ENGLAND'S HEROICAL Epistles.  
By Michael Drayton.  
AT LONDON, Printed by I. R. for N. Ling, and are to be sold at his shop at the West door of Paul's. 1597.   

To the Reader.  
seeing these Epistles are now at length made public, it is imagined that I ought to be accountable to the world of my private meaning, chiefly for mine own discharge, least being mistaken, I fall in hazard of a just & universal reprehension, for— Itae nugae seria ducent In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinister.  
Three points are especially therefore to be explained. First, why I entitle this work England's heroical 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 berein were English, or else, that their loves were obtained in England. And though (heroical) 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 state's overflowed 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, & 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 blamefulnes 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 inter-woven matters historical, which unexplaned, might defraud the mind of much content; as for example, in Queen Margarits Epistle to William de la Pole,  
My Daizie flower, which once perfumed the air,  
Margarite in french signifies a Daisy, 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 jover-passe to eschew tedious recital, or to speak as malicious envy may, for that in truth I oversee them. If they be as harmelesly taken as I meant them, it shall suffice to have only tonched 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 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) I shall not lastly be afraid to believe & 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 voweskeepe)  
Henceforth to smother my unlucky Muse;  
Yet for thy sake she started out of sleep,  
Yet now she dies. Then do as kinsfolk use;  
Close up the eyes of my now-dying-stile,  
As I have opened thy sweet babes erewhile.   
E. Sc. Gent. Duris decus omen.   

¶ 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 excellence 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 affect singularity, yet would feign fly imitation, and 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 method 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, & 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 a 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 feign would blush, but fear keeps blushes back,  
And therefore suited in despairing black,  
This in loves name, o that these lypps 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 feign 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 enforced 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 suell to the fire,  
Grey hairs in youth not kindling green desire.  
O no; that wicked woman wrought by thee,  
My temptor 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 fainc would I take away,  
But then 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 trypps 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 espude her:  
This sacred image I no sooner viewed,  
But as that meta morphosd 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 〈◊〉 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 gently warning then;  
To show to me for what intent it, came,  
Lest I therein should ever keep my shame.  
And in this Casket (ill I see it now)  
Was loves-love lo turned into a Cow.  
Yet was she kept with Argus hundred eyes,  
So wakeful still be lunos 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 righthe imitatest love,  
Into a beast thou hast transformed thylove.  
Nay worse far; (degenerate from kind)  
A monster, both in body and in mind.  
The waxed 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 entreat 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'accuse 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 over 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, which so many intricate ways, y 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, & made to open so many sundry 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 〈◊〉 did run, (are yet remaining,) was altogether under ground, being vanlts arched and walled with brick & 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, & if need be, by secret issues take the air abroad, many furlongs round about Wodstocke in Oxfordshire, wherein it was situated. Thus much for Rosamands Labyrinth.  
Whose strange Meanders turned every way.  
Maeander is a river in Lycia, a Province of Anatolia or Asia minor, famous for the sinuositie and often turning thereof, rifing from certain hills in Maeonia, hereupon are intricate turnings by a transsumptive 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 Godstow 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 〈◊〉 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 in my Tent,  
And brought the Letters Rosamond had sent,  
Think from his lips, but what sweet 〈◊〉 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 tryps,  
Catching the words half spoke out of his lips:  
This told, yet more I urge him to reveal,  
To lose no time whilst 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, and 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 woes break 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 justice dombed 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, unpitied, unlamented.  
Yet let me be with poverty oppressed,  
Of earthly blessings robbed, and dispossessed,  
Let me be scorned, rejected, and revild,  
From kingdom, country, & 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 thine 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, meadows, marsh & fen,  
Brought all the simples were ordained for men,  
And of those plants; those herbs, those flowers, those weeds,  
Used the roots, the leaves, the juice, the seeds,  
And in this powerful potion that she makes,  
Puts blood of men, of beasts, of birds, of snakes,  
Never had needed to have gone so far,  
To seek the soils where all those simples are,  
One accent from thy lypps, the blood more warms,  
Then all her philtres, 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 winter-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, whate'er in us unjust;  
Of what we do, not them account we make,  
Thysserues for all; they do it for our sake,  
And what to work a Princes will may merit,  
Hath deep'st impression in a gentle spirit:  
Our powerful wills drawn by attractive beauty,  
They to our wills armed by subiective duty.  
And true affection doth no bound reteane,  
For this is sure, firm love had never mean;  
And whilst the cause by reason is disputed,  
Reason itself, by love is most confuted.  
if'ft 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;  
And in their movings, like a Crystal glass,  
Make such reflection unto all that pass,  
Above the sun doth shine, beneath thine eyes,  
As though two suns at once, shined in two skies.  
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,  
To'xcuse 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 sound)  
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 shoe,  
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 love or Neptune how they did betray,  
Nor speak of 10, 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 Ellinor;  
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 fear full 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 blessed;  
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, and spoiled the Countries of Norfolk and Suffolk, being succoured by many of the King's private enemies.  
And am I branded with the curse of Room?  
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 & 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 & 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, & William King of Scots who took part with him, invaded Normandie.  
Unkind my children, most unkind my wife.  
Never King more infortunate than King Henry in the disobedience of his children; first Henry, than Geoffrey, than Richard, than john, all at one time or other, first or last, unnaturally rebelled against him; then the iealoufie 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, and much of the kings jewels and treasure, to whom the King committed many of his secrets, and in whom he reposed such trust, that he durst commit his love into his charge.   
FINIS.   

TO HIS SINGULER good Lord, the Lord Mount-eagle.  
MY very good Lord, let me not need by tedious protestation to expostulate the long conceived desire I have had to honour you: your own noble inclination can best conceive, what greater testimony could be demonstrate: and I had rather abbreviate what I would say, then by saying too much, to give doubtful construction, of undoubted well meaning. Let this my Epistles be one stair or little degree, whereby I may ascend into the entrance of your good opinion, as one whom I have chose, amongst the number of mine honourable friends, whose patronage may give protection to my new adventured Poesy. Thus leaving your honour to your hopeful fortunes, and my Muse to your gracious acceptance, I wish you all happiness.  
Michael Drayton.   

King john to Matilda.  
* The Argument.  
After that King john had assayed by all means possible, to win the fair and 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 Nunnarie she becomes a Nun, whether the King (still persisting in his suit), solicits her by this 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 feigned, or strange, or new;  
Thou know'st no way, no means, no course exempted,  
Left now unsought, unproved, or unatempted,  
All rules, regards, all secrets, helps of Art,  
What knowledge, wit, experience can impart;  
And in the old world's Ceremonies doted,  
Good days for love, times, hours, and 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 eye 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 & 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 done, 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 greatest I overslip.  
My gazing eye, on this and this doth cease,  
which surfeits, yet cannot desire appease.  
Then like I brown, (ôlovely 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 sanctuary;  
Fie peevish girl, ingrateful unto nature,  
Did she to this end, frame thee such a creature  
That thou her glory should 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-taynted feature is heavens 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 pleasure, 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 mifses,  
And when an Auic 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 here 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 〈◊〉 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-bestuded 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 glories 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 asoule, sense, and delight  
Of generations feeling appetite.  
Well hypocrite (infaith) 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 clone 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, and 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 those 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 and hate hath disposest 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 Dunmowe, 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 K, 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 humo of this King as it hath been truly noted by the best & most authentical Writers, whose nature and disposition, is truliest discerned in the course of his love; first resting at the ceremonies of the services of those times, then 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, and 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, received 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 shyvering ecstasy I stood,  
A chyllie 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 perrished both 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 resell 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, are 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 writ, 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 hands 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 hide 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 Mirhor, 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 is 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, and 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 perrished 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 dearness.  
Makest 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 tomb 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, so deign death to bring,  
So from the Rocks th'alluring Mermaids sing;  
In greatest wants, t'inflict the greatest woe,  
This is the worst that tyranny can do.  
But where the boisterous raging storm prevails,  
In vain is use of Anchors, oars, or sails;  
Above us, blustering winds, and dreadful thunder,  
Gusts, flaws, and furges, still are working under;  
Here on this side, the furious tempests fly,  
There Rocks, and sands, and dangerous whirlpooles lie,  
Is this the mean that majesty approves,  
And in this sort do Princes woo their loves?  
With rarest music, which the hearing charms,  
Fill they our ears, with noise of clattering Arms?  
To please the smell; with odours sweet perfuming,  
The smoky steam, of Towers with fire consuming?  
For pompous triumphs, to delight the eye,  
Present us murder, and black tragedy;  
To please the taste, and stir the youthful blood,  
Give they us tears for drink, and sighs for food,  
To please the tuch, they cares to us allow,  
Our hands may feel the wrinkles in our brow,  
And for sweet friends to nourish our content,  
Move they us up, send them to banishment.  
Mildness would better suit with majesty,  
Then rash revenge, and rough severity,  
For virtue is more amiable, more sweet  
When virtue, and true majesty do meet;  
For from the prospect of a kingly throne  
Virtue sees much, she hath to build upon:  
O in what safety Temperance doth rest  
when it finds harbour in a kingly breast;  
How dear is mercy, having power and will,  
when pity helps, where equity doth kill.  
If pity praiseful in unhelping 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,  
Each City is a sanctuary for sin;  
And all do pity beauty in distress,  
If beauty chaste, then only pitiless.  
And thus is beauty made the stolen of lust,  
Or unreleeved, perish needs she 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 Myrrh,  
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 least loves leman 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, & 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  
Than all the robes that yet I ever wore.  
Had Rosamand, (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 Minataur,  
Have been locked up from jealous Ellinor,  
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 restrains 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:  
No, no, his farewell at his last depart,  
More deeply is engraven in my heart,  
Nor shall that blot, by me his name shall have,  
Bring his grey hairs with sorrow to his grave,  
Rather with pity weep upon my Tomb,  
Then for my birth to curse my mother's womb.  
Though Dunmowe give no refuge here at all,  
Dunmowe 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 suit, 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, and 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 loud 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 buriàll.   
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, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 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 〈◊〉 by the worthy, dejected minds want that pure fire which should give vigour to virtue. I refer to your own 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 at command.  
Michael Drayton.   

Queen Isabella to Mortimer.  
* The Argument.  
Queen Isabella, (the wife of Edward the second, called Edward Carnarvan,) being the daughter of Philip le 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 him by the Queen, he cast them all into a beavie 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 comfert 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 feign would find the cause of this,  
Thy absence shows me where the erroris.  
Oft when I think of thy departing hence,  
Sad sorrow than possesseth every sense,  
But finding thy dear blood preserved thereby,  
And in thy life, my long-wished liberty,  
with that sweet thought myself I only pleuse,  
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 mild-aspected hour,  
Wherein thou mad'st escape our 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.  
Oh, 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 ever-waleing Dragon's eyes,  
Or I had had those sense- 〈◊〉 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 〈◊〉 by a secret stair  
I steal to 〈◊〉, as though to take the air;  
And ask the gentle stood as it did glide,  
Or thou didst 〈◊〉 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 seems to knit her brows.  
Even as this sudden passion doth 〈◊〉 me,  
The cheerful sun breaks from a cloud to light me;  
Then doth the bottom evident appear,  
As it would tell me, that thou 〈◊〉 not there,  
When as the water, flowing where I stand,  
Doth seem to tell me, thou 〈◊〉 safe on land.  
Did Bulloyne once a festival prepare  
For England, 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉, and Navarre?  
When France envied those buildings (only blessed)  
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 Princes heirs,  
when we can boast our 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 is ours;  
when Minions heads must wear our monarchs crowns,  
To raise up dunghills with our famous towns:  
When beggers-brats are wrapped in rich perfumes,  
And sore aloft, imped with our eagle's plumes;  
And joined 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 Carnarvan (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 afterward 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 Beuchamp, Lasey, 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 kingdom's wealth to spend,  
Of what that left, this now should make an end:  
To waste all that our father won before,  
Nor leave 〈◊〉 sword to conquer more.  
Thus but in vain we 〈◊〉 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 parliaments must still redress their wrongs,  
And we must 〈◊〉 for what to us belongs;  
Our wealth but fuel to their fond excess,  
And we must fast, to feast their wantonness.  
Thinkest thou our wrongs then insufficient are  
To move our Brother to religious war?  
And if they were, yet Edward doth 〈◊〉  
Homage for 〈◊〉, Guyne, and Aquitaine:  
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 〈◊〉  
which for our Country oft 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 they 〈◊〉 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 〈◊〉 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 spleen to thy immortal fire?  
To urge thee by the violence of hate,  
To shake the pillars of thine own estate,  
When what soever 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 Tarlton 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:  
Then till 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 rest 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, swam 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 Naudrre?  
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 Gaucston.  
Noting the effeminacy and 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 witch's bastard should thereby,  
It was urged by the Queen and the Nobility, in the disgrace of Piers Gaveston, that his mother was convicted of witchcraft, and 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 〈◊〉 and 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 Wallingforde, 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 kings sister, joane of Acres, married to the said Earl of Gloster.  
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, Lasey, Lancaster.  
Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, Guy, Earl of Warwick, & Henry Earl of Lincoln, who had taken their oaths before the deceased King at his death, to withstand his son Edward if he should call Gaveston 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, and 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, and the Father Earl of Winchester.  
And if they were, yet Edward doth detain  
Homage 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 makest 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 skye-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 be friend me for thy sake;  
Thames stopped hen 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 moant 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 calm and still  
As it had been obedient to my will;  
And every thing disposed unto my rest,  
As when one Seas the Altion builds her nest.  
And those rough waves which late with fury rushed,  
Slide smoothly on; and suddenly are hushed;  
Nor Neptune lets his surges out so long  
As Nature is in bringing forth her young;  
Nor let the Spensers' glory in my chance  
That thus I live an exile now 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 Authurs' reign,  
That the Round-table lastly did ordain;  
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 Fortune's 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 wives and woeful mothers mourn  
The English blood that stained Banocksburn,  
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-nymphe 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 〈◊〉 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 poops she proudly bears  
The famous Ensigns of the Belgic Peers.  
And for the hateful sacrilegious sin  
Which by the Pope he stands accursed in;  
The Cannon text shall have a common glesse,  
Receipts in parcels, shall be paid in 〈◊〉  
This doctrine preached, who from the Church doth take,  
At least shall treble restitution make:  
For which Rome sends her curses out from far,  
Through the stern throat of terror-breathing war,  
Till to th'unpeopled shore she brings supplies  
Of those industrious Roman, Colonies.  
And for his homage, by the which of old  
Proud Edward Guyne and Aquitane 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 expusd from France;  
And all those towns great Longshanks left his son,  
Now lost again, which once his Father won.  
Within their strong Percullisd 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 〈◊〉,  
Our warlike sword shall drive him from his shrone,  
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 seemed calm enough,  
But now are grown more boisterous and more rough,  
with gravest counsel all must be directed,  
where plainest shows are openly suspected;  
For where mishaps our errors doth assault,  
There doth it easilest 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 Earl 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 Herford, 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 Grandstre was the first since Arthur's ralgne,  
That the Round-table lastly did ordain.  
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 Kenelworth, after the ancient order of King Arthur's table, with the retinue of a hundred knights and 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, & that the bones should be borne to the wars in scotlan, 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 Striveling, 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 and fearful overthrow.  
And in the Dead-sea, sink our houses fame, From whose etc.  
Mortimer so called of Mare Mortuum, & in French, Mort mer: in English the Dead sea, which is said to be, where Sodom and 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,  
Gaustelinus and Lucas, two Cardinals, sent into England from Pope Clement, to appease the ancient hate between the King & Thomas Earl of Lancaster, to whose Embassy the King seemed to yield unto, 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 came 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 invasive 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 rather 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 amongst the English Saints.  
After the death of Thomas Earl of Lancaster at Pomfret, the 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 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 beedlesse and unstaid 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 whom he 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 towards 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 Lancaster, 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 sent 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 Augur of the spring  
In depth of woe, thus I my sorrow sing;  
Words tuned with sighs, tears falling oft among,  
A doleful burden 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.  
O how I flatter grief, and do entreat it,  
Grief flatters me, so oft as I repeat it.  
And to itself hath sorrow changed me so,  
That woe is turned to me, I turned to woe.  
If fatal Pomfret, hath in former times,  
Nourished the grief begot in hotter climes,  
Thither I send my woes, there to be fed,  
But where first borne, where fit 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;  
And where bleak winter's storms do ever rage's,  
There should my sighs find surest anchorage,  
Except that breeme air holds the Northern part,  
Do freeze that Aetna, which so burns my heart.  
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 abounds, the more we do restrain it.  
O how even yet, I hate my loathed eyes,  
And in my glass oft call them faithless spies,  
That were so hapless, with one loving look,  
To grace that Traitor, perjured Bullenbrooke;  
But that of sense, joy had all sense bereaved,  
They never should have been so much deceived.  
Proud was the Courser which my Lord bestrid,  
when Richard like his conquering Grandsire rid,  
For all the world, in every look alike  
The Rosy islands in his Lily cheek;  
His silken Amber curls so would he tie,  
So carried he his princely Eagle eye:  
From top to toe, his like in every limb,  
All look on Edward, that did look on him.  
The perfect pattern Nature chose alone,  
When at the first she framed proportion,  
Reserved till then, that all the world should view it,  
And praise th'ensample by the which she drew it;  
O let that day be guilty of all sin,  
That is to come, or ever yet 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 gauntlets then at Coventry engaged,  
when first thou didst repeal thy former grant,  
Sealed to brave Mowbray, as thy Combatant,  
From times unnumbered hours, let time divide it,  
Lest in his minutes, he should hap to hide it:  
Yet on his brows let wrinkled age still bear it,  
That when it comes, all other hours may fear it,  
And all ill-boding Planets, by consent,  
That day may hold their wicked parliament;  
And in heavens large Decrees, unroll it thus,  
Black, dismal, fatal, inauspitious,  
For then should he, in height of all his pride,  
Under great Mowbrays valiant hand have died:  
Nor should not now 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:  
That 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;  
Thou wentest victorious, crowned, in triumph borne,  
But cam'st subdued, uncrowned, and laughed to scorn;  
And all those tongues which tit'led thee their Lord,  
Grace Henry's glorious stile with that great word;  
And all those eyes did with thy course ascend,  
Now all too few on Herford to attend.  
Princes (like suns) be evermore in sight,  
All see the clouds which do eclipse their light;  
Yet they which lighten all down from their skies,  
See not the clouds offending others eyes,  
And deem 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 illigittimate:  
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 satal Ravenspore;  
Nor durst his slugging Hulks approach the strand,  
Nor stooped 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  
were there attending on my fair arise;  
when I came back, those fatal Planets frown,  
And all are set before my going down;  
The smooth-faced Air did on my coming smile,  
But with rough storms are driven to exile:  
But Bullenbrooke devisd we thus should part,  
Fearing two sorrows should possess one heart;  
That we should thus complain our griefs alone,  
Lest one should live in two, two live in one;  
Inflicting woe, and yet doth us deny  
But that poor joy is found in misery.  
He hath before divorced thy Crown and thee,  
which might suffice, and not to widow me;  
Nor will one place our poverty contain,  
which in our pomp, both in one bed have lain:  
Which is to prove (the greatness of his hate)  
How much our fall, exceedeth our estate.  
When England first obtained me by thy love;  
Nor did a kingdom my affection move,  
Before a Crowns sad cares I yet did try,  
Nor thought of Empire, but loves Empery;  
Before I learned to soothe a public vain,  
And only thought, to love, had been to reign.  
I would to God that princely Anne of Beam,  
Might still have worn the English Diadem,  
That she whose youth first decked thy bridal bed,  
Had kept that fatal wreath upon her head;  
Would God she still might have enjoyed her room,  
Possessed my throne, and I have had her Tomb:  
Or would Aumerle had sunk when he betrayed,  
The complot which that holy Abbot laid;  
When he infringed the oath which he first took,  
To end that proud usurping Bullenbrooke,  
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 dead too soon, and we do live too late.  
Death severs them, and life doth us enclose,  
Their help decreased, doth augment our woes;  
And though with tears I from my love departed,  
This curse on Herford fall to ease my heart;  
If the foul breach of a chaste lawful 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 disjoined, for vengeance cannot call,  
Let them united, strongly curse him all.  
And for the Percies, heaven yet hear my prayer,  
That Bullenbrooke, 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 controleth 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 Hote-spurre, 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 comforter to woe;  
Yet much (me thinks) of comfort I could say,  
If from my heart pale fear were rid away;  
Something 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 times,  
POmfret Castle ever a fatal place to the Princes of England, & most ominous to the blood of Plantagenet.  
O how ever yet I hate my loathed eyes, And in my glass, etc.  
When Bullenbrooke returned to England from the West, bringing Richard a prisoner with him, the Queen, who little knew of her husband's 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 Herford and Norfolk at Coventry, urging the justness of Mowbrayes' quarrel against the Duke of Herforde, and the faithful assurance of his victory.  
Oh why did Charles relieve his needy siate?  
A vagabond, etc.  
Charles the French King her father, received the Duke of Herford into 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 and 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 & 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. Albani.  
No Bastard's 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.  
Edmond 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 Edmond, (King Richard going into Ireland) was proclaimed heir apparent to the Crown, whose Aunt called Ellinor, this Lord Percy had married.  
I would to God, that princely Anne of Beam,  
Richard the second, his first wife was Anne, daughter to the K. of Beam, which lived not long with him, and after, he married this Isabella, daughter to Charles, King of France. This Princess was very young, and not marriageable when she came first into England.  
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 Surry, 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, and 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 Hote-spurre, her dear son,  
As I for my etc.  
This was the brave courageous Henry Hote-spurre, 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 canst thou look or hope for from that hand,  
which neither sense nor reason could command?  
A kingdoms greatness hardly can he sway,  
That wholesome counsel did not first obey;  
Ill did this rude hand guide a sceptre then,  
Ill this rude hand now governeth a pen;  
How should 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,  
And of that name proud Bullenbrooke doth boast:  
Never to have been, might some comfort bring,  
But no woe is, to say, I was a King.  
This lawless life, which first procured my hate,  
This tongue, which first denounced my kingly state,  
This abject mind, which did consent unto it,  
This hand, that was the instrument to do it,  
These all bear witness, that I do deny  
All worldly hopes, all kingly majesty.  
Didst thou for my sake leave thy father's Court,  
Thy famous Country, and thy princely port,  
And vndertook'st to travail dangerous ways,  
Driven by awkward winds, and boisterous seas;  
And lefts great Bourbon for thy love to me,  
Who sued in marriage to be linked to thee,  
Offering for dower the Country's bordering nigh,  
Of fruitful Almain, and rich Burgundy,  
Didst thou all this, that England should receive thee,  
To miserable banishment to leave thee?  
And in thy ruin, and thy fortune's wrack,  
Forsaken here, to France to send thee back.  
When quiet sleep (the heavy heart's relief)  
Seals up my senses, somewhat lesning grief,  
My kingly greatness unto mind I call,  
And think that I but dreamt of my fall;  
With this conceit, my sorrows I beguile,  
That my fair Queen is but withdrawn a while,  
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 one hour be,  
So many hours each minute seems to me;  
Each hour a day, morn, evening, set, and rise,  
Each day a year, complete with miseries,  
A summer, winter, spring-time, and a fall,  
All seasons varying, yet unseasoned all;  
Hot griefs, cold cares, moist sorrow, scorching hate,  
Too long extremes, too short a temperate;  
Each year a world from golden ages passed,  
That hasteth on the iron times at last,  
That from creation of all happy things,  
A dissolution to my fortune brings;  
This endless woe, my thread of life still wears,  
In minutes, hours, days, months, ages, years.  
joy in the sun, that do possess the South,  
For Pomfret stands here, in the Norths cold mouth;  
There wanton Summer lords it all the year,  
Frost-starued Winter doth inhabit here;  
A place wherein Despair may fitly dwell,  
For sorrow best suits with a cloudy Cell.  
Let Herford vaunt of our atchivements done,  
Of all the honours that great Edward won,  
Of famous Cressy, where his keen sword lopped,  
The flowers of France, which all had ouertopped;  
And with those fair Delices', set the walk,  
where our imperious English Lions stalk,  
which plucked those Lilies, planted on those streams,  
And set them here, upon the banks of Thames.  
Now Bullenbrooke, our conquering Trophies bears,  
Our glorious spoils this false Ulysses wears,  
And all the story of our famous war,  
Must grace the Annals of great Lancaster.  
Seven goodly scions from one stock begun,  
Seven lively branches from one root did run;  
My princely Father was the straightest stem  
The fairest blossom which adorned them;  
Whose precious buds began to spring so fair,  
As soon they show'd what fruit they meant to bear,  
But I his graft and barren trunk am grown,  
And for a fruitless water-bough am hewn,  
From our brave Grandsire, both in one degree,  
Yet after Edward, lohn the youngest of three:  
But princely Wales, by me gives place to Gaunt,  
Henry on Richard now predominant.  
When that usurping bastard-sonne of Spain,  
Deposed Petro, from his peaceful reign.  
My Father moved with the castilians moan,  
Plucked down that proud aspiring Phaeton:  
And ere a Crown had yet adorned his head,  
A conquered King from France to England led.  
A subjects hand my Crown from me hath torn,  
And by a home-nurst beggar, overbeared.  
Is valour hence with him to heaven fled?  
Or in my barren breast decayed and dead?  
Who for his virtue and his conquests sake,  
Posterity a demie God shall make:  
And judge this vile and abject spirit of mine,  
Can not proceed from temper so divine.  
What earthly humour, or what vulgar eye,  
Now looks so low, as on my misery?  
When Bullenbrooke is seated on our throne,  
And makes that his, which we but called our own:  
He bids, commands, he chooseth, he elects,  
Pardons, defends, he warrants, he protects;  
Into our counsels he himself intrudes,  
And who but Herford with the multitudes?  
Thus Bullenbrooke triumpheth in our fall,  
And for their King reputed is of all.  
His power disgrades, his dreadful frown disgraceth,  
He throws them down, whom our advancement placeth;  
As my disable and unworthy hand,  
Can give no sovereign title of 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.  
When Herford had his judgement of exile,  
Saw I the people's murmuring the while,  
Saw I the love, the zeal, the faith, the care,  
The Commons still to pleasing Herford bare;  
Fond women, and scarce-speaking children moume,  
weeping his parting, wishing his return.  
And was I forced t'abridge his banished years,  
when they bedewed his footsteps with their tears,  
Yet could not see mine own ensuing fall,  
Not seeing that, which saving that, saw all.  
Never our treasure stuffed with greater store,  
Never our strength, never our power was more,  
Never more large bounds to our Empery,  
Never more counsel, wisdom, policy:  
Never did all so suddenly decline,  
But justice is the heavens, the fault is mine.  
King's palaces stand open to let in,  
The soothing Traitor, and the guide to sin,  
Many we have in triumphs to attend us,  
But few are left in peril to defend us;  
Amongst the most, the worst we best can choose,  
'tis easy to desire, but hard to use.  
Oh famous Gloster, thou fore-saw'st my end,  
The curse that did my lawless youth attend,  
His death is new, (and I in sin am old,)  
who my destruction, (Prophet-like) foretold;  
And like Laocan, crying from his tower,  
Foreshowed the horse which hide the Grecian power.  
Is this the thing for which we toil and sweat?  
For which the great, do kneel unto the great?  
Is this the thing, in seeking to attain,  
All pain is pleasure, and all loss is gain?  
Is this the jewel which we prise so high?  
At heaven, at fame, at life, at liberty;  
And unto this, in striving to aspire,  
Are we made slaves unto our fond desire?  
Yet on steep Icy banks here still we dwell,  
And if we slip, our fall is into hell.  
Sweet Queen, I'll take all counsel thou canst give,  
So that thou bid me neither hope nor live;  
Counsel that comes when ill hath done his worst,  
Blesseth our ill, but makes our good accursed.  
Comfort is now unpleasing to mine ear,  
Past cure, past care; my bed is now my Beer.  
Since thus misfortune keeps us here so long,  
Till heaven be grown unmindful of our wrong,  
We may in war, sometime take truce with foes,  
But in despair, we cannot with our woes.  
O let this name of Richard never die,  
Yet still be fatal to posterity;  
And let a Richard from our line arise,  
To be the scourge of many families,  
And let the Crown be fatal that he bears,  
And wet with sad lamenting mothers tears.  
Thy curse on Percy, heaven doth now prevent,  
who hath not one curse left, on me unspent,  
To scourge the world, now borrowing of my store,  
As rich in plagues, as I in wealth 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 kingly state,  
RIchard the second, at the resignation of the Crown to his Cousin Henry in the Tower of London, at the delivery of the same with his own hand, confessed himself to be unable to govern, denounced all kingly dignity; so that he might only have his life.  
And left'st great Bourbon for thy love to me,  
Who sued in marriage to be linked to thee.  
Before the Princess Isabella was married to Richard the second, Jews Duke of Bourbon sued to have had her in marriage, which it was thought he had obtained, if this motion had not 〈◊〉 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.  
Let Herford vaunt of our atchivements done,  
Henry the eldest son of john of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, which at the first was Earl of Derby, then created Duke of Herford, but after the death of john of Gaunt his Father, was Duke of Lancaster, and Herford, Earl of Derby, Leicester, and Lincoln, and after he had obtained the Crown, was called by the name of Henry of Bullenbrooke, which is a town in Lincoln shire, as usually all the Kings of England bore the name of the places where they were borne.  
Of famous Cressy, where his keen sword lopped,  
The flowers of France, which all had ouertopped.  
Remembering the famous victory Edward the third their Grandfather obtained at Cressy, where were almost slain all the Nobility of France, where the Frenchmen lost all their ancient glory.  
And with their Flower-delices set the walk,  
Where our etc.  
Edward the third, by the conquest of France, joined the Lilies or Flower-delices, which is the Arms of France, with the Lions, the Arms of England, which coat first came from Normandy by the Conqueror, remaining in the right of his possession.  
Seven goodly scions from one stock began,  
Edward the third had seven sons, his eldest Edward Prince of Wales, after called the black Prince, William of Hatfielde his second, Lionel Duke of Clarence the third, john of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster the fourth, Edmond of Langley, Duke of York the fift, Thomas of Woodstock Duke of Gloster the sixth, and William of Windsor the seventh.  
My princely Father was the straightest stem.  
Truly boasting himself, to be the eldest son of the eldest Brother, which was Edward the black Prince.  
Yet after Edward, john the youngest of three.  
By this disabling Henry Bullenbrooke, being the son but of a fourth brother, William & Lionel being both before john of Gaunt.  
When that usurping bastard son of Spain,  
Noting the courage of his Father, which set Petro the King of Castille in his kingdom, when he was expulsed by his bastard brother.  
A conquered King from France to England led.  
The black Prince took King john of France prisoner, at the battle of Poycters, and brought him into England, where he died at the Savoy.  
And by a home-nurst beggar overbeared.  
By this reproving his own weakness and cowardice, who had suffered himself to be expulsed his kingdom by a subject, and one so much inferior to himself in greatness.  
And proves our acts of parliaments unjust.  
In the first parliament that Henry called after Richard had resigned the Crown, he annihilated all the laws that were made in the parliament called the wicked parliament, held in the 20. year of King Richard's reign.  
Saw I the love, the Zeal, the faith, the care,  
The Commons still etc.  
When the Combat should have been at Coventry, betwixt Henry Duke of Herford, and Mowbray Duke of Norfolk, the Commons mourned exceedingly, after they heard that Herford was adjudged by the King to be banished for ten years, so greatly was he always favoured of the people.  
And was I forced to abridge his banished years,  
When Henry Duke of Herford came to Eltham to take his leave of King Richard, the King (to please the Commons rather than for any love he bore to Herford,) plucked back four years of his banishment.  
O famous Gloster, thou fore-saw'st the end,  
Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloster, the King's uncle, who had oftr reproved this youthful King's insolence, was put to death at Calais, by the commandment of this Richard, his unnatural kinsman.  
And let a Richard from our line arise,  
A prophecy of Richard Crookebacke the Tyrant, which after was the only scourge and plague of both the houses of York & Lancaster, and the death of many great Princes.   
FINIS.   

To the Right Honourable, the Lord Henry Howard.  
LEarned and noble Lord, custom and continuance have sealed this privilege to Poetry, that (sometime) the light subject of a laboured Poem, is graced with the title of a learned and judicial censor: your Lordship sufficiently knoweth what I but put you in remembrance off, your wisdom and experience know what hath been most usual in the course of times: your judgement makes me doubtful, being what I am: your honour gives me some comfort, being what you are: Counsel is not ever conversant with severity, and I know true virtue loveth, what is never so little like herself, how unseasoned so ever my rhymes seem to the world: I am pleased if you peruse them with patience. Thus wishing my lines may be as acceptable as I desire, I leave them to your learned censor.  
Michael Drayton.   

Queen Katherine to Owen Tudor.  
* The Argument.  
After the death of that victorious Henry the fift, Queen Katherine, the 〈◊〉 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 Tudor a Wlechman, 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 and princely promises should not assure his good success, this high and great attempt, might (perhaps) daunt the forwardness of his modest and shame fast youth: wherefore to break the Ice to her intent, she writeth unto him this Epistle following.  

IV dge 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 loves 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;  
Jove's great command was never more obeyed,  
Then when a Satyrs 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;  
Only in Henry, was my Tudor then,  
Only in Tudor, Henry now again.  
Henry wooed me whilst wars did yet increase,  
I woo my Tudor now in calmest peace,  
To win affection, he did conquest prove,  
And I on conquest do make war with love:  
Great Henry soughtt ' accomplish his desire,  
Armed with tempests, thunderbolts of fire,  
As once when junos' treasons forced jove,  
T'embrace the beauteous Semele, his love.  
I to my love, as once the Cyprian Queen,  
On Simois banks was with the Trojan seen.  
Encamped at Melans, in wars hot alarms,  
First saw I Henry, clad in princely Arms.  
At pleasant Windsor, there these eyes of mine,  
Judged Tudor first, 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 advanced 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 champagne he did first enjoy  
My bridall-rites, to England brought from Troy;  
In England now, that honour thou shalt have,  
which once in champagne famous Henry gave.  
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 titles still could our affections tie,  
what is so great, but majesty might buy;  
As I seek thee, so King's 〈◊〉 me desire,  
To what they crave, thou easily mayst 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 thy virtue this at first did gain it,  
will I by reason now seek to restrain it.  
Nor these great titles vainly will I bring,  
Wife, daughter, mother, sister to a King,  
Of grandsire, father, husband, son, and brother,  
More thou alone to me, than all the other.  
Nor think so Tudor, that this love of mine,  
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne great Lancastrian line,  
Nor stir the English blood, the Sun and Moon,  
T'repine at Lorraine, Bourbon, Alansoon;  
Nor do I think there is such different odds,  
That they alone should counted be for Gods.  
If Cadmus' earthly issue reckoning us,  
And they from jove, 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 jove-begotten steed,  
Whose bounding hoof ploughed that Boetian spring,  
where those sweet Maids of memory do sing.  
Not only Henry's Queen, but boast aswell,  
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 hereby,  
Your race, and royal consanguinity.  
And Wales as well as haughty England boasts,  
Of Camelot, and all her Penticosts;  
A nephews room in great Pendragon's race,  
At Arthur's Table held a princely place.  
If of the often conquests of our Land,  
They rear the spoils of their victorious hand,  
If these our ancient Chronicles be true,  
They altogether are not free from you.  
When bloody Rufus sought 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, Shrewsbury,  
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 bloody wars 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 France had robbed all Christendom of men,  
And England's flower remained amongst us then:  
Glaster, whose counsels (Nestor like) assist  
Courageous Bedford, that great martialist;  
Warwick, 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,  
Whom (though I were a mighty Princess borne)  
Yet of the worst, no whit I need to scorn;  
But Henry's rare perfections, and his parts,  
As his sword kingdoms, so those 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 sweet 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 lypps of thine,  
As the pure Tuscan from the Florantine;  
Leaving such seasoned sweetness in the ear,  
As the voice past, yet still the sound is there.  
Like Nisus Tower, where once 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.  
Had he which dared proud Perseus to the field,  
Carried my tudor's picture in his shield,  
The sight there of should have subdued alone,  
That Gorgon's head, which turned men to a stone.  
If jove should take my tudor's lovely eye,  
And with heavens lights should place it in the sky,  
The wandering stars would leave their endless maze,  
And fix themselves, upon that star to gaze.  
If fair Alcmena's three nights-gotten son,  
when he his twelve great labours first had done,  
Had known one lock of thy delicious ore,  
Kept by the Dragon, Lion, Serpent, Boar,  
Twelve labours more for that he would sustain,  
And where he ended, would begin again.  
Yet let not this make thee thyself forget,  
Nor my affection now so firmly set;  
Nor with repulse my forwardness reprove,  
To boast the conquest of a princely love:  
No my sweet Tudor, I will answer no,  
Thy gentle brow doth mildly warrant so.  
When Nature show'd her wonders in thy face,  
She made that mount loves royal sporting place,  
where sweet content doth banquet all the year,  
Nor coy disdain yet ever dwelled there;  
Let peevish worldlings speak 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 such as 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 〈◊〉 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 aluded to the fiction 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 Seyne, was the appointed place of parley between the two Kings of England, & 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 fift, and Queen Katherine, were taken as King and Queen of France; & during the life of Charles the French king, Henry was called King of England, and heir of France, and after the death of Henry the fift, Henry the sixth his son, then being very young, was crowned at Paris, as true and lawful King of England and France.  
At Troy in champagne he did first enjoy,  
Troy in champagne, was the place where that victorious king Henry the fift married the Princess Katherine, in the presence of the chief Nobility of the Realms of England and of 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 jolm 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 and 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 & the race of Cadmus, whose issue was afflicted by the wrath of heaven. The children of Niohe 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 she was base borne. Lhewellin ap Gryfith married Ellinor, daughter to Simon Montfort Earl of Leicester, and Cousin to Edward Longshanks, both which Lhewellins were Princes of Wales.  
Of Camelot and all her Penticosts,  
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, & 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,  
Noting the divers sundry incursians that the Welshmen made into England, in the time of Rufus, john, Henry the second, and Longshanks.    

Owen Tudor to Queen Katherine.  

WHen first mine eyes beheld thy princely name,  
And found from whence these friendly letters 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 joy delndes 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 atcheevements 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 thou in marriage shouldst 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)  
with Lilies fetched from France should be possessed;  
And that our Leek, (our Countries chief renown)  
Should grow with Roses, in the English Crown:  
As Charles fair daughter, thou the Lily wear'st,  
As Henry's Queen, the blushing Rose thou bearest;  
By England's conquest, and by france's oath,  
Thou art the true made dowager of both;  
Both in thy Crown, both in thy cheek together,  
join Tethers love to thine, and thine 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 thy presence I was called to dance,  
In lofty tricks whilst I myself advance,  
And in my turn, my footing failed by hap,  
wa'st not my chance to light into thy lap.  
Who would not judge it Fortunes greatest grace,  
Sith he must fall, to fall in such a place;  
His birth from heaven thy Tudor not derives,  
Nor stands on tiptoes in superlatives,  
Although the envious English do devise  
A thousand jests of our hiperbolies;  
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 Titans wars;  
Nor feign my birth (your princely ears to please)  
By three nights getting, as was Hercules;  
Nor do I forge my long decent 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 fair Cair-Septon, in Mount Palador,  
And from Eneons line, the South-wales King,  
From Theodor the tudor's name do bring.  
My royal mother's princely stock began,  
From her great Grandam fair Gwenellian,  
By true decent 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 Plantaginct?  
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 feign 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 be the glorious conqueror of France;  
Yet if my titles may be raised by thee,  
If heaven say this, heaven saith yet more may be;  
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 renown.  
Ah would to God, that hour my hopes attend,  
were with my wish, brought to desired end.  
Blame me not Madame, though I thus desire,  
when Kings do wonder what I do admire;  
Shouldst thou but touch swart Melas with thy hand,  
His jetty gravel would be Tagus' sand.  
Nature to show more skill in thy curls, strove,  
Then did Arachne in the web she wove;  
Where thou wilt sit unto thy Lute to sing,  
There shall another fair Pirene spring.  
The Gods wish Hebe had no other Cup,  
But thy sweet lip for Nectar when they sup.  
The sweet calm odor thy breath doth respire,  
Might cool that all which Phaeton set on fire.  
Wonder not (Madam) though all eyes do gaze,  
when such a Comet doth begin to blaze;  
Till now your beauty in night's bosom slept,  
what eye durst look, where awful Henry kept;  
Who durst attempt to sail but near the bay,  
where that all-conquering great Alcides lay;  
But beauty now is set a Prince's prize,  
And kings now come to cheapen merchandise.  
If thou but walk to take the breathing air,  
Orithia makes me that I Boreas fear,  
If to the fire, love once in lightning came,  
And fair Egina makes 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 cusned Chion in an old wives shape;  
If thou dost banquet, Bacchus makes me dread,  
who in a Grape Erigone did feed;  
And if myself thy 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;  
What helps a Crowns adorning of the head,  
when comfort wanteth in a princely bed;  
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 Welshman for my sake.  
Yet judge me not from modesty exempt,  
That I another Phaeton's charge attempt;  
My mounting thoughts, which thus to heaven aspire,  
Shows that my spirit's tuched with celestial fire,  
For had it been of gross and earthly mud,  
It never durst presume to such a good;  
If love a fault, the more is beauty's shame,  
when she herself is Author of the same;  
All men to one peculiar vice incline,  
Only to love, is naturally mine.  
Thou art by beauty famous, as by birth,  
Ordained by heaven, here to adorn the earth,  
Ad faithful love unto thy princely 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.  
O that the Helm, the tudor's aundient Crest,  
THe Arms of Tudor was the Helms, or 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 Pedigrees and descents, and sing in odes and measures to their 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 Cair-Septon in mount Palador,  
Cair-Septon, now called Shaftsbury, at whose building it was said an Eagle prophesied (or rather one named Aquilla) of the fame of that place, and of the recovery of the isle by the Britain's 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 Guenellian.  
Guenellian the daughter of Rees ap Griffeth, ap Theodor, Prince of South-wales, married to Ednivet Vahan, ancestor to Owen Tudor.  
My true descent from Leolin the great,  
This is that Lewhelin, called Leolinus 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 sound 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 nature Language now thus long,  
The Welshmen be those ancient Britons, which when the Picks, Danes, and Saxons invaded here, were first driven into those parts, where they have kept their language ever since the first, without commixtion with any other language.   
FINIS.   

To my honoured Mistress, Mistress Elizabeth Tanfelde, the sole Daughter and heir, of that famous and learned Lawyer, Lawrence T anfelde 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 have 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 French tongue, more sweet the Italian, but most sweet are they both if spoken by your admired self. If Poesy were prayselesse, your virtues alone were a subject sufficient to make it esteemed though amongst 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 by your birth shall add one Muse more to the Muses: I rest the humbly 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 Margarit.  
* The Argument.  
William de la Pole, first Marquis, and after created Duke of Suffolk, being sent into France by King Henry the fixed, concludeth a marriage between the King his Master, and Margarite, daughter to Rayner Duke of Anjou: who only had the title of the King of Sicily and jerusalem. This marriage being made contrary to the liking of the Lords & counsel of the Realm, (by reason of the yielding up Anjou & Maine into the Duke's hands, which shortly after proved the loss of all Aquitaine,) they ever after cotiwally hated the Duke; and after (my means of the Commons) banished him at the parliament at Bery: where after he had the judgement of his exile, being then ready to departed, he 〈◊〉 back to the Queen this Epistle.  

IN my disgrace (dear Queen) rest thy content,  
And Margarits health from Suffolk's banishment;  
Not one day seems five years exile to me,  
But that so soon I must departed 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 noonestead ever make abode;  
And force 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 limiting in bands,  
But that (great Queen) thy sovereignty commands;  
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 Nevells brood.  
With Salesbury, 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.  
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 hag jordane, Hun, and Bullenbrooke:  
And let them call their 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 Aumearle 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 tongues ravish ears with their delight:  
And when my speech did cease, (as telling all)  
My looks showed more, that was Angelical.  
And when I breathed again, and paused next,  
I left mine eyes to preach upon 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 stile,  
My speech in greater cadences 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 fifteen 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 loves 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 brynie 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,  
Dancing for joy upon the silver waves;  
when like a Bull, from the Phenician strand,  
jove with Europa, trypping from the land,  
Upon the bosom of the main doth scud,  
And with his swannish breast cleaving the flood,  
Towards 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 Ensigns 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 Willohbie;  
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 humane 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 dispose,  
Mine honour mine, that none hath power to lose,  
Then be as merry, (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 love, to Henry's royal hand;  
The happy hours, we passed with the King,  
At fair southhampton, 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 falcons 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's means, accused Suffolk of treason, & 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 Aquitane.  
The Duke of Suffolk being sent into France to conclude a peace, chose Duke Rayners daughter, the Lady Margaret, whom he espoused for Henry the sixth, delivering for her to her Father, the Countries of Anjou and Maine, & the City of Mauns. Whereupon the Earl of Arminack (whose daughter was before promised to the King) seeing himself to be mocked, caused all the English men to be expulsed out of Aquitaine, Gascoigne, & Guyne.  
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 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 Edmond of Langley, Duke of York; which Anne, was Daughter to Roger Mortimer Earl of March, which Roger, was son and heir to Edmond Mortimer, 〈◊〉 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. 〈◊〉 or. & 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 〈◊〉. year of Hen. 6. was by the means of the Queen, and the Duke of Suffolk was atested by the Lord Beumond at the Parliament 〈◊〉 at Berry, 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 her jests at the Protectors wife, who being 〈◊〉 and convicted of treason, because with john Hun a Priest, Roger Bolingbroke a Necromancer, and Margery jordane called the Witch of Ely, she had consulted and agreed by Sorcery to kill 〈◊〉 King, was adjudged to perpetual prison in the isle of Man, and 〈◊〉 do penance openly in three public places in London.  
For twenty years and have I served in France.  
In the 6. year of Hen. the 6. the Duke of Bedford being deceased then Lieutenant general, and Regent of France: this Duke of Suffolk was promoted to that dignity, having the L. Talbot, 〈◊〉. 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 〈◊〉 obtained the crown of France, & recovered again much of that his Father had lost. Bastard Orleans was son to the Duke of Orleans, begotten of the L. 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 Hen. 6. his reign, where the most of the French chivalry were overcome by the Duke of Bedford.  
And from Aumearle withdrew my warlike powers.  
Aumearle 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 truce 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 21. of Henry the 6, was appointed a great diet to be kept, whether came th'ambassadors of th'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 Margarit, 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 fifeteenth to fetch her into England.  
Seeve thee for England but embarked at Deep.  
Deep is a Town in France, bordering upon the Sea where the Duke of Suffolk with Queen Margarit took ship for England.  
As when arrived in Porchesters' fair Road.  
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 southhampton.    

Queen Margarit to William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk.  

WHat news (sweet Pole) look'st thou my lines should tell,  
But like the sounding 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 internal eyes,  
But divination of sad tragedies,  
And care takes up her solitary Inn,  
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 feign would sing, yet feign would weep,  
Praising fair Summer, that too soon is gone,  
Or mourning Winter, too fast coming on.  
In this sad plight I mourn for thy depart,  
Because that weeping cannot case my heart.  
Now to our aid, who stirs the neighbouring Kings;  
Or who from France a puissant Army brings;  
Who moves the Norman to assist our war;  
Or brings in Burgoyn, 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 thoughts impart;  
Whose breast is now the closet of my heart;  
The ancient Heroes, 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 depth had sought,  
Pebbles and Flints we find in every path,  
The Diamond rich India only hath.  
Well knew King Henry what he pleaded for,  
when thou wert made his sweet-tonged Orator;  
whose Angell-eye, by powerful influence,  
Imparteth wonders, passing eloquence,  
That when love 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 claims the right of England's Crown.  
And now I hear, his hateful Duchess chats,  
And rips up their decent 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 stigmatick,  
That like a carcase stolen out of a Tomb,  
Came the wrong way out of his mother's womb;  
with teeth in'ns head, his passage to have torn,  
As though begot an age ere he was borne.  
Who now dare curb proud York, if he do rise?  
And stoop that haggard, which so threats the skies?  
To crop that bastard weed which daily grows,  
To overshadow our vermilion Rose?  
Or who will muzzle that unruly Bear?  
From whose stern presence all do fly for fear;  
whilst on his knees the silly King is down,  
To save their 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.  
But he with error in devotion led,  
Let's others raze the Crown from of his head;  
And (like a woman) sits him down to weep,  
Where he in Arms his kingly right should keep,  
As ill beseeming Henry's royal son,  
As when Alcides at the distaff spun.  
O that he should his Fathers right inherit,  
Yet by an alien to that mighty spirit;  
That field the Western world with his report,  
His glorious conquest got at Agyncourt;  
Whose name to France did greater terror bring,  
Then to the foul, the presence of their King;  
Who filled the ditches of besieged Cane,  
with mangled bodies of our Nation slain:  
And made the Normans eat their horse for food,  
Yet starved for hunger; made them drunk with blood.  
Nor can he come from Lancaster's great line,  
Or from the womb of beauteous Katherine.  
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 Yorks garlands every one is crowned;  
Those flattering stars which followed our fair rise,  
Now towards our set, are vanished from our eyes,  
Yorks rising sons now altogether shine,  
And our light dim, towards evening doth decline;  
Now in the skies his 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 isle 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 〈◊〉.  
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 Yorks 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'vpbrayd that valiant Somerset,  
Railing in tumults on his soldiers loss;  
Thus all goes backward, cross comes after cross.  
And-nowe 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,  
T'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 queachie sand;  
And oft in vision see thee in the night,  
where thou at sea maintain'st a dangerous fight;  
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 may still behold thee in my breast.  
Farewell sweet Pole, feign more I would indite,  
But that my tears do blot as I do write.   

Notes of the Chronicle history.  
Or brings in Burgoyn to aid Lancaster.  
Philip Duke of Burgoyn 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, and 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 inheritance.  
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 6. and Edmond Earl of Rutland, slain by the Lord Clifford at the battle at Wakefield: and 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.  
He that's so like his Dam, her youngest Dick,  
That foul ill favoured crookbacked Stigmatic, etc.  
Till this verse. As though begot an age, etc.  
This Richard (whom ironiacally 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, and of a very crabbed and sour countenance: his Mother could not be delivered of him uncut, and he was borne toothed, and 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 conjoined and united.  
Or who doth muzzle that unruly Bear.  
The Earl of Warwick, the setter up and puller down of Kings, gave for his Arms the white Bear rampant, and the Ragged staff.  
His glorious conquest got at Agyncourt.  
Agincourt is a Teritory in France, where King Henry the fifth discomfited the whole French puissance being 60000. horsemen, besides footmen and Pages, and slew at the same battle 8000, of their Nobility, Knights, and Gentlemen. And almost all the Princes of France, besides such as were taken prisoners.  
Who filled the ditches of besieged Caen  
With mangled bodies. etc.  
Caen is a marvelous strong Town of Normandy, which after long famine and extreme misery, was yielded up to King Henry the fifth, who fortified the Town and Castle to the use of the English.  
My daisy flower which erst perfumed the air,  
Which for my favour Princes once did wear, etc.  
The daisy in French is called Margarit, which was Queen Margarits badge, wherewith all 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 staves.  
The ragged or bearded staff was a part of the Arms belonging to the Earldom of Warwick.  
Slandering Duke Rayner with base beggary.  
Rayner Duke of Anjou, called himself King of Naples, Cicile, and jerusalem, having neither inheritance nor tribute from those parts, and 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 6.  
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 decended 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, to 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 and ambitious Prelate, favouring mightily the Queen, and the Duke of Suffolk, continually heaping up innumerable treasure, in hope to have been Pope, as himself on his deathbed confessed.  
With France t'upbraid the valiant Somerset.  
Edmond Duke of Somerset, in the 24. of Henry the 6 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's Faction, in the time of Henry the 6.  
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 Mounson, Knight.  
SIR, amongst many which most deservedly love you, though I 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 hovers in the uncertainty of the general censure.  
Michael 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, awelling 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 Crookebacke) and after the battle fought at Barnet, where that 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 bebeld 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 aloud?  
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 what 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 so be blessed,  
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,  
were it adorned with a kingly state?  
which being now, but in so mean a bed,  
Is like an uncut Diamond in lead,  
Ere it be set in some high-prized ring,  
Or garnished with rich enamiling;  
The sparkling lustre of the stone is spilled,  
If that the beauty be not showed in gilt.  
When first attracted by thy heavenly eyes,  
I came to see thee, in a strange disguise,  
Passing thy shop, thy husband called 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 deny it,  
That I might not for love or money buy it.  
O might I come a Diamond to buy,  
whose sparkling radiance shadowed but thine eye,  
would not my treasure serve, my Crown should go,  
any jewel could be prized so;  
〈◊〉 Agat, branched with thy blushing strains,  
〈◊〉 Sapphire, but so azured, 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.  
〈◊〉 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, our 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 Angel 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 thinkc Shore cannot choose but flout  
Such as would find the great Elixir out,  
And laugh to see the Alchemists, that choke  
Themselves with sums, and waste their wealth in smoke,  
when if thy hand but touch the basest mould,  
It is converted unto purest gold,  
when theirs is chaffered at an easy rate,  
well known to all to be adulterate;  
And theirs, no more when it by thine is set,  
Then paltry Beugle, or light-prized let.  
Let others wear perfumes, for thee unmeet,  
If there were none, thou couldst make all things sweet.  
Thou comfort'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,  
Aromatics, and precious odours are.  
If thou but please to walk into the Pawn,  
To buy thee Cambric, calico, or Lawn,  
If thou the whiterles 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 blessed 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 a dainty wife,  
The blunt-spoke Cynic, poring on his book,  
Sometime (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 which in Arms doth toil,  
with Beauty yet content to share his spoil,  
The busy lawyer wrangling in his pleas,  
Findeth in beauty yet there is some 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, one 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 beauty's world, thy waist, thy foot, thy hand,  
Where he may find, the more that he doth view,  
Such rare delights as yet are strange and new;  
And other worlds of beauty more and more,  
Which 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 discovered before:  
And to thy rare proportion to apply,  
The lines and circles in Geometry,  
Using alone Arithmaticks strong ground,  
Numbering the virtues that in thee are found.  
And when these all have done what they can do,  
For thy perfections all too little too.  
But leaving Arts, what should I say thou art?  
But of each Goddess thou a better part,  
From Iris white, thy red, vermilion, blue,  
Thy skin, thy lip, thy cheek, thy veins pure hue;  
But those in her, together mixed be,  
But all distinct, and several in thee.  
From beauteous Ceres, thy soft-swelling breast,  
Those orient Grapes give Nectar, being priest;  
Thy smiles from Venus, but such smiles of joy,  
As when she laughs upon her little boy;  
Thy caridge, from majestic luno's gate,  
which gives delight for all to wonder at.  
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 Nature's only pride,  
But in a Prince's sumptuous gallery,  
Hung all with Tissue, flored with tapistry;  
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 fino'st, as now thou doubtest the troth,  
Be thou thyself unpartial judge of both;  
Where hearts be knit, what helps if not enjoy?  
Delays breed doubts, no cunning to be coy.  
Whilst lazy Time his turn by tarriance serves,  
Love still grows sickly, and hope daily storms  
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 and 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 Cominaeus 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 〈◊〉 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 seem more delectable. Though the smalenes of his eyes full of a shining moisture, as it took away some comeliness, so it argued much sharpness of understanding, and cruelty mingled therewith. And in deed 〈◊〉 Buchanan (that imperious Scot) chargeth him and other Princes of those times, with affection 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 possesle, 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 Solinus out of Pliny mentioneth, that in the Northerly Regions a yellow jelly is taken up out of the Sea at low tides, which he calls Succinum, we Amber, so likewise out of the Ligustick deep, a part of the Mediterrin 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 condita 〈◊〉,  
Vt videatur apis necture clausa sub,  
Dignum 〈◊〉 pretium tulit ille laborum,  
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.  
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 Icesickle, the which Epigram is excellent, the 18, lib. 4. He calls it Phaethontis 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 often times 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 writ.  
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, nonglittering Change,  
To stand a Cometgazed 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 something exquisite.  
To housed beauty, seldom stoops 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?  
O 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 larrs,  
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 such 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) sping the Rose,  
In every common hedge the Bramble grows,  
Nor are we so turned Neapolitan,  
That might incite some foul-mouthed 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, nor curl, body nor brow adorn,  
That is in Florence, or in Genoa borne.  
But with vain boasts how witless 〈◊〉 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,  
And goes away enriched with the store,  
whilst others glean, where he had 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 repulsd 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 vilest death,  
Then live to draw such 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, when, what, and where,  
To write, to speak, to sue, and to forbear,  
By signs, by sighs, by motions, & 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 be helped by 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) hide 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:  
And that the fayr'st, ere since the world began,  
To me, a sunne-burnt, base Egyptian;  
But yet I know more than I mean to tell,  
(Oh 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 own;  
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 lose liberty,  
If with 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 〈◊〉 persuasions of some subtle 〈◊〉;  
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 these 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, and 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 am strange.  
Thy coming, is my full, thy set, my change.  
Long Winter nights be minutes, if thou hear,  
Short minutes if thou absent be a year.  
And thus by strength thou art become my fate,  
And makest me love, even in the midst of hate.   

Notes of the Chronicle history.  
Would I had led an humble shepherds life,  
Nor 〈◊〉 the name of Shore's admired wife.  
TWo or three poems written by sundry men, have magnified this woman's beauty: whom that ornament of England and London's more particular glory, Sir Thomas Moor very highly hath praised for her beauty, she being alive in his time, though being poor and aged. Her stature was mean, her hair of a dark yellow, her face round and full, her eye grey, delicate 〈◊〉 being betwixt each parts proportion, & each proportion's 〈◊〉, her body fat, white, and smooth, her countenance cheerful, and like to her condition. That picture which I have seen of 〈◊〉, was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich Mantle cast 〈◊〉 one 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 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 penance in Paul's Churchyard, 〈◊〉 that no man should relieve her, which the tyrant did not so much for his hatted 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 〈◊〉 an Haven-towne doth stand. Hereof the excellent English Antiquary Master Camden, and Master Lumbert in his perambulation 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 here is 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 〈◊〉 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 incite some foul-mouthed Mantuan.  
〈◊〉 Mantuan a pastoral Poet, in one of his Eglogs bitterly enueieth against womankind, some of the which by way of an Appendex, might be here inserted, seeing the fantastic and 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, yeh, or for Euripides himself, or Senecas inflexible 〈◊〉.  
The circuit of the public Theatre.  
〈◊〉 a most fit Author for so dissolute a Sectary, calls that place 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 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 Henry Goodere, of Powlesworth Esquire.  
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 adventred to the world, with what like or dislike, I know nor, 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 〈◊〉, 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.  
Michael Drayton.   

Marry the French Queen, to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.  
* The Argument.  
Marry, 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 Jews 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 be was married: and Charles Brandon having commission from the King to bring her back to 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 fro France, Queen Mary sends to thee.  
Brandon, how long makest 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 famous Pickardie,  
where our 〈◊〉 Calais, walled in her sands,  
In kenning of the cliffy 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 swimm'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 flood,  
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 wasted 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 departed 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 departed:  
And being shypped, 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 thing 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 feign 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 fly.  
Thinkest 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 bring,  
How thou in France didst revel with thy King,  
when he in triumph of his victory,  
〈◊〉 a rich embroidered Canopy,  
〈◊〉 proud Tourney, which did 〈◊〉 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 diliciously,  
Then Cleopatra did Mark Anthony;  
where sports all day did entertain your sight,  
And then in Masks you passed away the night:  
But thou wilt say, It proper is 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 suspicions eye,  
Take away love, if you take jealousy.  
When Henry, Turwyn, and proud Tournay won,  
Little thought I the end when this begun;  
When Maximilian to those wars addressed,  
ware 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 these 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, thy state could not advance,  
But now enriched with the dower of France;  
Then, but poor Suffolk's Duchess had I been,  
Now, the great Dowger, 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 heatles 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 make 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,  
〈◊〉 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 a mends 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 due 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 easily 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, and more bright,  
As from their dimness, borrowing greater light.  
Alansoon, a fine timbered man, and tall,  
Yet wants the shape thou art adorned withal;  
Vandom, good carridge, and a pleasing eye,  
Yet wants my Suffolks' lions majesty;  
Courageous Bourbon, a sweet manly face,  
But yet he wants my Brandon's courtly grace.  
Proud Longavile, our Court judged had no peer,  
A man scarce made (was thought) whilst thou wast here.  
County S. Paul, brav'st man at Arms in France,  
would yield himself a Squire to bear thy Lance;  
Galleas and Bounarme, 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 haste, 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 needsly 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 for sworn, 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.   

The utmost date expired of my stay,  
When I from Dover did departed 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.  
Thinkest thou my love was faithful unto thee,  
When young Castille to England sued for me.  
It was agreed and concluded twixt Hen. the 7, and Philip King of Castille, Son to Maximilian 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 Hen. the 8. annihilated.  
When he in triumph of his victory  
Under a rich embroidered Canapy,  
Entered proud Turnay which did trembling stand, etc.  
Henry the 8. after the long siege of Turnay, which was delivered to him upon composition, entered the City in triumph, under a Canapy of cloth of gold, borne by four of the chief and most noble Citizens: the King himself mounted upon a gallant Courser barded 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 Turnay: there came to him the Prince of Castille, and the Lady Margarit Duchess of Savoy his Sister, to whom King Hen. gave great entertainment.  
Savoys proud Duchess knowing how long she  
By her love sought to win my love from 〈◊〉.  
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, and exceedingly beloved of the Dutches.  
When in King Henry's 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, and the Duchess: and entertained them with sumptuous masks and banquets during their abode.  
When Maximilian to those wars addressed,  
Wore England's Cross on his imperial breast.  
The Emperor Maximilian with all his Soldiers, which served under King Henry, wore the cross of Saint George, with the Rose on their breasts.  
And in our Army 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 and all his Soldiers in wages, which served under him during those wars.  
But this alone by Woolseys' wit was wrought.  
Thomas Woolsey, the King's Almoner, than Bishop of Lincoln, a man of great authority with the King, and afterward Cardinal, was the cheese cause that the Lady Mary was married to the old French King, with whom the French King had dealt under hand to befriend 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 5. inches square on every side, and at the But 9 inches square, whereby he 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 10. Spears 〈◊〉 him: in each 〈◊〉, 3, 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 Marry 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 far,  
And live (God knows) of nothing but of 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 mary's 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 his year.  
But Paris locks my love within the main,  
And London yet thy Brandon doth detain;  
Of thy firm love thou puttest me still in mind,  
But of my faith, not one word can I find.  
When Long avile to Mary was affied,  
And thou by him waste made King Lewis bride,  
How oft I wished that thou a prise mights 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 fair walks thou often hast been seen,  
To sport with Katberine, Henry's beauteous Queen,  
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;  
Letting her drops in tears fall from thy oars,  
For joy that she had got thee from the shores.  
The silver swans, with music that those make,  
Ruffing their plumes, come gliding on the lake,  
As the fleet Dolphins, by Arion's strings,  
were brought to land with musics ravish;  
The flocks and 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 wound,  
wafted thy sails with speed unto the land,  
And runs thy ship on Boulogne's harbouring strand.  
How should I joy of thy arrive to hear?  
But as a poor seafaring passenger,  
After long travail, tempest-torne and wracked,  
By some unpitying 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 traveled before.  
When thou to Abaile 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 fit 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 be gild,  
And yet still longing like a little child.  
When Marquis Dorset and the valiant Gray's,  
To purchase farm first crossed the narrow Seas,  
with all the Knights that my associates went,  
In honour of thy riuptiall tournament,  
Thinkest 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 religeous men,  
In golden vestments followed them again;  
And in precession as they came along,  
with 〈◊〉 sang thy marriage song.  
Then five 〈◊〉 Dukes, as did their places fall,  
To each 〈◊〉 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 senewed 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 knowest,  
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 look not, the Eagle sitting by,  
whose brood doth gaze 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' sight,  
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.  
'wear oversight in that at which we aim,  
To put the hazard on an after game;  
with patience then let us our hopes attend,  
And tell 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 and France, was delivered, and married the Princess Mary for Lewes the French King his Master.  
How in a storm thy well-rigd 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, and was severed, some driven upon the Coast of Flaunders, some on Britain: the ship wherein the Queen was, was driven into the Haven 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 brought her into Abuile with great solemnity.  
Appearedst unto him like the Queen of Light.  
Expressing the sumptuous attire of the Queen and her train: attended by the chief of the Nobility of Kngland, with 36. Ladies all in cloth of silver, their Horses trapped with Crimson velvet.  
A Cripple King laid bedrid long before.  
King Lewes, was a man of great years, troubled much with the gout, so that he had had of long time before little use of his 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 Dorset and his four Brothers, the Lord Clinton, Sir Edward Nevil, Sir Gyles Capell, 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 entering into Paris, after her 〈◊〉 performed at Saint Denis.  
Then five great Dukes as did their places fall.  
The Dukes, of Alansoon, Bourbon, Vadome, Longavile, Suffolk, with five Cardinals.  
That large-limd Almaigne of the giants race.  
Francis Valois, the Dolphin of France 〈◊〉 the glory, that the Englishmen had obtained at the tilt, brought in an Almaigne secretly, a man thought almost of incomparable strength, which encountered Charles Brandon at Barriers, but the Duke 〈◊〉 with him, so beat 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 standerd-bearer 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, after Duke of Suffolk.   
FINIS.   

To the modest and virtuous Gentlewoman, Mistress Francis Goodere, Daughter to Sir Henry Goodere Knight, and wife to Henry Goodere Esquire.  
My very gracious and good Mistress, the love and duty I bore to your Father whilst he lived, now after his decease is to you hereditary: to whom by the blessing of your birth he left his virtues. Who bequeathed you those which were hit, gave you what so ever 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.  
Michael Drayton.   

The Lady jane Gray, 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 Gray, 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, heir to King Edward her Brother. Queen Mary rising in Arms to claim her rightful Crown, taketh the said jane Gray, and the Lord Gilford her husband, being lodged in the Tower for their more safety, which place being lastly their Palace, by this means becomes their prison: where being severed in sundry prisons, they writ 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,  
〈◊〉 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 reiterats 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 is 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;  
That life is only miserable and vile,  
From which fair patience doth itself exile.  
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,  
All hope, all life, all liberty extinct;  
A subject borne, a Princess 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 innocens 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 innocens 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 what so ere is thine;  
As when we lived untouched with these disgraces,  
when as our kingdom was our sweet embraces;  
At Durham Palace, where sweet Hymen sang,  
whose buildings with our nuptial music rang?  
when Prothalamions praised that happy day,  
wherein great Dudley matched with noble Gray,  
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 more than all dominion.  
When first mine ears were pierced with the same,  
Of jane proclaimed by a Prince's 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 bears 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 wear as ourselves conjoined then,  
Nature to nature, now an alien.  
The purest blood, polluted is in blood,  
nearest 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, what 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 bond may be divorced,  
But heavens decree, by no means can be forced,  
The rule the case, when men have all decreed,  
who took him hence, knew well 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;  
what virtue gets, once got, doth never waste,  
And having this, this thou for ever hast:  
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 faiths 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 imbicillitie;  
By each temptation over-apt to slide,  
Except our spirit becomes our body's guide;  
For as our bodies prisons be these Towers,  
So to our souls, these bodies be of ours:  
whose fleshly walls hinder that heavenly light,  
As these stone walls 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's,  
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 martyrs 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 Gray, 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 Gray, 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 and 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, fearing 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 and glorious reign of Queen Elizabeth: her restoring of Religion, the abolishing of the Romish servitude, and casting aside the yoke of Spain.    

The Lord Gilford Dudley, to the Lady jane Gray.  

THus from the strongest treble-walled Tower,  
Swanlike I sing, before my dying hour;  
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;  
I'll give thee hours of woe, and years of sorrow,  
And turn the day to night, the night to morrow.  
And if thou thinkest time yet doth pass to soon,  
when evening comes, we'll make it but our noon;  
And if a grief prove weak, and not of force,  
I will exchange a better for a worse;  
And if thou think too quickly sorrow ends,  
Another twice so long shall make amends.  
Perhaps thou'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 giveth.  
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 foe,  
That grym-aspected death should now control,  
And seem foe 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 thy 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 to 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 tongue;  
And thou art present as thou still didst lie,  
Or in my heart, or in my lypps, or eye.  
No evil planet reigned at thy birth,  
Nor was that hour prodigious here on earth;  
No fatal mark of froward destiny,  
Can be divined in thy nativity;  
'tis only I, that did thy fall devise,  
And thou by me, art made a sacrifice;  
As in the East, whereas 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,  
whom fear of death, or danger doth appall.  
I boast not of Northumberlands great name,  
Nor of Ketts 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-beare, 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 〈◊〉 race;  
Nor of Gray's match, my chydrens borne by thee,  
Allied to York and Lancaster should be;  
But of thy virtues proudly boast I dare,  
That she is mine, whom all perfections are.  
I craved no kingdom, though I thee did crave,  
And having thee, I wished no more to have.  
Yet let me say, how ere this fortune fell,  
Me thinks a Crown should have becomed thee well,  
Me thinks thy wisdom was ordained alone,  
To bless a sceptre, beautify a throne;  
Thy lips a sacred oracle retain,  
where in all holy prophecies remain;  
More highly prized thy virtues were to me,  
Than Crowns, than Kingdoms, or than Sceptres be.  
So chaste thy love, so innocent thy life,  
A wifed virgin, and a mayded wife;  
The greatest gifts that heaven could give me here,  
Nothing so sweet, so good, so pure, so dear.  
This was the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of late,  
Ere worldly cares 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
Before these troubles 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 confound,  
Or war, or weapon, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 wound;  
Ere dreadful Armies did 〈◊〉 our shores,  
Or walls were shaken with the 〈◊〉 roars.  
Suspect bewrays our thoughts, betrays 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 might, must Edward's acts repeal?  
When Suffolk's power, doth Suffolk's hopes withstand,  
Northumberland, doth leave Northumberland.  
And those which should our greatness underprop,  
Raze our foundation, overthrow our top.  
Ere greatness come, we wish it with our heart,  
But being come, we wish it would departed,  
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 abortive when they should be borne;  
Mothers that should their children's fortunes rue,  
Fathers in death to 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 Prophitesse.  
with that health gladly resaluting thee,  
which thy kind farewell, wished before to me.   

Notes of the Chronicle history.  
Nor of Ketts conquest which adorns the same.  
I Ohn 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 in deed to have raised that house of the Dudleys', 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 Gray, 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 〈◊〉.  
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 valere,  
Quo 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 Gray 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, in so much 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 resorted to Queen Mary in her distress, repairing to her succours, whilst she remained both at Keningall, and at Framingham Castle, still increasing her aids, until the Duke of Northumberland, was left forsaken at Cambridge.   
FINIS.   

Faults escaped.  
Folio. page, line, fault. correction. 9 1 11 for Let this, read Let these 12 2 1 for love and read love not 23 2 14 for expusd from read expulsed from 35 1 17 for your censor read your censure 35 2 25 for loves stern read wars stern 36 2 32 for If Cadmus read Of Cadmus 42 2 23 for Aquilla read Aquila 46 1 29 for in the the time read in the time 46 2 10 for was by the read by the 56 2 1 for daily storms read daily starves 58 1 22 for only sping read only springs 63 1 7 for It proper is unto us. read 'tis proper unto us.