,  
Heap your own virtues seasoned by their sun,  
On heavenly top of your divine desire;  
Then with your beauty set the same on fire,  
So by your death, your life shall be begun.  
Yourself thus burned in this sacred flame,  
With your own sweetness all the heavens persuming,  
And still increasing as you are consuming,  
Shall spring again from th'ashes of your fame,  
And mounting up, shall to the heavens ascend,  
So may you live, past world, past fame, past end.   

To Time.  
Sonnet. 20.  
STay, stay, sweet Time, behold or ere thou pass  
From world to world, thou long hast sought to see,  
That wonder now where in all wonders be,  
where heaven beholds her in a mortal glass.  
Nay, look thee Time in this celestial glass,  
And th● youth past, in this fair mirror see,  
The first world's beauty in the infancy,  
what it was then, what thou before it was.  
Now pass on Time, to after worlds tell this.  
(And yet shalt tell) but truly what hath been,  
That they may say, what former time hath seen,  
And heaven may joy to think on past world's bliss.  
here make a Period Time, and say for me,  
She was, whose like again shall never be.   

To the Celestial numbers.  
Sonnet. 21.  
Unto the world, to learning, and to heaven,  
Three nine there are, to every one a nine,  
One number of the earth, the other both divine,  
One woman now makes three odd numbers euen●  
Nine orders first of Angels be in heaven,  
Nine Muses do with learning still frequent,  
These with the Gods are ever resident;  
Nine worthy ones unto the world were givens  
My worthy one to these nine worthies, addeth,  
And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine;  
And my good Angel in my soul divine,  
with one more order, these nine orders gladdeth,  
My muse, my worthy, & my Angel then,  
Makes every one of these three nine a ten.   

To Humour.  
Sonnet. 22.  
YOu cannot love my pretty heart, and why●  
There was a time you told me that you would,  
But now again you will the same deny,  
If it might pease you, would to God you could;  
What will you hate? nay that you will not neither,  
Nor love, nor hate, how then? what will you do,  
What will you keep a mean then betwixt either?  
Or will you love me, and yet hate me to?  
Yet serves not this, what next, what other shift?  
You will, and will not, what a coil is here?  
I see your craft, now I perceive your drift,  
And all this while, I was mistaken there●  
Your love in hate is this, I now do prove you,  
You love in hate, by hate to make me love you.   

Sonnet. 23.  
AN evil spirit your beauty haunts me still,  
wherewith (alas) I have been long possessed,  
which ceaseth not to tempt me unto ill,  
Nor gives me once but one poor minutes rest.  
In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake,  
And when by means to drive it out I try  
with greater torments than it me doth take,  
And tortures me in most extremity  
Before my face, it lays all my despairs,  
And hasts me on unto a sudden death;  
Now tempting me, to drown myself in tears,  
And then in sighing to give up my breath;  
Thus am I still provoked to every evil,  
By this good wicked spirit, sweet Angel devil.   

To the Spheres.  
Sonnet. 24.  
THou which dost guide this little world of love,  
Thy planets mansions here thou mayst behold,  
My brow the sphere where Saturn still doth move,  
wrinkled with cares; and withered, dry, and cold;  
Mine eyes the Orb where jupiter doth trace,  
which gently smile because they look on thee,  
Mars in my swarthy visage takes his place,  
Made lean with love, where furious conflicts be.  
Sol in my breast with his hot scorching flame,  
But in my heart alone doth Venus' reign;  
Mercury my hands, the Organs of my fame,  
Luna my wavering and unconstant vain;  
The starry heaven thy praise by me expressed,  
Thou the first mover, guiding all the rest.   

To Folly.  
Sonnet. 25.  
WIth fools and children good discretion bears,  
Then honest people, bear with Love and me,  
Nor older yet, nor wiser made by years,  
Amongst the rest of fools and children be,  
loves still a Baby, plays with gauds and toys,  
And like a wanton sports with every feather,  
And Idiots still are running after boys,  
Then fools and children fitt'st to go together;  
He still as young as when he first was borne,  
No wiser I, then when as young as he,  
You that behold us, laugh us not to scorn,  
Give Nature thanks you are not such as we;  
Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play,  
Some wise in show, more fools in deed, than they.   

Sonnet. 26.  
Love banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn,  
wandering abroad in need and beggary,  
And wanting friends, though of a Goddess borne,  
Yet craved the alms of such as passed by,  
I like a man, devout and charitable;  
Clothed the naked, lodged this wandering guest,  
with sighs and tears still furnishing his table,  
with what might make the miserable blessed;  
But this ungrateful for my good desert,  
Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire,  
who gave consent to steal away my heart,  
And set my breast his lodging on a fire:  
well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold,  
No marvel then though charity grow cold.   

Sonnet. 27.  
I Hear some say, this man is not in love,  
who, can he love? a likely thing they say:  
Read but his verse, and it will easily prove;  
O judge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray,  
Because I loosely trifle in this sort,  
As one that fain his sorrows would beguile:  
You now suppose me, all this time in sport,  
And please yourself with this conceit the while.  
You shallow censures; sometime see you not  
In greatest perils some men pleasant be,  
where same by death is only to be got,  
They resolute, so stands the case with me;  
where other men, in depth of passion cry●  
I laugh at fortune, as in lest to die.   

Sonnet. 28.  
O Why should nature niggardly restrain,  
The Southern Nations relish not our tongue,  
Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,  
And crown the Pirens with my living song;  
But bounded thus to Scotland get you forth;  
Thence take you wing unto the Orcadeses,  
There let my verse get glory in the North,  
Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas,  
And let the Bards within that Irish I'll,  
To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,  
Call back the stiffnecked rebels from exile,  
And mollify the slaughtering Galliglasse;  
And when my flowing numbers they rehearse,  
Let Woules and Bears be charmed with my verse.   

To Despair.  
Sonnet. 29.  
I Ever love, where never hope appears,  
Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,  
And my life's hope would die but for despair,  
My never-certain joy, breeds ever-certaine fears,  
Vncertaine-dread, gives wings unto my hope,  
Yet my hopes wings are laden so with fear,  
As they cannot ascend to my hopes sphere,  
Yet fear gives them more than a heavenly scope;  
Yet this large room is bounded with despair,  
So my love is still fettered with vain hope,  
And liberty deprives him of his scope,  
And thus am I imprisoned in the air;  
Then sweet Despair, a while hold up thy head,  
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.   

To Fantasy.  
Sonnet. 30.  
I Gave my faith to Love, love his to me,  
That he & I, sworn brothers should remain,  
Thus faith received, faith given back again,  
who would imagine bond more sure could be?  
Love flies to her, yet holds he my faith taken,  
As from my virtue raising my offence,  
Making me guilty by mine innocence;  
And only bond by being so forsaken,  
He makes her ask what I before had vowed,  
Giving her that, which he had given me,  
I bound by him, and he by her made free.  
who ever so hard breach of faith aloud?  
Speak you that should of right and wrong discuss,  
was right ere wronged, or wrong ere righted thus?   

Sonnet. 31.  
TO such as say thy love I overprize,  
And do not stick to term my praises folly,  
Against these folks that think themselves so wise,  
I thus appose my force of reason wholly,  
Though I give more, than well affords my state,  
In which expense the most suppose me vain,  
would yield them nothing at the easiest rate,  
Yet at this price, returns me treble gain,  
The value not, unskilful how to use,  
And I give much, because I gain thereby,  
I that thus take, or they that thus refuse,  
whether are these deceived then, or I?  
In every thing I hold this maxim still,  
The circumstance doth make it good or ill.   

To Contrariety.  
Sonnet. 32.  
THose tears quench hope, do kindle my desire,  
Those sighs cool hearts, are coals unto my love,  
Icy disdain, is to my soul a fire,  
And yet all these I contrary do prove;  
Desire doth make hope burn, and drieth tears,  
Love heats my heart, which my sighs ●ly warmeth  
with my soul's gleed; disdain is spent to airs,  
It hurts and heals, it helpeth, and it harmeth,  
My hope becomes a friend to my desire;  
My heart embraceth love, and love my heart.  
Disdain a Phoenix is in my soul's fire,  
And vow from other, never to depart;  
Such peaceful conflicts stirring in my life,  
Foes live in concord, and friends still at strife.   

To the Senses.  
Sonnet. 33.  
WHen conquering love did first my heart assail,  
Unto mine aid I summonded every sense,  
Doubting if that proud tyrant should prevail,  
My heart should suffer for mine eyes offence;  
But he with beauty, first corrupted sight,  
My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony,  
My taste, by her sweet lips drawn with delight,  
My smelling won with her breath's spicery;  
But when my touching came to play his part,  
(The King of senses, greater than the rest)  
He yields love up the keys unto my heart,  
And tells the other how they should be blest;  
And thus by those of whom I hoped for aid,  
To cruel Love my soul was first betrayed.   

To the Vestals.  
Sonnet. 34.  
THose Priests, which first the Vestal fire begun,  
which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,  
Devised a vessel to receive the sun,  
Being steadfastly opposed to the same;  
where, with sweet wood, laid curiously by Art,  
whereon the sun might by reflection beat,  
Receiving strength from every secret part,  
The fuel kindled with celestial heat.  
Thy blessed eyes, the sun which lights this fire,  
My holy thoughts, they be the Vestal flame,  
The precious odours be my chaste desire,  
My breast the fuel which includes the same;  
Thou art my Vesta, thou my Goddess art,  
Thy hollowed Temple, only is my heart.   

Sonnet. 35.  
ME thinks I see some crooked Mimic jeer,  
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace,  
Turning my papers, asks what have we here?  
Making withal, some filthy antic face;  
I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say,  
Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose,  
Think'st thou my wit shall keep the packhorse way,  
That every dudgeon low invention goes?  
Since Sonnets thus in bundles are impressed,  
And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear,  
Think'st thou my Love, shall in those rags be dressed  
That every dowdy, every trull doth wear?  
Unto my pitch no common judgement flies,  
I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies.   

To the River Ank●r.  
Sonnet. 36.  
Our floods Queen Thames, for ships & Swans is crowned,  
And stately Severne, for her shores is praised,  
The crystal Trent, for Fords and fish renowned,  
And Auons fame, to Albyons' Clives is raised.  
Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holy Dee,  
York many wonders of her Ouse can tell,  
The Peaker her Dove, whose banks for fertile be,  
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excel,  
Cotswoold commends her Isis and her Tame,  
Our Northern borders boast of Tweeds fair flood,  
Our Western parts extol her Wilies fame,  
And old Legea brags of Danish blood;  
Arden's sweet Anchor let thy glory be,  
That fair Idea she doth live by thee.   

To Imagination.  
Sonnet. 37.  
WHilst yet mine eyes do surfeit with delight,  
My woeful heart imprisoned in my breast,  
Wishes to be transformed in my sight,  
That is like those, by looking might be blest,  
But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze,  
Finding their objects over-soone depart,  
These now the others happiness do praise,  
wishing themselves that they had been my heart,  
That eyes were heart, or that the heart were eyes,  
As covetous the others use to have;  
But finding reason, their request denies,  
This to each other mutually they crave,  
That since the one cannot the other be,  
That eyes could think, or that my heart could see.   

To admiration.  
Sonnet. 38.  
Marvel not Love, though I thy power admire,  
Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought,  
That knowing more than ever hath been taught,  
That I am only starved in my desire;  
Marvel not Love, though I thy power admire,  
Aiming at things exceeding all perfection,  
To wisdoms self to minister direction,  
That I am only starved in my desire;  
Marvel not Love, though I thy power admire,  
Though my conceit I further seem to bend,  
Then possibly invention can extend,  
And yet am only starved in my desire;  
If thou wilt wonder, heers the wonder Love,  
That this to me doth yet no wonder prove.   

To Miracle.  
Sonnet. 39  
SOme misbelieving, and profane in love,  
When I do speak of miracles by thee,  
May say that thou art flattered by me,  
who only write, my skill in verse to prove.  
See miracles, ye unbelieving see,  
A dumb-borne Muse, made to express the mind,  
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,  
One by thy name, the other touching thee,  
Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine,  
And mine ears deaf, by thy same healed be,  
My vices cured, by virtues sprung from thee,  
My hopes reviv'd which long in grave had line.  
All unclean thoughts, foul spirits cast out in me,  
Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.   

To wonder.  
Sonnet. 40.  
REading sometime, my sorrows to beguile,  
I find old Poets hills and floods admire,  
One, he doth wonder monster-breeding Nile,  
Another, marvels Sulphur Aetnas' fire.  
Now broad-brimd Indus, then of Pindus' height,  
Pelion and Ossa, frosty Caucase old,  
The Delian Cynthus, than Olympus' weight,  
Slow Arrer, frantic Gallus, Cydnus cold.  
Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,  
Some whirlpool Po, and sliding Hypasis,  
Some old pernassus, where the Muse dwell,  
Some Helicon, and some fair Simois;  
A fools think I, had you Idea seen,  
Poor brooks and banks, had no such wonders been●.   

Sonnet. 41.  
Dear, why should you command me to my rest  
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?  
Me thinks this time becometh lovers best,  
Night was ordained together friends to keep.  
How happy are all other living thing,  
Which though the day disjoin by several flight,  
The quiet evening yet together brings,  
And each returns unto his love at night.  
O thou that art so courteous unto all,  
Why shouldst thou Night abuse me only thus,  
That every creature to his kind dost call,  
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us.  
Well could I wish it would be ever day,  
If when night comes you bid me go away.   

Sonnet. 42.  
SItting alone, love bids me go and write,  
Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,  
Boasting that she doth still direct the way,  
Or else love were unable to indite;  
Love growing angry, vexed at the spleen,  
And scorning Reasons maimed argument,  
Strait taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,  
where she with Love conversing hath not been?  
Reason reproached with this coy disdain,  
Dispighteth Love, and laugheth at her folly.  
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholly,  
Thought it in weight too light by many a grain.  
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,  
And love alone, finds reason in my love.   

Sonnet. 43.  
SOme, when in rhyme they of their loves do tell,  
with flames and lightning their exordiums paint,  
Some call on heaven, ●ome invocate on hell,  
And Fates & Fur●es with their woes acquaint.  
Elysium is too high a seat for me,  
I will not come in Styx or Phlegeton,  
The thrice three Muses but too wanton be,  
Like they that lust, I care not, I will none.  
Spiteful Errinis frights me with her looks,  
My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell,  
I quake to look on Heccats charming books,  
I still fear bugbears in Apollo's Cell.  
I pass not for Minerva nor Astrea,  
Only I call upon divine Idea.   

Sonnet. 44.  
MY heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat,  
My words the hammers, fashioning my desire,  
My breast the forge, including all the heat,  
Love is the fuel which maintains the fire,  
My sighs the bellows which the flame increaseth,  
Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning,  
Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth,  
In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning.  
Mine eyes with tears against the fire striving,  
whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth;  
But with those drops, the flame again reviving,  
Still more and more unto my torment burneth.  
With Sisyphus thus do I role the stone,  
And turn the wheel with damned ●xion.   

Sonnet. 45.  
WHy do I speak of joy, or write of love,  
when my heart is the very den of horror,  
And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,  
with all his torments, and infernal terror?  
What should I say, what yet remains to do?  
My brain is dry with weeping all too long,  
My sighs be spent in uttering of my woe,  
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong,  
But still distracted in loves Lunacy,  
And Bedlam like thus raving in my grief,  
Now rail upon her hair, now on her eye,  
Now call her Goddess, than I call her thief,  
Now I deny her, than I do confess her,  
Now do I curse her, than again I bless her.   

Sonnet. 46.  
MY love makes hot the fire whose heat is spent,  
The water, moisture from my tears deriveth;  
And my strong sighs, the airs weak force reviveth;  
This love, tears, sighs, maintain each one his elements  
The fire, unto my love, compare a painted fire,  
The water to my tears, as drops to Oceans be,  
The air unto my sighs, as Eagle to the fly,  
The passions of despair, but joys to my desire.  
Only my love is in the fire engraved,  
Only my tears by Oceans may be guessed,  
Only my sighs are by the air expressed,  
Yet fire, water, air, of nature not deprived.  
Whilst fire, water, air, twixt heaven & earth shall be,  
My love, my tears, my sighs, extinguished cannot be.   

Sonnet. 47.  
SOme men there be, which like my method well,  
And do commend the strangeness of my vain,  
Some say, I have a passing pleasing strain,  
Some say, that in my humour I excel:  
Some, who not kindly relish my conceit,  
They say (as Poets do) I use to feign,  
And in bare words paint out my passions pain.  
Thus sundry men, their sundry minds repeat.  
I pass not I, how men affected be,  
Nor who commends, or discommends my verse.  
It pleaseth me, if I my woes rehearse,  
And in my lines, if she my love may see.  
Only my comfort still consists in this,  
Writing her praise, I cannot write amiss.   

Sonnet. 48.  
WHilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee,  
Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face,  
Where in the Map of all my misery  
Is modelled out the world of my disgrace,  
whilst in despite of tyrannising times,  
Medea like I make thee young again,  
Proudly thou scornest my world-outwearing rhymes,  
And murther'st virtue with thy coy disdain;  
And though in youth, my youth untimely perish,  
To keep thee from oblivion and the grave,  
Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish,  
When I entombed my better part shall save;  
And though this earthly body fade and die,  
My name shall mount upon eternity.   

Sonnet. 49.  
Muses which sadly sit about my chair,  
Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines,  
with heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,  
Painting my passions in these sad designs,  
Since she disdains to bless my happy verse,  
The strong built Trophies to her living fame,  
Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse,  
wherein the world shall now entomb her name,  
Enclose my music you poor senseless walls,  
Sith she is dease and will not hear my moans,  
Soften yourselves with every tear that falls,  
whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones;  
which with my plaints seem yet with pity moved,  
Kinder than she who I so long have loved.   

Sonnet. 50.  
CVpid, dumb Idol, peevish saint of love,  
No more shalt thou nor saint nor Idol be,  
No God art thou, loves Goddess she doth prove,  
Of all thine honour she hath robbed thee.  
Thy bow half broke, is pieced with old desire,  
Her bow is beauty with ten thousand strings,  
And every one of purest golden wire,  
The least of force to conquer hosts of Kings.  
Thy shafts be spent, and she (to war appointed)  
Hides in those crystal quivers of her eyes,  
More arrows with hart-piercing mettle pointed,  
Then there be stars at midnight in the skies.  
with these, she steals men's hearts for her relief,  
Yet happy he that's robbed of such a thief.   

Sonnet. 51.  
THou leaden brain which censur'st what I write,  
And sayst my lines be dull, and do not move,  
I marvel not thou feelest not my delight,  
which never feltst my fiery tuch of love.  
But thou whose pen hath like a Packhorse served,  
whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,  
whose senses like poor prisoners hunger-starved,  
whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood.  
Thou which hast scorned life, and hated death,  
And in a moment mad, sober, glad, and sorry,  
Thou which hast band thy thoughts & cursed thy birth,  
with thousand plagues more than in purgatory.  
Thou thus whose spirit Love in his fire refines,  
Come thou and read, admire, applaud my line●.   

An alusion to Dedalus and Icarus.  
Sonnet. 52.  
MY heart imprisoned in a hopeless I'll,  
Peopled with Armies of pale jealous eyes,  
The shores beset with thousand secret spies,  
Must pass by air, or else die in exile,  
He framed him wings with feathers of his thought,  
which by their nature learned to mount the sky,  
And with the same he practised to fly,  
Till he himself this Eagles Art had taught,  
Thus soaring still, not looking once below,  
So near thine eyes celestial sun aspired,  
That with the rays his wafting pinions fired.  
Thus was the wanton cause of his own woe,  
Down fell he in thy beauty's Ocean drenched,  
Yet there he burns, in fire that's never quenched.   

Another to the River Anchor.  
Sonnet. 53.  
Clear Anchor, on whose siluer-sanded shore,  
My soul shrined Saint, my fair Idea lies.  
O blessed Brook, whose milk-white Swans adore  
That Crystal stream refined by her eyes.  
Where sweet Mirrh-breathing Zephir in the spring,  
Gently distills his Nectar-dropping showers,  
where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing,  
Amongst those dainty dew-empearled flowers;  
Say thus fair Brook when thou shalt see thy Queen,  
Lo here thy shepherd spent his wandering years;  
And in these shades dear Nymph he oft hath been,  
And here to thee he sacrificed his tears.  
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,  
And thou sweet Anchor art my Helicon.   

Sonnet. 54.  
YEt read at last the story of my woe,  
The dreary abstracts of my endless cares;  
with my life's sorrow interlined so,  
Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears,  
The sad memorials of my miseries,  
Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost;  
My life's complaint in doleful Elegies,  
with so pure love as time could never boast.  
Receive the Incense which I offer here,  
By my strong faith ascending to thy fame,  
My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer,  
My soul's oblations to thy sacred name.  
Which name my Muse to highest heaven shall raise,  
By chaste desire, true love, and virtues praise.   

Sonnet. 55  
MY Fair, if thou wilt register my love,  
More than world's volumes shall thereof arise,  
Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shalt prove  
A second flood down raining from mine eyes.  
None but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold,  
The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke:  
And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled,  
They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke.  
Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see,  
chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice;  
That soul (sweet Maid) which so hath honoured thee,  
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes.  
Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright,  
when darkness hath obscured each other light.   

An alusion to the Eaglets.  
Sonnet. 56.  
MY thoughts bred up with Eagle-birds of love,  
And for their virtues I desired to know,  
Upon the nest I set them, forth to prove,  
If they were of the Eagles kind or no.  
But they no sooner saw my sun appear,  
But on her rays with gazing eyes they stood,  
which proved my birds delighted in the air,  
And that they came of this rare kingly brood.  
But now their plumes full summed with sweet desire,  
To show their kind, began to climb the skies:  
Do what I could, my Eaglets would aspire,  
Strait mounting up to thy celestial eyes.  
And thus (my Fair) my thoughts away be flown,  
And from my breast into thine eyes be gone.   

Sonnet. 57  
MY Fair, had I not erst adorned my Lute,  
with those sweet strings stolen from thy golden hair,  
Unto the world had all my joys been mute,  
Nor had I learned to descant on my Fair.  
Had not mine eye seen thy celestial eye,  
Nor my heart known the power of thy name,  
I had been buried to posterity,  
Thy beauties yet unregistered by same.  
But thy divine perfections by their skill,  
This miracle (lo) on my Muse have tried,  
And have inspired a fury in my quill,  
That in my verse thou livest deified.  
That from thyself the cause is thus derived,  
That by thyself, thyself shall be survived.   

To Proverb.  
Sonnet. 58.  
AS Love and I, late harboured in one Inn,  
With Proverbs thus each other entertain;  
In love there is no lack, thus I begin?  
Fair words makes fools, replieth he again?  
That spares to speak, doth spare to speed (quoth I)  
As well (saith he) too forward as too slow.  
Fortune assists the boldest, I reply?  
A hasty man (quoth he) near wanted woe.  
Labour is light where love (quoth I) doth pay,  
(Saith he) light burdens heavy, if far borne?  
(Quoth I) the main lost, cast the by away:  
You have spun a fair thread, he replies in scorn.  
And having thus a while each other thwarted,  
Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.   

Sonnet. 59  
DEfine my love, and tell the joys of heaven,  
Express my woes, and show the pains of hell,  
Declare what Fate unlucky stars have given,  
And ask a world upon my life to dwell.  
Make known that faith, unkindness could not move,  
Compare my worth with others base desert,  
Let virtue be the tuch-stone of my love,  
So may the heavens read wonders in my heart.  
Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun,  
And view the crosses which my course doth let,  
Till me, if ever since the world begun,  
So fair a rising had so foul a set?  
And by all means, let foul unkindness prove,  
And show the second to so pure a love.   

Sonnet. 60.  
WHen first I ended, than I first began,  
The more I travel, further from my rest,  
where most I lost, there most of all I won,  
Pined with hunger, rising from a feast.  
Me thinks I flee, yet want I legs to go,  
wise in conceit, in act a very sot,  
Ravished with joy, amidst a hell of woe,  
what most I seem, that surest am I not.  
I build my hopes a world above the sky,  
Yet with the Mole, I creep into the earth,  
In plenty, am I starved with penury,  
And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth.  
I have, I want, despair, and yet desire,  
Burned in a Sea of Ice, and drowned amidst a fire.   

Sonnet. 61.  
TRuce gentle Love, a parley now I crave,  
Me thinks, 'tis long since first these wars begun,  
Nor thou nor I, the better yet can have:  
Bad is the match where neither party won.  
ay, offer free conditions of fair peace,  
My heart for hostage, that it shall remain,  
Discharge our forces here, let malice cease,  
So for my pledge, thou give me pledge again.  
Or if nothing but death will serve thy turn,  
Still thirsting for subversion of my state;  
Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn,  
Let the world see the utmost of thy hate:  
I send defiance since if overthrown,  
Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own,   

A Cansonet.  
Sonnet. 62.  
EYes with your tears, blind if you be,  
why have these tears such eyes to see,  
Poor eyes, if your tears cannot move,  
My tears, eyes, then must moon my love,  
Then eyes, since you have lost your sight,  
weep still, and tears shall lend you light,  
Till both dissolved, and both want might.  
No, no, clear eyes, you are not blind,  
But in my tears discern my mind:  
Tears be the language which you speak,  
which my heart wanting, yet must break;  
My tongue must cease to tell my wrongs,  
And make my sighs to get them tongues,  
Yet more than this to her belongs.   

To the high and mighty Prince, james, King of Scots.  
Sonnet. 63.  
NOt thy grave Counsels, nor thy subjects love,  
Nor all that famous Scottish royalty,  
Or what thy sovereign greatness may approve,  
Others in vain do but historify,  
when thine own glory from thyself doth spring,  
As though thou didst, all meaner praises scorn:  
Of Kings a Poet, and the Poet's King,  
They Princes, but thou Prophets dost adorn;  
Whilst others by their Empires are renowned,  
Thou dost enrich thy Scotland with renown,  
And Kings can but with Diadems be crowned,  
But with thy Laurel, thou dost crown thy Crown;  
That they whose pens, (even) life to Kings do give,  
In thee a King, shall seek themselves to live.   

To Lucy Countess of Bedford.  
Sonnet. 64.  
GReat Lady, essence of my chiefest good,  
Of the most pure and finest tempered spirit,  
Adorned with gifts, ennobled by thy blood,  
which by descent true virtue dost inherit:  
That virtue which no fortune can deprive,  
which thou by birth tak'st from thy gracious mother,  
whose royal minds with equal motion strive,  
which most in honour shall excel the other;  
Unto thy same my Muse herself shall task,  
which train'st upon me thy sweet golden showers,  
And but thyself, no subject will I ask,  
Upon whose praise my soul shall spend her powers.  
Sweet Lady yet, grace this poor Muse of mine,  
whose faith, whose zeal, whose life, whose all is thine.   

To the Lady Anne Harington.  
Sonnet. 65.  
MAdam, my words cannot express my mind,  
My zealous kindness to make known to you,  
when your deserts all severally I find;  
In this attempt of me do crave their due,  
Your gracious kindness first doth claim my heart;  
Your bounty bids my hand to make it known,  
Of me your virtues each do challenge part,  
And leave me thus the least that is mine own?  
what should commend your modesty and wit,  
Is by your wit and modesty commended,  
And standeth dumb, in most admiring it,  
And where it should begin, is only ended;  
Returning this your praises only due,  
And to yourself say you are only you.   

To the Lady L.S.  
Sonnet. 66.  
BRight star of Beauty, on whose eye lids sit,  
A thousand Nymph-like and enamoured Graces,  
The Goddesses of memory and wit,  
which in due order take their several places,  
In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious love,  
Lays down his quiver, that he once did bear,  
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove,  
Forsook his mother's lap to sport him there.  
Let others strive to entertain with words,  
My soul is of another temper made;  
I hold it vile that vulgar witaffords,  
Devouring time my faith, shall not invade:  
Still let my praise be honoured thus by you,  
Be you most worthy, whilst I be most true.   

To Sir Anthony Cook.  
Sonnet. 67.  
VOuchsafe to grace these rude unpolished rhymes,  
which but for you had slept in sable night,  
And come abroad now in these glorious times,  
Can hardly brook the pureness of the light.  
But sith you see their destiny is such,  
That in the world their fortune they must try,  
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,  
wearing your name their gracious livery.  
Yet these mine own, I wrong not other men,  
Nor traffic ●urther than this happy Clime,  
Nor filch from Ports nor from Petrarches pen,  
A fault too common in this latter time.  
Divine Sir Philip, I avouch thy writ,  
I am no Pickpurse of another's wit.   
FINIS.