POEMS: By Michael Draiton Esquire.  
N L  
LONDON, Printed for N. Ling. 1605.   

The Arguments.  

THe Barons wars.  
England's Heroical Epistles.  
Idea.  
The Legend of Robert Duke of Normandy.  
The Legend of Matilda.  
The Legend of Pierce Gaveston.    

To Sir Walter Aston, Knight of the honourable order of the Bath, and my most worthy Patron.  

I Will not strive m'invention to enforce,  
With needless words your eyes to entertain,  
T'observe the formal ordinary course  
That every one so vulgarly doth feign:   

Our interchanged and deliberate choice,  
Is with more firm and true election sorted,  
Then stands in censure of the common voice,  
That with light humour fond is transported:   

Nor take I pattern of an others praise,  
Than what my pen may constantly avow,  
Nor walk more public nor obscurer ways  
Than virtue bids, and judgement will allow;   

So shall my love, and best endeavours serve you,  
And still shall study, still so to deserve you.   
Michael Drayton.   

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

To M. Michael Drayton.  

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

To M. Michael Drayton.  

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


THE FIRST BOOK of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  

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

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

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

3  
T 〈…〉 veterate rancour in their bosoms bred,  
Who for their charter waged a former war,  
Or through your veins, this raging venom spread,  
Whose next-succeeding Nephews now you are,  
Or that hot gore your bows in conquest shed,  
Having enlarged your Country's bounds so far,  
Ensign to ensign furiously oppose,  
With blades of Bilbo dealing English blows.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

29  
Yet ill perplexed amid these hard extremes,  
All meanus depressed her safety to prefer,  
Deprived of those late comfortable beams,  
Whose want might make her the more easily err,  
Her hopes relinquished like deceitful dreams,  
Which in her breast such sundry passions stir,  
Where struggling which each other should control  
Work strange confusion in her troubled soul.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧ The second Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

14  
Upon this Mount the King's pavilion fixed,  
And in the town, the foe entrenched in sight,  
When now the flood is risen so betwixt,  
That yet a while prolonged th'unnatural fight,  
With tributary waters intermixed,  
To stay the fury doing all it might,  
Things which presage both good and ill there be,  
Which heaven foreshows, but mortals cannot see.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

31  
The winds are hushed no little breath doth blow,  
Which seems so still as though it listening stood,  
With trampling crowds the very earth doth bow,  
And through the smoke the sun appears like blood;  
What with the shout, and with the dreadful show,  
The heirds and flocks run bellowing to the wood.  
When drums and trumpets give the fearful sound,  
As they would shake the clouds unto the ground.   

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

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

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

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

36  
Behold theremnant of Troy's ancient stock,  
Laying on blows, as Smiths on Anuils' strike,  
Grappling together in this fearful shock,  
whereas the like incountreth with the like,  
As firm and ruthless as th'obdurate Rock,  
Deadly opposed at the push of pike;  
Still as the wings, or battles brought together,  
when Fortune yet gives vantage unto neither.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

63  
When this brave Lord great Lancaster, who late  
This puissant force had now thus long retained,  
As the first Agent in this strange debate  
At fatal Pomfret for those facts arraigned;  
〈◊〉 whom of all things they articulate,  
To whom these factions chiefly appertainde:  
Whose proofs apparent so directly sped,  
As from his body reft a reverent head.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧ The third Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  

By asleepie potion that the Queen ordains,  
Lord Mortimen escapes out of the Tower,  
And by false slights, and many subtle trains,  
She gets to France to raise aforraigne power;  
The French King leaves his sister; need constrains  
The Queen to Henault in a happy hour:  
Edward her son to Philip is affide,  
And for invasion presently provide.   

1  
SCarce had these passed miseries their ends,  
When other troubles instantly begun,  
As (still) new matter mischief apprehends,  
By things that inconsid'rately were done;  
And further yet this insolence extends,  
Whilst all not yielded that the sword had won;  
For some there were that secretly did lie,  
That to this business had a watchful eye.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

8  
Thus sits the great Enchantress in her Cell,  
Strongly engi●t with ceremonious charms,  
Her cleansed body sensde with hallowing smell,  
With vestal fire her potent liquor warms,  
Having full heat, unto her business fell,  
When her with Magic instruments she arms:  
And from the herbs the powerful verdure wrong,  
To make the medicine forcible and strong.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

24  
Now she entreats the dark distempered air,  
Then by strong Magic's she conjures the wind,  
Then she invokes the gloomy night by prayer,  
Then with her spells the mortal sense to bind;  
And fearing much lest these yet frustrate are,  
Now by the burning tapers she divined,  
Entreating Thames to give a friendly pass,  
The dearest fraught ere on her bosom was.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧ The fourth Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧ The fifth Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7  
The great exactions raised by the King,  
With whose full plenty he is Mineons fed,  
Himself and subjects so impou'rishing,  
And that dear blood he lavishly had shed,  
Which desolation to the land should bring,  
And the chief cause by his lewd riots bred;  
The loss in war sustained through his blame,  
The during scandal to the English name.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

29  
These secretly to Killingworth dispatched,  
Fitted of all things that their hearts desire,  
At such a time as few their purpose watched,  
After whose business none is to inquire,  
Which by their warrant subtly was matched,  
Only to them known whither to retire:  
Taking the King, his guardian to acquit,  
And to bestow him where they thought most fit.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

50  
Rufus his son, duke Robert far abroad,  
Receives the rule in weak enfeebled state,  
His father's steps that evidently trod,  
Depressing those who had been conquered late,  
Wishing release of this their gricuous load,  
Under the guidance of their former fate,  
The place for men that did to beasts intent,  
A bestial life had last a beastly end.   

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

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

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

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

55  
When him succeeds his faithless brother john,  
Murdering young Arthur by oppressefull might,  
Climbing by source to his usurped throne,  
justly with poison was repaid his spite,  
His life to all men is so hateful grown,  
Who grieves his wrongs that ne'er did any right?  
That on the Clergy ryrannously fed,  
Was by the Clergy justly punished.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧ The sixth Book of the Barons wars.  
The Argument.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

16  
Nine score in check attending in their court,  
Whom honoured Knighthood knitts in mutual bands,  
Men most select, of special worth and sort,  
Much might they do that have so many hands,  
Who pays not tribute to this lordly port?  
This hie-rearde Castle every way commands;  
Thus like those Giants 'gainst great heaven they rise,  
Which darted Rocks at the imperial skies.   

17  
It seems in him Fame means her power to show,  
And twixt her wings to bear him through the skies,  
He might more easily see the things below,  
Having above them mounted him so hie,  
Unto whose will they meckely seem to bow,  
Under whose greatness meaner powers do ●e:  
All things concur with fair succeslefull chance,  
To raise that man whom Fortune will advance.   

18  
here all along the flower enameled vales,  
The silver. Trent on pearly sand● doth slide,  
And to the meadows telling wanton tales,  
Her Crystal limbs lasciviously in pride,  
(As ravished with the enamoured gales,)  
with often turnings casts from side to side,  
As loath she were the sweet soil to for sake,  
And cast herself into the Germane lake.   

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

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

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

22  
Could blind ambition find the meanest stay  
His disproportiond and vain course to guide,  
Tassure some safety in that slippery way,  
Where the most worldly provident do slide,  
Feeling the steep fall threatening sure decay,  
Besotted in the wantonness of pride,  
The mind assuming absoluter powers,  
Might check the frail mortality of ours.   

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

24  
And when some brook from th'over moistened ground  
By swelling waters proudly over slowd,  
Stoppeth his ●●rrent, shouldrrth down his mownd,  
And from his course doth quite himself unload,  
The bordering meadows every where surrownd,  
Dispersing his own riches all abroad,  
Spending the store he was maintained by,  
Leaves his first channel desolate and dry.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

35  
By which the heifer Io, Ioues fair rape,  
Gazing her new ta'en figure in a brook,  
The water shadowed to observe the shape,  
In the same form that she on it doth look:  
So cunningly to cloud the wanton escape,  
That gazing eyes, the portraiture mistook,  
By prospective devised beholding now,  
This way a maiden, that way ●t seemed a Cow.   

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

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

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

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

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

41  
And to this lodging did the light invent,  
That it should first a natural course reflect,  
Through a short room into the window sent,  
Whence it should come expressively direct,  
Holding just distance to the lineament,  
And should the beams proport onably project;  
And being thereby condensated and grave,  
To every figure a sure colour gave.   

42  
In part of which, under a golden Vine,  
Whose broad leaved brauches cou'ting over all,  
Stood a rich bed, spread with this wanton twine,  
Doubling themselves in their lascivious fall,  
Whose ripened clus●ers seeming to decline,  
Whereas among the naked Cupid's sprawl,  
Some at the sundry coloured birds do shoot,  
Some swerving up to pluck the purple fruit.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

72  
When in this uproar with the sudden fright,  
Whilst every one for ●afety seeks about,  
And none regarding ●o preserve the light,  
Which being wasted sadly goeth out,  
Now in the midst and terror of the night,  
At the departure of this armed rout,  
The Queen alone (at least if any near)  
Her wretched women, yet half dead with fear.   

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

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

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

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

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

78  
The death of Kent that foul and loathsome blot,  
Th'assuming of the Wards and Liveries,  
With jone the Princess married to the Scot,  
he sums oft seized to his treasuries,  
And that by this might well have been forgot,  
The sign at Stanhope to the enemies,  
Or what else ripped from the records of Time,  
That any way might aggravate his crime.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

94  
Her trembling hand as in a fever shakes,  
Wherewith the paper doth a little stir,  
Which she imagines at her sorrow shakes,  
And pities it, who she thinks pities her,  
Each small thing somewhat to the greater makes,  
And to the humour something doth infer;  
Which when so soon as she her tongue could free,  
O worthy Earl, dear loved Lord quoth she.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the Reader.  
seeing these Epistles are now to the world made public, it is imagined that I ought to be accountable of my private meaning, chiefly for mine own discharge, lest being mistaken, I fall in hazard of a iust and universal reprehension, for: 
Hae 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 here in, 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 celestall, 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, however the order is in dedication, yet in respect of their degrees in my devotion, and the cause before recited, I hope they suffer no disparagement, seeing every one is the first in their particular interest, having in some sort, sorted the complexion of the Epistles to the character of their judgements to whom I dedicate them, excepting only the 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 enter-woven matters historical, which unexplaned, might defraud the mind of much content, as for example, in Queen Margarites Epistle to William de la Poole, 
My Daizie flower, which once perfumed the air,   
Margarite in French signifies a Daizie, which for the allusion to her name, this Queen did give for her devise; and this as others more, have seemed to me not worthy the explaining.  
Now, though no doubt I had need to excuse other things beside, yet these most especially, the rest I overpass to eschew tedious recital, or to speak as malicious envy may, for that in truth I oversee them. If they be as harmelesly taken, as I meant them, it shall suffice to have only touched the cause of the title of the Dedications, and of the Notes, whereby emboldened to publish the residue, (these not being accounted in men's opinions relishlesse) I shall not lastly be afraid to believe and acknowledge thee a gentle Reader.  
M. D.   

To M. Michael Drayton.  

HOw can he write that broken hath his pen;  
Hath rend his paper, thrown his ink away;  
Detests the world, and company of men,  
Because they grow more hateful day by day?  
Yet with these broken relics, mated mind,  
And what a iustly-grieved thought can say:  
I give the world to know, I ne'er 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 wirty lover.  
For they are such, as none but those shall know,  
Whom Beauty schools to hold the blind Boys bow.   

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

To M. Michael Drayton.  

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

To M. Michael Drayton.  

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

¶ To the excellent Lady Lucy Countess of Bedford.  
MAdam, after all the admired wits of this excellent age, which have laboured in the sad complaints of fair and unfortunate Rosamond, and by the excellency of invention, have sounded the depth of her sundry passions; I present to your Ladyship this Epistle of hers to King Henry, whom I may rather call her lover than beloved. here must your Ladyship behold variableness in resolution; woes constantly grounded; laments abruptly broken off; much confidence, no certainty, words begetting tears, tears confounding matter, large complaints in little papers; and many deformed cares, in one uniformed Epistle. I strive not to effect singularity, yet would fain fly imitation, & prostrate mine own wants to other men's perfections. Your judicial eye must model forth what my pen hath laid together, much would she say to a King, much would I say to a Countess, but that the 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 Anlow, and Maud 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 to the king of her distress and miserable estate, urging him by all means and persuasions, to clear himself of this infamy, and her of the grief of mind, by taking away her wretched life.  

IF yet thine eyes (great Henry) may endure  
These tainted lines, drawn with a hand impure,  
Which fain would blush, but fear keeps blushes back,  
And therefore suited in despairing black,  
This in loves name, O that these lips might crave,  
But that sweet name (vile I) profaned have,  
Punish my fault, or pity mine estate,  
Read 〈◊〉 for love, if not for love, for hate.  
If with my shame thine eyes thou fain wouldst feed,  
here let them surfeit, on my shame to reed;  
This scribbled paper which 〈◊〉 send to thee,  
If noted rightly, doth resemble me;  
As this pure ground, whereon th●se letters stand,  
So pure was I, er●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 less●n 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 inforcde to do,  
(Heaven knows) my soul did not consent unto;  
For through mine eyes had she her liking seen,  
Such as my love, such had my lover been.  
True love is simple, like his mother Truth,  
Kindly affection, youth to love with youth;  
No sharper corsive to our blooming years,  
Then the cold badge of winter-blasted hairs.  
Thy kingly power makes to withstand thy foes,  
But canst not keep back age, with Time it grows,  
Though honour our ambitious sex doth please,  
Yet in that honour, age a foul disease,  
Nature hath her free course in all, and then,  
Age is alike in Kings, and other men,  
Which all the world will to my shame impute,  
That I myself did basely prostitute;  
And say that gold was fuel to the fire,  
Grey hairs in youth not kindling green desire.  
O no; that wicked woman wrought by thee,  
My tempter was to that forbidden tree,  
That subtle Serpent, that seducing devil,  
Which bade me taste the fruit of good and evil;  
That Circe, by whose magic I was charmed,  
And to this monstrous shape am thus transformed,  
That viperous hag, the foe to her own kind,  
That wicked spirit unto the weaker mind;  
Our frailtes plague, our nature's only curse,  
Hell's deep'st damnation, the worst evils worse.  
But Henry, how canst thou affect me thus,  
T'whom thy remembrance now is odious?  
My hapless name, with Henry's name I found,  
Cut in the glass with Henry's Diamond,  
That glass from thence fain would I take away;  
But than I fear the air would me betray;  
Then do I strive to wash it out with tears,  
But then the same more evident appears.  
Then do I cover it with my guilty hand,  
Which that names witness doth against me stand;  
Once did I sin, which memory doth cherish,  
Once I offended, but I ever perish.  
What grief can be, but time doth make it less?  
But infamy time never can suppress.  
Sometimes to pass the tedious irksome hours,  
I climb the top of Woodstockes mounting towers,  
Where in a Turret secretly I lie,  
To view from far such as do travel 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 knewst 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 Ta●ras here this other day,  
My maid and I did pass the time away,  
'mongst many pictures which we passed by,  
Theseely girl at length happed to espy  
Chaste Lucrece picture, and desires to know,  
What she should be herself that murdered so?  
Why getle (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 lonely 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.  
Whenas 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,  
Wherewith mine angle casting in my bait,  
The little fishes (dreading the deceit)  
With fearful nibbling fly th'enticing gin,  
By nature taught what danger lies therein.  
Things reasonless thus warned by nature be,  
Yet I devoured the bait was laid for me;  
Thinking thereon, and breaking into groans,  
The bubbling spring which trips upon the stones,  
Chides me away, lest 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 Cliffords take from me that name of theirs,  
Famous for virtue many hundred years.  
They blot my birth with hateful bastardy,  
That I sprang not from their nobility;  
They my alliance utterly refuse,  
Nor will a strumpet shall their name abuse.  
here in the garden wrought by curious hands,  
Naked Diana in the fountain stands,  
With all her Nymphs got round about to hide her,  
As when Actaeon had by chance espied her;  
This sacred Image I no sooner viewed,  
But as that metamorphosed man pursued  
By his own hounds; so by my thoughts am I,  
Which chase me still, which way so ere I fly.  
Touching the grass, the honny-dropping dew,  
Which falls in tears before my limber shoe,  
Upon my foot consumes in weeping still,  
As it would say, why went'st thou unto ill?  
Thus to no place in safety can I go.  
But every thing doth give me cause of woe.  
In that fair Casket of such wondrous cost,  
Thou sent'st the night before mine honour lost  
Amimone was wrought, a harmless maid,  
By Neptune that adulterous God betrayed;  
She prostrate at his feet begging with prayers,  
Wring her hands, her eyes swollen up with tears;  
This was not the entrapping bait of men,  
But by thy virtue gentle warning then;  
To show to me for what intent it came,  
Lest I therein should ever keep my shame.  
And in this Casket (ill I see it now)  
What Ioues love I-o, turned into a Cow.  
Yet was she kept with Argus hundred eyes,  
So wakeful stil● be juno's jealousies:  
By this I well might have forewarned been,  
T'have cleerde myself to thy suspecting Queen,  
Who with more hundred eyes at endeth me,  
Then had poor Argus single eyes to see.  
In this thou rightly imitatest jove,  
Into a beast thou hast transformed thy love.  
Nay, worse far, (degenerate from kind)  
A monster, both in body and in mind.  
The waxen taper which I burn by night,  
With his dull vapory dimness mocks my sight,  
As though the damp which hinders his clear flame,  
Came from my breath, in that night of my shame,  
When it did burn as darkness ugly eye,  
When shot the star of my v●ginitie,  
And if a star but by the glass appear,  
I straight 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 ever pity moved thee,  
In this show mercy, as I ever loved thee.   

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Well knewst thou what a monster I would be,  
When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me.  
IN the Cretean Labyrinth a monster was enclosed, called a Minotaur, the history whereof is well known, but the Labyrinth was framed by Daedalus, with so many 〈…〉 icate ways, that being entered, one could either hardly or never return, being in manner of a maze, save that it was larger, the ways being walled in on every side, out of the which Theseus by Ariadne's help (lending him a clu● of third) escaped. Some report that it was a house, having one half beneath the ground, another above, the chamber doors therein so deceitfully enwrapped, and made to open so many 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 〈◊〉 applied to the workman's excellency, make it suspected: for Daedalus is nothing else but engenious, 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, & also her Tower from which the Labyrinth did run, (are yet remaining) was altogether under ground, being vaults arched & 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 Woodstock in Oxfordshire, wherein it was situated. Thus much for Rosamonds labyrinth. 
Whose strange Meanders turned every way.   
Meander is a river in Lycia, a province of Anatolia, or Asia minor, famous for the sinuosity & often turning thereof, rising from certain hills in Maeonia, hereupon are intricate turnings by a transumtive & metonimical kind of speech, called Meanders, 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 lise hath made the same.   
It might be reported, how at Godstow, where this Rose of the world was sumptuously interted, a certain Bishop in the visitation of his Diocese, caused the monument which had been erected to her honour, utterly to be demolished, but be that severe chastisement of Rosamond then dead, at this time also overpassed, lest she should seem to be the Shame of the world.    

Henry to Rosamond.  

WHen first the Post arrived at my Tent,  
And brought the letters Rosamond had sent,  
Think from his lips but what sweet comfort came,  
When in mine ear he softly breathed thy name,  
Strait I enjoin him of thy health to tell,  
Longing to hear my Rosamond did well;  
With new inquiries than I cut him short,  
When of the same he gladly would report,  
That with the earnest haste my tongue oft trips,  
Catching the words half spoke out of his lips:  
This told, yet more I urge him to reveal,  
To lose no time while I unripped the seal.  
The more I read, still do I err the more,  
As though mistaking somewhat said before.  
Missing the point, the doubtful sense is broken,  
Speaking again, what I before had spoken,  
Still in a swoon, my heart revives and faints,  
Twixt hopes, despairs, twixt smiles and deep complaints.  
As these sad accents sort in my desires,  
Smooth calms, rough storms, sharp frosts, & raging 〈…〉 es,  
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 ●●ke,  
That heavenly Nactar, their immortal drink.  
Majestic courage strives to have suppressed  
This fearful passion stirred up in my breast;  
But still in vain the same I go about,  
My heart must break within, or woe breaks out,  
Am I at home pursued with private hate,  
And war comes raging to my palace gate?  
Is meager ●nuie stabbing at my throne,  
Treason attending when I walk alone?  
And am I branded with the curse of Rome,  
And stand condemned by dreadful counsels dumb?  
And by the pride of my rebellious son,  
Rich Normandy with Armies overrun?  
Fatal my birth, unfortunate my life,  
Unkind my children, most unkind my wife.  
Grief, cares, old age, suspicion to torment me,  
Nothing on earth to quiet or content me,  
So many woes, so many plagues to find,  
Sickness of body, discontent of mind;  
Hopes left, helps reft, life wronged, joy interdicted,  
Banished, distressed, forsaken and afflicted,  
Of all relief hath fortune quite bereft me?  
Only my love unto my comfort left me,  
And is one beauty thought so great a thing,  
To mitigate the sorrows of a King?  
Barred of that choice the vulgar often prove,  
Have we (than they) less privilege in love?  
Is it a King, the woeful widow hears?  
Is it a King dries up the Orphan's tears?  
Is it a King regards the Client's cry?  
Gives life to him by law condemned to die?  
Is it his care the Commonwealth that keeps,  
As doth the Nurse her baby whilst it sleeps?  
And that poor king, of all those 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 reviled,  
From Kingdom, Country, and from Court exiled;  
Let the world's curse upon me still remain,  
And let the last bring on the first again:  
All miseries that wretched man may wound,  
Leave for my comfort, only Rosamond;  
For thee swift Time her speedy course doth stay,  
At thy command the Destinies obey;  
Pity is dead that comes not from 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 Angel-tongue of thine,  
That great Enchantress which once took such pains,  
To force young blood in Aesons withered veins,  
And from groves, mountains, and the moorish Fen,  
Used all the herbs ordained to use of men,  
And in the powerful potion that she makes,  
Puts blood of men of birds, of beasts, of snakes,  
Never had needed to have gone so far,  
To seek the soils where all those simples are,  
One accent from thy lips, the blood more warms,  
Then all her philtre, exorcisms and charms.  
Thy presence hath repaired in one day,  
What many years and sorrows did decay,  
And made fresh beauties fairest branches spring,  
From wrinkled furrows of times ruining.  
Even as the hungry 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, what e'er in us unjust,  
Of what we do, not them account we make,  
The fault craves pardon for th'offenders sake,  
And what to work a Princes will may merit,  
Hath deep'st impression in the gentlest spirit;  
if'ft be my name that doth thee so offend,  
No more myself shall be mine own names friend,  
And ●ft 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 'tis not so.  
And when all this is done, I know ●will 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 stairs appear;  
Above the sun doth shine, beneath thine eye,  
Mocking the heaven to make another sky,  
The little stream which by thy tower doth glide,  
Where oft thou spendst the weary evening tide,  
To view thee well his course would gladly stay,  
As loath from thee to part so soon away;  
And with salutes thyself would gladly greet,  
And offer up those small drops at thy feet,  
But finding that the envious banks restrain it,  
T'excuse itself, doth in this sort complain it,  
And therefore this sad bubbling murmur keeps,  
And in this sort within the channel weeps.  
And as thou dost into the water look,  
The fish which see thy shadow in the brook,  
Forget to feed, and all amazed lie,  
So daunted with the lustre of thine eye.  
And that sweet name which thou so much dost wrong  
In time shallbe 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 pr 〈…〉 le Rosamond.  
And when in April they begin to sing,  
Wi●h 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 ●uch Hemlock as it goes,  
That Hemlocke's made more sweeter than the Rose,  
Of jove or Neptune how they did betray,  
Nor speak of I●o, or Amimone,  
when she for whom jove once became a Bull,  
Compared with thee, had been a tawny trull;  
He a white Bull, and she a whiter Cow,  
Yet he, nor she, near half so white as thou.  
Long since (thou know'st) my care provided for  
To lodge thee safe from jealous Ellenor,  
The labyrinths conveyance guides thee so,  
(Which only Vaughan, 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 〈◊〉 night and darkness hid from me;  
When I have wished that she might ever sta●,  
And other worl 〈…〉 might still enjoy the day:  
What should I say? words, ●eares, and sighs be spent,  
And want of 〈◊〉 doth further helps prevent:  
My camp resounds with fearful shocks of war,  
Yet in my breast the worse conflicts are;  
Yet is my signal to the battles sound,  
The blessed name of beauteous Rosamond.  
Accursed be that heart, that tongue, that breath,  
Should think, should speak, or whisper of thy death.  
For in one smile, or lower from thy sweet eye,  
Consists my life, my hope, my victory.  
Sweet Woodstock, where my Rosamond doth rest,  
Blessed in her, in whom thy King is blest;  
For though in France a while my body be,  
(Sweet Paradise) my heart remains in thee.   

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Am I at home pursued with private hate,  
And war comes raging to my Palace gate?  
RObert earl of Leicester, who took part with young king Henry, entered into England with an army of 3000. Flemings, and spoiled the countries of Norsfolk and Susfolke, being succoured by many of the King's private enemies. 
And am I branded with the curse of Rome?   
King Henry the second, the first Plantagenet, accused for the death of Tho. Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, stain in the cathedral church, was accursed by Pope Alexander, although he urged sufficient proof of his innocency in the same, and offered to take upon him any penance, so he might escape the curse and interdiction of the Realm. 
And by the pride of my rebellious son,  
Rich Normandy with armies overrun.   
Henry the young K. whom king Henry had caused to be crowned in his life (as he hoped) both for his own good and the good of his Subjects, which indeed turned to his own sorrow, and the trouble of the Realm, for he rebelled against him, and raising a power, by the means of Lewes king of France, and William K: of Scots, who took part with him, invaded Normandy. 
Unkind my children, most unkind my wise:   
Never king more unfortunate than K: Henry, in the disobedience of his children: first Henry, than G●ssrey, than Richard, than john, all at one time or other, first or last, unnaturally rebelled against him; then the jealousy of Elinor his Qu. who suspected his love to Rosamond, which grievous troubles the devout of those times attributed to happen to him justly, for refusin: to take on him the government of jerusalem, offered to him by the patriarch there; which country was mightily afflicted by the Sultan. 
Which only Vaughan, thou, and I do know.   
This Vaughan was a Knight whom the King exceedingly loved, who kept the Palace at Woodstock, and much of the King's 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 unto his charge.    

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 & 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 Dunmow in Essex, where in a Nunnery she becomes a Nun, whether the King (still persisting in his suit) solicits her by his Epistle; her reply confirms her vowed and invincible chastity, making known to the King her pure unspotted thoughts.  

WHen these my Letters come unto thy view,  
Think them not forced, or feigned, or strange, or new,  
Thou know'st no way, no means, no course exempted,  
Left now unsought, vnproou'd, or unattempted,  
All rules, regards, all secret helps of Art,  
What knowledge, wit, experience can impart;  
And in the old world's Ceremonies doted,  
Good days for love, times, hours 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 eyes let forth a tear,  
And if that tear did dull or senseless prove,  
My heart would fetch a sigh, to make it move.  
Oft in thy face, one favour from the rest  
I singled forth, that likes my fancy best;  
This likes me most, another likes me more,  
A third exceeding both those liked before;  
Then one that doth derive all wonder thence,  
Then one whose rareness passeth excellence.  
Whilst I behold thy Globe like rolling eye,  
Thy lovely cheek (me thinks) stands smiling by  
And tells me, those but shadows and supposes,  
And bids me thither come and gather Roses;  
Looking on that, thy brow doth call to me  
To come to it, if wonders I will see:  
Now have I 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 seize,  
Which surfeits, yet cannot desire appease.  
Then like I brown, (O lovely brown thy hair)  
Only in brownenesse, beauty dwelleth there.  
Then love I black, thine eye, ball black as jet,  
Then clear, that ball is there in crystal set,  
Then white, but snow, nor swan, nor ivory please,  
Then are thy teeth more whiter than all these;  
In brown, in black, in pureness, and in white,  
All love, all sweets, all rareness, all delight;  
Thus thou vile thief, my stolen heart hence dost carry,  
And now thou fliest into a Sanctuary;  
Fie peevish girl, ingrateful unto Nature,  
Did she to this end frame thee such a creature,  
That thou her glory shouldst increase thereby,  
And thou alone dost scorn society?  
Why, heaven made beauty like herself to view,  
Not to be locked up in a smoky mew,  
A rosie-tainted 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 priviledgde may be,  
I'll be a Monk, so I may live with thee.  
Who would no 〈…〉 se to ring the morning's knell,  
When thy sweet lips might be the sacring bell?  
Or what is he not willingly would fast,  
That on those lips might feast his lips at last?  
Who unto Matins early would not rise,  
That might read by the light of thy fair eyes?  
On worldly pleasures who would ever look,  
That had thy curls his beads, thy brows his book?  
Wert thou the cross, to thee who would not creep?  
And wish the cross, still in his arms to keep.  
Sweet girl, I'll take this holy habit on me,  
Of mere devotion that is come upon me,  
Holy Matilda, thou the Saint of mine,  
I'll be thy servant, and my bed thy shrine.  
When I do offer, be thy breast the Altar,  
And when I pray thy 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 shall be my Psalter.  
The beads that we will bid shallbe sweet kiss,  
Which we will number, if one pleasure misses,  
And when an Auie comes to say Amen,  
We will begin, and tell them o'er again,  
Now all good fortune give me happy thrift,  
As I should joy t'absol●e thee after shrift.  
But see how much I do myself beguile,  
And do mistake thy meaning all this while,  
Thou tookst this vow to equal my desire  
Because thou wouldst have me to be a Friar,  
And that we two should comfort one another,  
A holy sister, and a holy brother,  
Thou as a Votress unto me alone,  
She is most chaste that s but enjoyed of one,  
Yea, now thy true devotion do I find,  
And sure in this I much commend thy mind,  
Else here thou dost but ill ensample give,  
And in a Nunnery thus thou shouldst not live.  
Is't possible the house that thou art in  
Should not be touched, (though with a venial sin)  
When such a she-priest comes her mass to say,  
Twenty to one they all forget to pray?  
Well may we wish they would their hearts amend,  
When we be witness that their eyes offend,  
All creatures have desires, or else some lie,  
Let them think so that will, so will not I.  
Dost thou not think our ancestors were wise,  
That these religious Cells did first devise?  
As Hospitals were for the sore and sick,  
These for the crooked, the halt, the stigmatic,  
Lest that their seed marked with deformity,  
Should be a blemish to posterity.  
Would heaven her beauty should be hid from sight,  
Near would she thus herself adorn with light,  
With sparkling lamps; nor would she paint her throne,  
But she delighteth to be gazed upon:  
And when the golden glorious Sun goes down,  
Would she put on her star-bestudded crown,  
And in her masking suit the spangled sky,  
Come forth to bride it in her revelry,  
And gave this gift to all things in creation,  
That they in this should imitate her fashion.  
All things that fair, that pure, that glorious been,  
Offer themselves of purpose to be seen;  
In sinks and vaults, the ugly toads do dwell,  
The devils since most ugly, they in hell:  
Our mother Earth, near glorious in her fruit,  
Till by the Sun clad in her Tinsel suit.  
Nor doth she ever smile him in the face,  
Till in his glorious arms he her embrace;  
Which proves she hath a soul, sense, and delight  
Of generations feeling appetite.  
Well hypocrite (in faith) wouldst thou confess,  
What ere thy tongue say, thy heart saith no less.  
Note but this one thing, (if nought else persuade)  
Nature, of all things male, and female made,  
Showing herself in our proportion plain,  
For never made she any thing in vain;  
For as thou art, should any have been thus,  
She would have left ensample unto us.  
The Turtle that's so true and chaste in love,  
Shows by her mate something the spirit doth move;  
Th'arabian bird that never is but one,  
Is only chaste, because she is alone:  
But had our mother Nature made them two,  
They would have done as Doves & 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,  
(Wood, sued & sought, by him that now seeks thee)  
But of thy mind, and here I undertake,  
Straight to erect a Nunnery for her sake;  
O hadst thou tasted of these rare delights,  
Ordained each where to please great Princes sights,  
To have their beauties and their wits admired,  
(Which is by nature of your sex desired)  
Attended by our trains, our pomp, our port,  
Like Gods adored abroad, knewed to in Court,  
To be saluted with the cheerful cry,  
Of highness, grace, and sovereign majesty;  
But unto them that know not pleasures price,  
all's one, a prison, and a Paradise.  
If in a dungeon, closed up from the light,  
There is no difference twixt the day and night,  
Whose palate never tasted dainty cates,  
Thinks homely dishes princely delicates.  
Alas poor girl, I pity thine estate,  
That now thus long hast lived disconsolate;  
Why now at length let yet thy heart relent,  
And call thy father back from banishment;  
And with those princely honours here invest him,  
That awkward love, not hate hath dispossessed him.  
Call from exile, thy dear allies and friends,  
To whom the fury of my grief extends;  
And if thou take my counsel in this case,  
I make no doubt thou shalt have better grace,  
And leave the Dunmow, that accursed Cell,  
There let black night and melancholy dwell;  
Come to the Court, where all joys shall receive thee,  
And till that hour, yet with my grief I leave thee.   

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
THis Epistle of King john to Matilda, is much more poetical than historical, making no mention at all of the occurrents of the time, or state, touching only his love to her, and the extremity of his passions forced by his desires, rightly fashioning the humour of this king, as hath been truly noted by the most authnticall Writers; whose nature and disposition is truliest discerned in the course of his love; first jesting at the ceremonies of the services of those times, 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 shivering ecstasy I stood,  
A chilly coldness runs through all my blood;  
Opening thy letters, I shut up my rest,  
And let strange cares into my quiet breast,  
As though thy hard unpitying hand had sent me,  
Some new devised torture to torment me;  
Well had I hoped, I had been now forgot,  
Cast out with those things thou remember'st not:  
And that proud beauty which enforced me hither,  
Had with my name now perished together:  
But O (I see) our hoped good deceives us,  
But what we would forego, that seldom leaves us;  
Thy blameful lines bespotted so with sin,  
Mine eyes would cleanse, ere they to read begin.  
But I to wash an Indian go about,  
For ill so hard set on, is hard got out.  
I once determined still to have been mute,  
Only by silence to refel thy suit,  
But this again did alter mine intent,  
For some will say, that silence doth consent:  
Desire, with small encouraging grows bold,  
And Hope, of every little thing takes hold.  
I set me down at large to write my mind,  
But now, nor pen, nor paper can I find;  
For dread and passion, 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 write, indite, I point, I raze, I quote,  
I interline, I blot, correct, I note;  
I hope, despair, take courage, faint, disdain,  
I make, allege, I imitate, I feign:  
Now thus it must be, and now thus, and thus,  
Bold, shamefaced, fearless, doubtful, timorous;  
My faint hand writing, when my full eye reeds,  
From every word strange passion still proceeds.  
O! when the soul is fettered once in woe,  
'tis strange what humours it doth force us to;  
A tear doth drown a tear, sigh, sigh doth smother,  
This hinders that, that interrupts the other:  
Th'overwatched weakness of a sick conceit,  
Is that which makes small beauty seem so great,  
Like things which hid in troubled waters lie,  
Which crooked, seem strait, if strait, seem contrary:  
And thus our vain imagination shows it,  
As it conceives it, not as judgement knows it,  
(As in a Mirror, if the same be true)  
Such as your likeness, justly such are you:  
But as you change yourself, it changeth there,  
And shows you as you are, not as you were;  
And with your motion doth your shadow move,  
If frown or smile; such the conceit of love.  
Why tell me, is it possible the mind  
A form in all deformity should find?  
Within the compass of man's face we see,  
How many sorts of several favours be;  
And that the chin, the nose, the brow, the eye,  
If great, if small flat, sharp, or if awry,  
altars proportion, altereth the grace,  
And makes a mighty difference in the face;  
And in the world, scarce two so likely are,  
One with the other which if you compare,  
But being set before you both together,  
A judging sight doth soon distinguish either.  
How woman like 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 perrish'd if thou hast it;  
Which if thou gainest, thou ne'er the more hast won,  
I losing nothing, yet a 〈…〉 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.  
Mak'st me an Orphan ere my father die,  
A woeful widow in virginity?  
Is thy unbridled lust the cause of all?  
And now thy flattering tongue bewails my fall.  
The dead man's grave with feigned tears to fill,  
So the devouring Crocodile doth kill,  
To harbour hate in show of sweetest things,  
So in the Rose the poisoned serpent stings.  
To lurk far off, yet lodge destruction by,  
The Basilisk doth poison with the eye;  
To call for aid, and then to lie in wait,  
So the Hyena murders by deceit;  
By sweet enticements, sudden death to bring,  
So from the rocks th'alluring Mir-maides sing;  
In greatest wants, t'inflict the greatest woe,  
This is the utmost tyranny can do.  
But where (I see) the tempest thus prevails,  
What use of anchors, or what need of sails?  
Above us blustering winds and dreadful thunder,  
The waters gape for our destruction under;  
here on this side the furious billows fly,  
There rocks, there sands, & dangerous whirlpool lie.  
Is this the mean that mightiness approves?  
And in this sort do Princes woe their loves?  
Mildness would better suit with majesty,  
Then rash revenge and rough severity.  
O in what safety Temperance doth rest,  
Obtaining harbour in a sovereign breast.  
Which if so praiseful in the meanest men,  
In powerful Kings, how glorious is it then?  
Alas, and fled I hither from my so,  
That innocence should be betrayed so?  
Is Court and Country both her enemy,  
And no place found to shroud in chastity?  
Each house for lust a harbour, and an Inn,  
And every City a receipt for sin;  
And all do pity beauty in distress,  
If beauty chaste, then only pitiless,  
Thus is she made a tempting stale to lust,  
Or unreleeved, nedsly perish must.  
Lascivious Poets which abuse the truth,  
Which oft teach age to sin, infecting youth,  
For the unchaste make trees & stones to mourn,  
Or as they please, to other shapes do turn:  
Cinyras daughter, whose incestuous mind,  
Made her wrong Nature and dishonour Kind;  
Long since by them is turned into a Mirabel,  
Whose dropping liquor ever weeps for her;  
And in a fountain, Biblis doth deplore  
Her fault so vile and monstruous before:  
Silla, which once her father did betray,  
Is now a bird, (if all be true they say.)  
She that with Phoebus did the foul offence,  
Now metamorphosed into frankincense.  
Other, to flowers, to odours, and to gum,  
At lest Ioues 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 sawst me last,  
That favour soon is vanished and passed;  
That Rosie-blush, leapt in a Lilly-vale,  
Now with the morphew overgrown and pale,  
And down my cheeks with showers of swelling tears,  
Remain the furrows that continuance wears,  
And in the circles of my withered eyes,  
In aged wrinkles Beauty buried lies;  
And in my grace, my presence, gesture, cheer,  
Ruin, distress, woe, anguish, doth appear.  
That breast, that hand, that cheek, that eye, that brow,  
Faded, decayed, fallen, darkened, wrinkled now;  
Such was my beauty once, now is it such,  
Once thought most rare, now altered more than much,  
Nor I regard all that thou canst protest,  
My vow is taken, I a Nun professed.  
This vestal habit doth content me more,  
Then all the robes that yet I ever wore.  
Had Rosamond, (a recluse of our sort)  
Taken our Cloister, left the wanton Court,  
Shadowing that beauty with a holy vale,  
Which she (alas) too loosely set to sale,  
She need not like an ugly Minotaur,  
Have been looked up from jealous Ellenor,  
But been as famous by thy mother's wrongs,  
As by thy father subject to all tongues.  
To shadow sin, might can the most pretend,  
Kings, but the conscience, all things can defend.  
A stronger hand 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 touched with grief, so only I,  
Exempt from shame might with true honour die.  
And shall this jewel which so dearly cost,  
Now after all, by my dishonour lost?  
No, no, his reverend words, his holy tears,  
Yet in my soul too deep impression bears  
His latest farewell at his last depart,  
More deeply is engraved in my heart,  
Nor shall that blot, by me his name shall have,  
Bring his grey hairs with sorrow to his grave,  
Better his tears to fall upon my tomb,  
Then for my birth to curse my mother's womb.  
Though Dunmow give no refuge here at all.  
Dunmow can give my body burial.  
If all remorseless, no teare-shedding eye,  
Myself will moan myself; so live, so die.   

Notes of the Chronicle history.  
THis Epistle containeth no particular points of History, more than the generality of the argument layeth open; for after the banishment of the Lord Robert Fitzwater, and that Matilda was become a Recluse at Dunmow, (from whence this reply is imagined to be written.) the King still earnestly persisting in his suit. Matild. 〈…〉 i'th' this chaste and constant denial, hopes 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, and 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 fo●,  
That, etc.   
After again, standing upon the precise points of conscience, not to cast off this habit she had taken. 
My vow in taken, I a Nun professed.   
And at last laying open more particularly the miseries sustained by her father in England, the burning of his Castles and houses, which she proveth to be for her sake: as respecting only her honour, more than his native Country and his own fortunes. 
And to withstand a tyrant's lewd desire,  
Beheld his Towers and Castles set on fire.   
Knitting up her Epistle with a great and constant resolution. 
Though Dunmow give no refuge here at all,  
Dunmow can give my body burial.    
Finis.   

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

Queen Isabella to Mortimer.  
The Argument.  
Queen Isabel, (the wife of Edward the second, called Edward Carnarvan,) being the daughter of Philip de Beau, King of France, forsaken by the King her husband, who delighted only in the company of Piers Gaveston, his minion and favourite, and after his death seduced by the evil counsel of the Spencers. 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, & by the King committed to the tower of London. During his imprisonment, he ordained a feast in honour of his birthday, to which he invited Sir Stephen Segrave, Lieutenant of the Tower, and the rest of the officers, where, by means of a drink prepared by the Queen, he cast them all into a heavy sleep, and with Ladders of chords being ready prepared for the purpose, he escapeth and flieth into France, whither she sendeth this Epistie, complaining her own misfortunes, and greatly rejoicing at his safe escape.  

THough such sweet comfort comes not now from her  
As England's Queen hath sent to Mortimer.  
Yet what that wants, which might my power approve  
If lines can bring, this shall supply with love,  
Me thinks affliction should not fright me so,  
No● should resume these sundry shapes of woe;  
But when I fain would find the cause of this,  
Thy absence shows me where the error is.  
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 please  
Amidst my grief, which sometimes gives me case,  
Thus do extremest ills a joy possess,  
And one woe makes another woe seem less.  
That blessed night, that milde-aspected hour,  
Wherein thou mad'st escape out of the Tower,  
Shall consecrated evermore remain;  
What gentle Planet in that hour did reign;  
And shall be happy in the birth of men,  
Which was chief lord of the Ascendant then.  
O how I feared that sleepy juice I sent,  
Might yet want power to further thine intent!  
Or that some unseen mystery might lurk,  
Which wanting order, kindly should not work;  
Oft did I wish those dreadful poisoned lees,  
That closed the everwaking Dragon's eyes,  
Or I had had those sence-ber●auing 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 soggy clime,  
Or that the earth, waxed barren now with time,  
Should not have herbs to help me in this case,  
Such as do thrive on India's parched face,  
That morrow, when the blessed Sun did rise,  
And shut the lids of all heavens lesser eyes,  
Forth from my palace by a secret stair,  
I steal to Thames, as though to take the air;  
And ask the gentle flood as it doth glide,  
Or thou didst pass or perish by the tide?  
If thou didst perish, I desire the stream  
To lay thee softly on her silver team,  
And bring thee to me to the quiet shore,  
That with her tears thou mightst have some tears more.  
When suddenly doth rise a rougher gale,  
With that (me thinks) the troubled waves look pale,  
And sighing with that little gust that blows,  
With this remembrance seem to knit their brows.  
Even as this so deign passion doth affright me,  
The cheerful Sun breaks from a cloud to light me,  
Then doth the bottom evident appear,  
As it would show me, that thou wast not there,  
Whenas the water flowing where I stand,  
Doth seem to tell me, Thou art safe on land.  
Did Bulloyne once a festival prepare,  
For England, Almain, Cicile, and Navarre?  
When France envied those buildings (only blest)  
Graced with the Orgies of my Bridal feast,  
That English Edward should refuse my bed,  
For that incestuous shameless Ganymede?  
And in my place, upon his regal throne,  
To set that gerle-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 than I.  
What doth avail us to be Prince's 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 dowres,  
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 beggars-brats are wrapped in rich perfumes,  
Their buzzard wings imped with our Eagles plumes;  
And matched with the brave issue of our blood,  
Awl the kingdom to their cravand brood.  
Did Longshanks purchase with his conquering hand,  
Albania, Gascoigne, Cambria, Ireland?  
That young Carnarnan (his unhappy son)  
Should give away all that his father won?  
To back a stranger, proudly bearing down  
The broke allies and branches of the crown?  
And did great Edward on his deathbed give  
This charge to them which afterwards should live,  
That that proud Gascoigne banished the land,  
No more should tread upon the English sand?  
And have these great Lords in the quarrel stood,  
And sealed his last will with their decrest blood,  
That after all this fearful massacre,  
The fall of Beauchamp, Lacie, Lancaster,  
Another faithless fauòrite should arise,  
To cloud the sun of our Nobilities?  
And gloried I in Gavestons' great fall,  
That now a Spenser should succeed in all?  
And that his ashes should another breed,  
Which in his place and Empire should succeed;  
That wanting one a kingdoms wealth to spend,  
Of what that left, this now shall make an end;  
To waste all that our father won before,  
Nor leave our son a sword to conquer more.  
Thus but in vain we fond do resist,  
Where power can do (even) all things as it list,  
And with unjust men to debate of laws,  
Is to give power to hurt a rightful cause;  
Whilst Parlements must still redress their wrongs,  
And we must starve for what to us belongs;  
Our wealth but fuel to their fond excess,  
And we must fast to feast their wantonness.  
Think'st thou our wrongs then insufficient are,  
To move our brother to religious war?  
And if they were, yet Edward doth detain  
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne, and Aquytaine;  
And if not that, yet hath he broke the truce,  
Thus all accurre, to put back all excuse.  
The sister's wrong, joined with the brother's right,  
Me thinks might urge him in this cause to fight.  
Be all those people senseless of our harms,  
Which for our Country ought have managed arms?  
Is the brave Normans courage now forgot?  
Or the bold Britons' lost the use of shot?  
The big-bonde Almains, and stout Brabanders,  
Their warlike Pikes, and sharpe-edged Semiters?  
Or do the pickard's let their Crossbows lie,  
Once like the Centaurs of old Thessaly?  
Or if a valiant Leader be their lack,  
Where thou art present, who should drive them back?  
I do conjure thee by what is most dear,  
By that great name of famous Mortimer,  
By ancient Wigmore's honourable cr●st,  
The tombs where all thy famous grandsires rest;  
Or if than 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 Isabella.  
Vain witlesle woman, why should I desire.  
To add more heat to thy immortal fire?  
To urge thee by the violence of hate,  
To shake the pillars of thine own estate,  
When whatsoever we intent to do,  
To our misfortune ever sorts unto;  
And nothing else remains for us beside,  
But tears and coffins (only) to provide,  
When still so long as Burrough bears that name,  
Time shall not blot out our deserved shame;  
And whilst clear Trent her wont course shall keep,  
For our sad fall, her crystal drops shall weep.  
All see our ruin on our backs is thrown,  
And to ourselves our sorrows are our own.  
And Torlton now whose counsel should direct,  
The first of all is slandered with suspect;  
For dangerous things dissembled seldom are,  
Which many eyes attend with busy care.  
What should I say? My griefs do still renew,  
And but begin when I should bid adieu,  
Few be my words, but manifold my woe,  
And still I stay, the more I shive to go.  
As accents issue forth, griefs enter in,  
And where I end, me thinks I but begin;  
Till then fair time some greater good affords,  
Take my loves payment in these airy words.   

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
O how I feared that sleepte 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 liberue 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 Niuarr●?   
Edward Càrnaruan, the first Prince of Wales of the English blood, married Isabella, daughter of Philip the Fair at Bulloine, in the presence of the Kings of Almain, Navarre, and Cicile, with the chief Nobility of France and England: which marriage was there solemnized with exceeding pomp and magnificence. 
And in my place, upon his regal throne,  
To set that girle-boy, wanton Gaveston.   
Noting the effeminacy 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 fowl Witches bastard should thereby.   
It was urged by the Queen & the Nobility, in the disgrace of Piers Gavestone that his mother was convicted of witchcraft, and burned for the same, and that Piers had bewitched the King. 
Albania, Gascoine, Cambria, Ireland.   
Albania, Scotland, so called of Albanact, the second son of Brutus, and Cambria; Wales, so called of Camber the third son, the four Realms 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 Gavestone the jewels and treasure which was left him, by the ancient Kings of England; and enriching him with the goodly Manor of Wallingford, assigned as parcel of the dower, to the Queens of this famous ●le. 
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 daughtet of Gilbert Clare, Earl of Gloucester, begot of the King's sister, Iago of Acres, married to the said Earl of Gloucester. 
Should give away all that his father won,  
To back a stranger.   
King Edward offered his right in France, to Charles' his brother in law, and his right in Scotland to Robert Bruse, to be aided against the Barons, in the quarrel of Piers Gaveston. 
And did great Edward on his deathbed give.   
Edward Longshanks, on his deathbed at Carlisle, commanded young Edward his son on his blessing, not to call back Gaveston, which (for the misguiding of the Prince's youth) was before banished by the whole counsel of the Land. 
That after all this fearful massacre,  
The fall of Beuchamp, Lazy, Lancaster.   
Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, Guy, Earl of Warwick, and 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, & 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 seize 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 & Mortimer, whose evil counsel afterward wrought the destruction of the king.    

Mortimer to Queen Isabella.  

AS thy salutes my sorrows do adjourn  
So back to thee their interest I turn;  
Though not in so great bounty (I confess)  
As thy heroic princely lines express:  
For how should comfort issue from the breath,  
Of one condemned, and long lodged up in death?  
From murders rage thou didst me once reprieve,  
Now in exile, my hopes thou dost revive;  
Twice all was taken, twice thou all didst give,  
And thus twice dead, thou mak'st me twice to live.  
This double life of mine, your only due,  
You gave to me; I gave it back to you;  
ne'er my escape had, I adventured thus,  
As did the sky-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 her tide, to make me way to go,  
As thou hadst charged her that it should be so;  
The hollow marmuring winds their due time kept,  
As they had rocked the world, while all things slept;  
One billow bore me, and another drove me,  
This strove to help me, and that strove to save me;  
The brisling reeds moved with the air did chide me,  
As they would tell me that they meant to hide me;  
The pale-faced night beheld thy heavy cheer,  
And would not let one little star appear,  
But over all her smoky maptle hurled,  
And in thick vapours mu 〈…〉 d 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 on Seas the Altion builds her nest.  
When 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 Spencer's glory in my chance,  
That I should live an exile here in France:  
That I from England banished should be,  
But England rather banished from me:  
More were her want, France our great blood should bear,  
Then England's loss should be to Mortimer.  
My grandsire was the first since Arthur's reign,  
That the Round-table rectifide again;  
To whose great Court at Kenelworth did come,  
The peerless knighthood of all Christendom:  
Whose princely order, honoured England more,  
Then all the Conquests she achieved before.  
Never durst Scot set foot in 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 Banocksburne,  
Whilst with his Minions sporting in his Tent,  
Whole days and nights in banqueting were spent,  
Until the Scots (which undersafegard 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 waste with civil war,  
Where the dishevelled ghastly Sea-nimph sings,  
Or well-rigd ships shall stretch their swelling wings,  
And drag their anchors through the sandy foam,  
About the world in every clime to room,  
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 fowl black-mouthed infamy shall sing,  
That Mortimer e'er 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 the eves,  
From mountains, forests, or sea-bordering Cleeves,  
But fright the air with terror (when we come)  
Of the stern trumpet, and the bellowing drum:  
And in the field advance our plumy Crest,  
And march upon fair England's flowery breast;  
And Thames which once we for our life did swim,  
Shaking our dewy tresses on her brim,  
Shall bear my navy; vaunting in her pride,  
Falling from Tanet with the powerful tide;  
Which fertile Essex, and fair Kent shall see,  
Spreading herflags along the pleasant lee,  
When on her stemming poop 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 Canon text shall have a common gloss,  
Receipts in parcels, shall be paid in gross.  
This doctrine preachde, 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 shores she brings supplies  
Of those industrious Roman Colonies.  
And for his homage, by the which of old  
Proud Edward Guyne and Aquitaine doth hold.  
Charles by invasive arms again shall take,  
And send the English forces o'er the lake;  
When Edward's fortune stands upon this chance,  
To lose in England, or expulsde from France;  
And all those towns great Longshanks left his son,  
Now lost again, which once his father won.  
Within their strong percullizde Ports shall lie,  
And from their walls his sieges shall defy.  
And by that firm and undissolued knot,  
Betwixt their neighbouring French, and bordering Scot,  
Bruise now shall bring his Red-shanks from the seas,  
From th'Iled Oreads, and the Hebrydes.  
And to his western havens give free pass,  
To land the warlike Irish Galiglasse,  
Marching from Tweed to swelling Humber sands,  
Wasting along the Northern netherlands.  
And wanting those which should his power sustain,  
Consumed with slaughter in his bloody reign,  
Our warlike sword shall drive him from his throne,  
Where he shall lie for us to tread upon;  
And those great lords now after their attaints,  
Canonised amongst the English Saints;  
And by the superstitious people thought,  
That by their Relics, miracles are wrought,  
And think that flood much virtue doth retain,  
Which took the blood of famous Bohun slain;  
Continuing the remembrance of the thing,  
To make the people more abhor their King.  
Nor shall a Spenser (be he ne'er so great)  
Possess our Wigmore, our renowned seat.  
To raze the ancient Trophies of our race,  
With our deserts their monuments to grace;  
Nor shall he lead our valiant marchers forth,  
To make the Spensers' famous in the North;  
Nor be the Gardants of the British pales,  
Defending England, and preserving Wales.  
At first our troubles easily reculde;  
But now grown headstrong hardly to be ruled;  
With gravest counsel all must be directed,  
Where plainest shows are openly suspected;  
For where mishap our error doth assault,  
There doth it eassiest 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 Bohune 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 Hereford, and Beck Bishop of Duresme, and Patriarch of jerusalem, being then both mighty in the state, upon the submission of the Mortimers, somewhat pacified the king, and now secondly she wrought means for his escape. 
Leaving the cords to tell where I had gone,   
With strong ladders made of cords provided him for the purpose, he escaped out of the Tower, which when the same were found fastened to the walls, in such a desperate attempt they bred astonishment to the beholders. 
Nor let the Spensers' glory in my draw.   
The two Hugh Spensers, the father, and the son, then being so highly favoured of the King, knew that their greatest safety came by his exile, whose high and turbulent spirit could never brook any corrival in greatness. 
My grandsire was the first since Arthur's reign,  
That the Round-table rectifide again.   
Roger Mortimer, called the great Lord Mortimer, Grandfather to this Roger, which was afterward the first Earl of March, ree●ected again the Round-table at Kenelwoorth, after the ancient order of king Arthur's table, with the retinue of a hudred 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, and that the bones should be borne to the wars in Scotland, which he was persuaded unto by aprophecie, 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 Striueling near unto the river of Banocksburne in Scotland, where there was in the English camp such banqueting and excess, such riot and misorder, that the Scots, (who in the mean time laboured for advantage) gave to the English a great overthrow. 
And in the Dead-sea sink our horse's fame,  
From whose, etc.   
Mortimer, so called of Mare mortuum, and in French Mort mer, in English the Dead-sea, which is said to be where Sodom ●nd Go morra once were, before they were destroyed by fire from Heaven. 
And for that hateful sacrilegious sin  
Which by the Pope he stands 〈…〉 ursed in.   
Gaustelinus and Lucas, two Cardinals, sent into England from Pope Clement, to appease the ancient hate between the King and Thomas. Earl of Lancaster, to whose Embassy the king seemed to yield, but after their departure he went back from his promises, for which he was accursed at Rome. 
Of those industrious Roman Colonies.   
A Colony is a sort or number of people, that come to inhabit a place before not inhabited, whereby he seems 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 among the English Saints.   
After the death of Thomas Earl of Lancaster at Pomfret, the people imagined great miracles to be done by his relics: as they did of the body of Bohune earl of Hereford, slain at Borough bridge.   
Finis.   

❧ To my worthy and honoured friend, Sir Walter Aston Knight of the Bath.  
SIR, though without suspicion of flattery I might in more ample and free terms, intimate my affection unto you, yet having so sensible a taste of your generous and noble aisposition, which without this habit of ceremony can estimate my love: I will rather affect bre 〈…〉, though it should seem my fault, than by my tedious complement, to trouble mine own opinion settled in your judgement and discretion. I make you the Patron of this Epistle of the Black-prince, which I pray you accept, till more easy hours may offer up from me some thing more worthy of your view, and my travel.  
Yours truly devoted, Mich: Drayton.   

¶ Edward the Black-prince to Alice Countess of Salisbury.  
The Argument.  
Alice Countess of Salisbury, remaining at Roxborough castle in the North, in the absence of the earl her husband, who was by the Kings command sent over into Flaunders, and there deceased ere his return. This Lady being besieged in her castle by the Scots, Edward the Black-prince being sent by the King his father to relieve the north parts with an Army, and to remove the siege of Roxborough, there fell in love with the Countess; when after she returned to London, he sought by divers and sundry means to win her to his youthful pleasures, as by forcing the Earl of Kent her father, and her mother, unnaturally to become his Agents in his vain desire; where after a long and assured trial of her invincible constancy, he taketh her to his wife, to which end he only frameth this Epistle.  

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

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

Alice Countess of Salisbury, to the Black Prince.  

AS one would grant; yet gladly would deny,  
Twixt hope and fear, I doubtfully reply;  
A woman's weakness, lest I should discover,  
Answering a Prince, and writing to a lover;  
And some say, Love with Reason doth dispense.  
And wrest our plain words to another sense:  
Think you not then, poor women had not need  
Be well advised to write, what men should read,  
When being silent moving but awry,  
Gives cause of scandal and of obloquy;  
Whilst in our hearts, our secret thoughts abide,  
Th'envenomed tongue of slander yet is tide;  
But if once spoke, delivered up to Fame,  
Hers the report, but ours returns the shame.  
About to write, yet newly entering in,  
methinks I end, ere I can well begin;  
When I would end, than something makes me stay,  
And then me thinks I should have more to say;  
And some one thing remaineth in my breast,  
For want of words that cannot be expressed;  
What I would say; as said to thee I feign,  
Then in thy person I reply again,  
Then in thy cause, urge all I can object,  
Than what again mine honour must respect.  
O Lord! what sundry passions do I try?  
Striving to hate, you forcing contrary;  
Being a Prince, I blame you not to prove,  
The greater reason to obtain your love.  
That greatness which doth challenge no denial,  
The only rest that doth allow my trial:  
Edward so great, the greater were his fall,  
And my offence in this were capital.  
To men is granted privilege to tempt,  
But in that charter women be exempt:  
Men win us not, except we give consent;  
Against ourselves, except ourselves are bend.  
Who doth impute it is a fault to you?  
You prove not false, except we be untrue;  
It is your virtue, being men, to try,  
And it is ours, by virtue to deny.  
Your fault itself, serves for the faults excuse,  
And makes it ours, though yours be the abuse.  
Beauty a beggar, fie it is too bad,  
When in itself sufficiency is had,  
Not made a Lure t'entice the wandering eye,  
But an attire t'adorn sweet modesty,  
If modesty and women once do sever,  
We may bid farewell to our fame for ever  
Let john and Henry, Edward's instance be,  
Matilda and fair Rosamond for me:  
A like both wooed, alike sued to be won,  
Th'one by the father, th'other by the son;  
Henry obtaining, did our weakness wound,  
And lays the fault on wanton Rosamond;  
Matilda chaste, in life and death all one,  
By her denial, l●●es the fault on john;  
By these we prove, men accessary still,  
But women only principals of ill.  
What praise is ours, but what our virtues get?  
If they be lent, so much we be in debt,  
Whilst our own honour's virtue doth defend,  
All force too weak, what ever men pretend;  
If all the world else, should suborn our fame,  
'tis we ourselves that overthrow the same;  
And howsoe'er although by force you win,  
Yet on our weakness still returns the sin.  
A virtuous Prince who doth not Edward call?  
And shall I then be guilty of your fall?  
Now God for bid; yet rather let me die,  
Then such a sin upon my soul should lie.  
Where is great Edward? whither is he led?  
At whose victorious name whole armies fled.  
Is that brave spirit that conquered so in France,  
Thus overcome and vanquished with a glance?  
Is that great heart that did aspire so high,  
So soon transpersed with a woman's eye?  
He that a king at Poitiers battle took,  
Himself led captive with a wanton look?  
Twice as a Bride to church I have been led,  
Twice have two Lords enjoyed my Bridal bed;  
How can that beauty yet be undestroyd,  
That years have wasted, and two men enjoyed,  
Or should be thought fit for a Prince's store,  
Of which two subjects were possessed before?  
Let Spain, let France, or Scotland so prefer  
Their infant Queens; for England's dowager,  
That blood should be much more than half divine,  
That should be equal every way with thine:  
Yet princely Edward, though I thus reprove you,  
As mine own life, so dearly do I love you.  
My noble husband, which so loved you,  
That gentle Lord, that reverend Montague,  
Near mother's voice did please her babe so well,  
As his did mine, of you to hear him tell;  
I have made short the hours that time made long,  
And chained mine ears unto his pleasing tongue,  
My lips have waited on your praises worth,  
And snatched his words ere he could get them forth:  
When he hath spoke, and something by the way  
Hath broke off that he was about to say;  
I kept in mind where from his tale he fell,  
Calling on him the residue to tell;  
Oft he would say, how sweet a Prince is he!  
When I have praised him but for praising thee,  
And to proceed, I would entreat and woo,  
And yet to ease him, help to praise thee too:  
Must she be forced, t'exclaime th'injurious wrong,  
Offered by him, whom she hath loved so long?  
Nay, I will tell, and I durst almost swear,  
Edward will blush, when he his fault shall hear.  
judge now that time doth youths desire assuage,  
And reason mildly quenched the fire of rage.  
By upright justice let my cause be tried,  
And be thou judge if I not justly chide.  
That not my father's grave and reverend years,  
When on his knee he begged me with his tears,  
By no persuasions possibly could win,  
To free himself as guiltless of my sin.  
The woe for me my mother did abide,  
Whose suit (but you) there's none would have denied.  
Your lust full rage your tyranny could stay;  
Mine honour's ruin further to delay;  
Have I ot loved you? let the truth be shown,  
That still preserved your honour with mine own.  
Had your fond will your foul desires prevailed,  
When you by them my chastity assailed:  
Though this no way could have excused my fault,  
True virtue never yielded to assault:  
Yet what a thing were this it should be said,  
My parent's sin should to your charge be laid:  
And I have gained my liberty with shame,  
To save my life, made ship wrack of my name.  
Did Roxborough once vail her towering fane,  
To thy brave ensigue, on the Northern plain?  
And to thy trumpet sounding from thy tent,  
Often replied (as to my succour sent)  
And did receive thee as my sou●raigne liege  
Coming to aid, thou shouldst again besiege,  
To raise a fo●, but for my treasure came  
To plant a foe, to take my honest name;  
Under pretence to have removed the Scot,  
And wouldst have won more than he could have got;  
That did engird me ready still to fly,  
But thou laidst battery to my chastity:  
O modesty, didst thou me not restrain,  
How I could chide you in this angry vain!  
A Prince's name (heaven knows) I do not crave,  
To have those honours Edward● spouse should have;  
Nor by ambitious lures will I be brought,  
In my chaste breast to harbour such a thought,  
As to be worthy to be made a Bride,  
An empress place by mighty Edward's side,  
Of all the most unworthy of that grace,  
To wait on her that should enjoy that place.  
But if that love Prince Edward doth require,  
Equal his virtues, and my chaste desire:  
If it be such as we may justly vaunt,  
A Prince may sue for, and a Lady grant:  
If it be such as may suppress my wrong,  
That from your vain unbridled youth hath sprung,  
That faith I send, that I from you receive,  
The rest unto your Princely thoughts I leave.   

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

¶ To the right Honourable and my very good Lord, Edward Earl of Bedford.  
THrice noble and my gracious Lord, the love I have ever borne to the illustrious house of Bedford, and to the honourable family of the harrington's, to the which by marriage your Lordship is happily united, hath long since devoted my true and zealous affection to your honourable service, and my Poems to the protection of my noble Lady, your Countess; to whose service I was furst bequeathed, by that learned & accomplished gentleman sir Henry Goodere, (not long since deceased,) whose I was whilst he was, whose patience pleased to bear with the imperfections of my heedless and 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 lived. Vouchsafe then, my dear Lord, to accept this epistle, which I dedicate as zealously, as (I hope) you will patronize willingly, until some more acceptable service may be witness of my love to your honour,  
Your Lordships ever Michael Drayton.   

Queen Isabella to Richard the second.  
The Argument.  
Queen Isabel 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 Auger 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.  
If fatal Pomfret hath in former time.  
Nurrisht the grief of that unnatural clime.  
Thither I send my sorrows to be said,  
But, where first bo●ne, where fitter to be bred?  
They unto France be aliens and unknown,  
England from her doth challenge these her own.  
They say all mischief cometh from the North,  
It is too true, my fall doth set it forth;  
But why should I thus limit Grief a place,  
When all the world is filled with our disgrace?  
And we in bounds thus striving to contain it,  
The more resists, the more we do restrain it.  
Oh how even yet I hate these wretched eyes,  
And in my glass oft call them faithless spies  
(Prepared for Richard) that unwares did look  
Upon that traitor Henry Bulingbrooke,  
But that excess of joy my sense bereaved  
So much, my sight had never been deceived.  
Oh how unlike to my loved Lord was he,  
Whom rashly I, sweet Richard took for thee,  
I might have seen the Courser's self did lack,  
That Princely rider should bestride his back,  
He that (since Nature her great work began)  
She made to be the mirror of a man,  
That when she meant to form some matchless limb,  
Still for a pattern, took some part of him,  
And jealous of her cunning, broke the mould,  
In his proportion done the best she could.  
Oh let that day be guilty of all sin,  
That is to come, or heretofore hath been,  
Wherein great Norffolkes' forward course was staid,  
To prove the treasons he to Hersord laid,  
When (with stern fury) both these Dukes enraged,  
Their warlike gloves at Coventry engaged,  
When first thou didst repeal thy former grant,  
Sealed to brave Mowbray, as thy Combatant,  
From his unnumbered hours let time divide it,  
Lest in his minutes he should hap to hide it;  
Yet on his brow continually to bear it,  
That when it comes, all other days may fear it,  
And all ill-boding Planets by consent,  
That day may hold their dreadful parliament,  
Be it in heavens decrees enrolled thus,  
Black, dismal, fatal, inauspitious:  
Proud Herford then, in height of all his pride,  
Under great Mowbrays valiant hand had died;  
Nor should not thus from banishment retire,  
The fatal brand to set our Troy on fire.  
O why did Charles relieve his needy state?  
A vagabond and straggling runagate;  
And in this Court, with grace did entertain  
This vagrant exile, this abjected Cain,  
Who with a thousand mother's curses went,  
Marked with the brand often years banishment.  
When thou to Ireland took'st thy last farewell,  
Millions of knees upon the pavements fell,  
And every where th'applauding echoes ring,  
The joyful shouts that did salute a King;  
Thy parting hence, what pomp did not adorn?  
At thy return, who laughed thee not to scorn?  
Who to my Lord a look vouchsafed to lend,  
Then all too few on Herford to attend.  
Princes (like suns) be evermore in sight,  
All see the clouds betwixt them and their light;  
Yet they which lighten all down from the 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 illegitimate;  
Whom his reputed mother's tongue did spot,  
By a base Flemish Boor to be begot,  
Whom Edward's Eaglets mortally did shun,  
Daring with them to gaze against the Sun.  
Where lawful right and conquest doth allow,  
A triple crown on Richard's princely brow,  
Three kingly Lions bears his bloody field,  
No bastards mark doth blot his conquering shield,  
Never durst he attempt our hapless shore,  
Nor set his foot on fatal Rauenspor●;  
Nor durst his slugging Hulks approach the strand,  
Nor stoop a top as signal to the land,  
Had not the Percyes' promised aid to bring,  
Against their oath unto their lawful King,  
Against their faith unto our crowns true heir,  
Their valiant kinsman, Edmond Mortimer;  
When I to England came, a world of eyes  
Like stars attended on my fair arise,  
At my decline, like angry Planets frown,  
And all are set before my going down;  
The smooth faced air did on my coming smile,  
But with rough storms are driven to exile;  
But Bullingbrooke devisee we thus should part,  
Fearing two sorrows should possess one heart;  
To make affliction stronger, doth deny,  
That one poor comfort left our misery,  
He had before divorced thy crown and thee,  
Which might suffice, and not to widow me,  
But that to prove the utmost of his hate,  
To make our fall the greater by our state.  
Oh would Aumerle had sunk when he betrayed  
The complot, which that holy Abbot laid.  
When he infringed the oath which he first took,  
For thy revenge on perjured Bullingbrooke.  
And been the ransom of our friends dear blood  
Untimely lost, and for the earth too good;  
And we untimely mourn our hard estate,  
They gone too soon, and we remain too late.  
And though with tears I from my Lord depart,  
This curse on Horford fall, to ease my heart:  
If the fowl breach of a chaste nuptial bed,  
May bring a curse, my curse light on his head;  
If murders guilt with blood may deeply stain,  
green, Scroop, and Bushie, die his fault in grain;  
If perjury may heavens pure gates debar,  
Damned be the oath he made at Dancaster;  
If the deposing of a lawful King,  
The curse condemn him, if no other thing;  
If these disjoinde, for vengeance cannot call,  
Let them united strongly curse him all.  
And for the Percyes, heaven may hear my prayer,  
That Bullingbrooke now placed in Richard's chair;  
Such cause of woe unto their wives may be,  
As those rebellious Lords have been to me.  
And that proud Dame, which now controlleth all,  
And in her pomp triumpheth in my fall,  
For her great Lord may water her sad eyen,  
With as salt tears as I have done for mine,  
And mourn for Henry Hotspur, her dear son,  
As I for my sweet Mortimer have done;  
And as I am, so succourless be sent,  
Lastly, to taste perpetual banishment.  
Then lose thy care, where first thy crown was lost,  
Sell it so dearly, for it dearly cost;  
And sith they did of liberty deprive thee,  
Burying thy hope, let not thy care outlive thee.  
But hard (God knows) with sorrow doth it go,  
When woe becomes a 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 time,  
POmfret Castle, ever a fatal place to the Princes of England, and most ominous to the blood of Plantagenet. 
Oh how even yet I hate these wretched eyes,  
And in my glass, etc.   
When Bullingbrooke returned to London from the West, bringing Richard a prisoner with him, the Queen, who little knew of her 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 two Dukes of Herford and Norfolk at Coventry, urging the justness of Mowbrayes' quarrel against the Duke of Herford, and the faithful assurance of his victory. 
O why did Charles relieve his needy state?  
A vagabond, etc.   
Charles the French King her father, received the Duke of Herford in his Court, and relieved him in France, being so nearly allied, as Cousin german to king Richard his son in Law, which he did simply, little thinking that he should after return into England, and dispossess King Richard of the Crown. 
When thou to Ireland took'st thy last farewell.   
King Richard made a voyage with his Army into Ireland, against Onell and Mackemur, which rebelled, at what time Henry entered here at home, and robbed him of all kingly dignity. 
Affirmde by Churchmen (which should bear no hate)  
That john of Gaunt was illegitimate.   
William Wickham, in the great quarrel betwixt john of Gaunt and the Clergy, of mere spite and malice (as it should seem) reported, that the Queen confessed to him on her deathbed, being then her Confessor, that john of Gaunt, was the son of a Fleming, and that she was brought to bed of a woman child at Gaunt, which was smothered in the cradle by mischance, & that she obtained this child of a poor woman, making the king believe it was her own, greatly fearing his displeasure. Fox e● Chron. Alban. 
No bastards mark doth blot our conquering shield.   
Showing the true and indubitate birth of Richard, his right unto the Crown of England, as carrying the Arms without blot or difference. 
Against their faith unto the Crowns true heir,  
Their noble kinsman, etc.   
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, son of Earl Roger Mortimer, which was son to Lady Philip, daughter to Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son to King Edward the third, which Edmund (King Richard going into Ireland) was proclaimed heir apparent to the Crown, whose Aunt called Ellinor, this Lord Piercie had married. 
O would Aumerle had sunk when he betrayed  
The complot which that holy Abbot laid.   
The Abbot of Westminster had plotted the death of King Henry, to have been done at a Tilt at Oxford: of which confederacy there was john Holland, Duke of Excester, Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, the Duke of Aumerle, Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, Spenser, Earl of Gloster, the Bishop of Carlisle, Sir Thomas Blunt, these all had bound themselves one to another by Indenture to perform it, but were all betrayed by the Duke of Aumerle. 
Scroop, green, and Bushie, die his fault in grain,   
Henry going towards the Castle of Flint, where King Richard was, caused Scroop, green, and Bushie, to be executed at Bristol; as vile persons, which had seduced this King to this lascivious and wicked life. 
Damned be the oath he made at Doncaster.   
After Henry's exile, at his return into England, he took his oath at Doncaster upon the Sacrament, not to claim the crown or Kingdom of England, but only the Dukedom of Lancaster, his own proper right, and the right of his wife. 
And mourn for Henry Hotspur, her dear son,  
As I for my, etc.   
This was the brave courageous Henry Hotspur, that obtained so many victories against the Scots, which after falling out right with the curse of Queen Isabella, was slain by Henry, at the battle at Shrewsbury.    

Richard the second to Queen Isabella.  

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

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

To sir john Swinerton Knight, and one of the Aidermen of the City of London.  
VOrthy Sir, so much mistrust I my own ability, to do the least right to your virtues, that I could gladly wish any thing that is truly mine, were worthy to bear your name, so much (reucrend Sir) I esteem you, and so ample interest have you in my love; To some honourable friends have I deaicated these Poems (with whom I rank you: may I escape prejumption) Like not this Britain the worse, though after some former Impressions he be lastly to 〈…〉 crated; in this like an honest man that would part 〈…〉 his own worth, before he would presume his 〈…〉 ronage, with whom you shall ever command my 〈◊〉, and have my best wishes.  
That love you truly, Mich: Drayton.   

Queen Katherine to Owen Tudor.  
The Argument.  
After the death of that victorious Henry the fifth, Queen Katherine, the Dowager of England and France, daughter to Charles the French King, holding her estate with Henry her son, (than the fixed of that name) falleth in love with Owen Tuder a Welshman, a brave and gallant Gentleman of the Wardrobe to the young King her son; yet grently 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 shamefast youth; wherefore to break the ice to her intent, she writeth unto him this Epistle following.  

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

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Great Henry sought to accomplish his desire,  
Armed, etc.  
HEnry the fifth, making claim to the Crown of France, first sought by Arms to subdue the French, and after sought by marriage to confirm what he got by conquest, the heat and fury of which invasion, is alluded to the sixion of Semele in Ovid: which by the crafty persuasion of juno, requested jove to come unto her, as he was wont to come unto his wife juno, who at her request he yielding unto, destroyed her in a tempest. 
Encamped at Melans in wars hot alarms,  
First, etc.   
near unto Melans, upon the River of Scyne, was the appointed place of parley, between the two Kings of England and France, to which place, Isabella the Qucene of France, and the Duke of Burgoyne, brought the young Princess Katherine, where King Henry first saw her. 
And on my temples set a double Crown.   
Henry the fifth and Queen Katherine, were taken as King and Queen of France, and during the life of Charles the French king, Henry was called King of England, and heir of France, and after the death of Henry the fifth, Henry the sixth his son, then being very young, was crowned at Paris, as true and lawful King of England and France. 
At Troy in Champain he did first enjoy.   
Troy in Champain, was the place where that victorious king Henry the fifth married the Ptincesse Katherine, in the presence of the chief nobility of the Realms of England and France. 
Nor these great tules vainly will I bring,  
Wife, daughter, mother, etc.   
Few Queens of England or France, were ever more princely allied then this Queen, as it hath been noted by Historiographers. 
Nor think so Tudor that this love of mine,  
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne, etc.   
Noting the descent of Henry her husband, from john Duke of Lancaster, the fourth son of Edward the third, which Duke john was surnamed Gaunt, of the City of Gaunt in Flanders, where he was borne. 
Nor stir the English blood, the Sun and Moon,  
Trepine, etc.   
Alluding the greatness of the English line, to Phoebus and Phoebe, feigned to be the children of Latona, whose heavenly kind might seorne to be joined with any earthly progeny: yet withal, boasting the blood of France, as not inferior to theirs. And with this allusion followeth on the history of the strife betwixt juno and the race of Cadmus, whose issue was afflicted by the wrath of heaven. The children of Niobe slain, for which the woeful mother became a rock, gushing forth continually a sountaine of tears. 
And john and Longshanks issue, both affied,   
Lheellin or Leolin ap jorweth, married joan, daughter to king john, a most beautiful Lady. Some Authors affirm that she was base borne, Lhewellin ap Gryfith, married Ellenor, daughter to Simon Montfort, Earl of Leicester, and Cousin to Edward Longshanks, both which Lhewellins were Princes of Wales. 
Of Camelot and all her Pentecosts,  
A nephews room, etc.   
Camelot, the ancient Palace of King Arthur, to which place all the Knights of that famous order yearly repaired at Penticost, according to the law of the Table, and most of the famous home-born Knights were of that Country, as to this day is perceived by their ancient monuments. 
When bloody Rutus sought your utter sack.   
Noting the ill success which that William Rufus bad 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 incursions 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 heheld your princely name,  
And found from whence this friendly letter came,  
As in excess of joy myself forgot,  
Whether I saw it, or I saw it not;  
My panting heart doth bid mine eyes proceed,  
My dazzled eye, invites my tongue to reed;  
Mine eye should guide my tongue, amazed missed it,  
My lips which now should speak, are dumb, & 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 deludes her so,  
As still she doubts if this be hers or no:  
At length awakened from this pleasing dream,  
When passion somewhat leaves to be extreme,  
My longing eyes, with their fair object meet,  
Where every letter's pleasing, each word sweet.  
It was not Henry's conquests nor his Court,  
That had the power to win me by report,  
Nor was his dreadful terror-striking name,  
The cause that I from Wales to England came,  
For Christian Rhodes, and our religious truth,  
To great achievements first had won my youth;  
Before adventure did my valour prove,  
Before I yet knew what it was to love:  
Nor came I hither by some poor event,  
But by th'eternal Destinies consent,  
Whose uncomprised wisdoms did foresee,  
That you in marriage should be linked to me.  
By our great Merlin, was it not foretold,  
(Amongst his holy prophecies enrolled),  
When first he did of tudor's name divine,  
That Kings and Queens should follow in our line,  
And that the Helm, (the tudor's ancient Crest)  
Should with the golden Flower-delice be dressed;  
And that the Leek, (our Countries chief renown)  
Should grow with Roses in the English Crown:  
As Charles fair daughter, you the Lily wear,  
As Henry's Queen the blushing Rose you bear;  
By France's conquest, and by England's oath,  
You are the true made dowager of both;  
Both in your crown, both in your cheek together,  
join Tethers love to yours, and yours to Tether.  
Then make no future doubts, nor fear no hate,  
When it so long hath been foretold by Fate;  
And by the all-disposing doom of heaven,  
Before our births, unto one bed were given.  
No Pallas here, nor juno is at all,  
When I to Venus give the golden ball;  
Nor when the Grecians wonder I enjoy,  
None in revenge to kindle fire in Troy.  
And have not strange events divined to us,  
That in our love we should be prosperous.  
When in your presence I was called to dance,  
In lofty tricks whilst I myself advance;  
And in my turn, my footing failed by hap,  
Was't not my chance to light into your lap?  
Who would not judge it Fortunes greatest grace,  
Sith he must fall, to fall in such a place?  
His birth from heaven, your Tudor not derives,  
Nor stands on tiptoes in superlatives,  
Although the envious English do devise,  
A thousand jests of our hyperboles;  
Nor do I claim that plot by ancient deeds,  
Where Phoebus' pastures his firie-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 descent to run  
From aged Neptune, or the glorious Sun,  
And yet in Wales with them most famous be,  
Our learned Bards do sing my pedigree,  
And boast my birth from great Cadwallader,  
From old Cair-septon, in mount Palador,  
And from Eneons line, the South-wales king  
By The●dor the Tuders name do bring.  
My royal mother's princely stock began,  
From her great grandam fair Gwenellian;  
By true descent from Leolin the great,  
As well from North-wales as fair Powslands seat;  
Though for our princely genealogy,  
I do not stand to make apology;  
Yet who with judgements true unpartial eyes,  
Shall look from whence our name at first did rise,  
Shall find that Fortune is to us in debt;  
And why not Tuder as Plantagenet?  
Nor that term Croggen, nicke-name 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 bucklde in so many dangerous fights,  
With Norway's, Swethens, and with Muscovites,  
And kept our native language now thus long,  
And to this day yet never changed our tongue,  
When they which now our Nation fain would tame,  
Subdued, have lost their country, and their name:  
Nor never could the Saxons swords provoke  
Our Britain necks to bear their servile yoke,  
Where Cambr●aes pleasant Countries bounded be,  
With swelling Severne, and the holy Dee;  
And since great Brutus first arrived, have stood,  
The only remnant of the Tr●●an blood.  
To every man is not allotted chance,  
To boast with Henry to have conquered France;  
Yet if my fortunes thus may raised be,  
This may presage a farther good to me.  
And our S. David, in the Britons right,  
May join with Grorge, 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 Madam, though I thus desire,  
When eyes with envy do my hap admire;  
Till now your beauty in night's bosom slept,  
What eye durst st●●re, where awful Henry kept?  
Who durst attempt to sail but near the bay,  
Where that all-conquering great Alcides lay?  
Thy beauty now is set a royal prize,  
And Kings repair to cheapen merchandise.  
If thou but walk to take the breathing air,  
Orithia makes me that I Boreas fear,  
If to the fire jove once in lightning came,  
And fair Egina make me fear the flame.  
If in the Sun, then sad suspicion dreams  
Phoebus should spread Lycothoe in his beams,  
If in a fountain thou dost cool thy blood,  
Neptune I fear, which once came in a flood;  
If with thy maids, I dread Apollo's rape,  
Who cozened Chion in an old wives shape;  
If thou dost banquet, Bacchus makes me dread,  
Who in a grape Erigone did feed;  
And if myself the chamber door should keep,  
Yet fear I Hermes coming in a sleep.  
Pardon (sweet Queen) if I offend in this,  
In these delays love most impatient is;  
And youth wants power his hot spleen to suppress,  
When Hope already banquets in excess.  
Though Henry's fame in me you shall not find,  
Yet that which better shall content your mind;  
But only in the title of a King  
Was his advantage, in no other thing:  
If in his love more pleasure you did take,  
Never let Queen trust Britain for my sake.  
Yet judge me not from modesty exempt,  
That I another Phaeton's charge attempt,  
My mind that thus your favours dare aspire,  
Declare a temper of celestial fire;  
If love a fault, the more is Beauty's blame,  
When she herself is author of the same.  
All men to some one quality incline,  
Only to love is naturally mine.  
Thou art by Beauty famous, as by birth;  
Ordained by heaven, to cheer the drooping earth,  
Add faithful love unto your greater state,  
And then alike in all things fortunate.  
A King might promise more, I not deny,  
But yet (by heaven) he loved not more than I.  
And thus I leave, till time my faith approve,  
I cease to write, but never cease to love.   

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
And that the helm, the tudor's ancient Crest,  
THe arms of Tudor was the helms of men's heads, whereof he speaketh as a thing prophetically foretold of Merlin. 
When in thy presence I was called to dance.   
Owin Tudor, being a courtly and active Gentleman, commrunded once to dance before the Queen, in a turn (not being able to recover himself) fell into her lap, as she sat upon a little stool, with many of her Ladies about her. 
And yet with them in Wales most famous be,  
Our learned Bards, etc.   
This Berdh, as they call it in the British tongue, or as we more properly say Bard, or Bardus, be their Poets, which keep the records of Petigrees and descents, and sing in odes and measures to the Harps, after the old manner of the Lirick Poets. 
And boast my blood from great Cadwallader.   
Cadwallader, the last king of the Britain's, descended of the noble and ancient race of the Trojans, to whom an Angel appeared, commanding him to go to Rome to Pope Sergius, where he ended his life. 
Since fair Caer-Septon in mount Palador.   
Caer-Septon, now called Shaftsburie, at whose building it was said an ●●agle prophesied (or rather one named Aquila) of the fame of that place, and of the recovery of the I'll of the Britons, bringing back with them the bones of Cadwallader from Rome. 
And from Eneons line, the South-wales King,  
From Theodor, etc.   
This Eneon was slain by the Rebels of Gwentsland, he was a noble and worthy Gentleman, who in his life did many noble acts, and was father to Theodor, or Tudor Maur, of whom descended the Princes of South-wales. 
From her great Grandam fair Guenelliam.   
Guenelliam, the daughter of Rees ap Griffeth, ap Theodor, Prince of South-wales, married Ednivet Vahan ancestor to Owen Tudor. 
By true descent from Liolin the great,   
This is though Lewhelin, called Liolinus Magnus, Prince of North-wales. 
Nor that word Croggen, nickname of disgrace.   
In the voyage that Henry the second made against the Welshmen, as his Soldiers passed Offas' ditch at Croggen castle, they were overthrown by the Welshmen: which word Croggen, hath since been used to the welshmen's disgrace, which was at first begun with their honour. 
And old Caer-Merdin, Merlin's famous town,   
Caer-Merdin, or Merlin's Town, so called of Merlius being found there. This was Ambrose Merlin, whose prophecies we have. There was another of that name, called Merlin Silvestris, borne in Scotland, surnamed Calidonius, of the Forest Calydon where he prophesied. 
And kept our native language now thus long.   
The Welshmen be those ancient Britain's, which when the Picts, 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 worthy and dearly esteemed friend, Master james Huish.  
SIR your own natural inclination to virtue, & your love to the Muses, assure me of your kind acceptance of my dedication. It is seated by custom (from which we are now bold to assume authority) to bear the names of our friends upon the fronts of our books, as Gentlemen use to set their Arms over their gates. Some say this use began by the Heroes & brave spirits of the old world, which were desirous to be thought to patronize learning; and men in requital honour the names of those brave Princes. But I think some after, put the names of great men in their books, for that men should say there was some thing good, only because indeed their names stood there; But for mine own part (not to dissemble) I find no such virtue in any of their great titles to do so much for any thing of mine, and so let them pass. Take knowledge by this, I love you, and in good faith, worthy of all love I think you, which I pray you may supply the place of further complement.  
Yours ever, M. Drayton.   

Elinor Cobham to Duke Humphrey.  
The Argument.  
Elinor Cobham, daughter to the Lord Cobham of Sterborough, and wife to Humphrey Plantagenet duke of Gloucester, the son of Henry the fourth, King of England, surnamed Bullingbrooke. This noble Duke for his great wisdom and justice called the good, was by King Henry the fifth (brother to this Duke) at his death appointed Protector of the land, during the nonage of Henry the sixth; this Elinor Duchess of Gloucester, a proud and ambitious woman, knowing that if young Henry died without issue, the Duke her husband was the nearest of the blood, conspired with one Bullingbrooke, (otherwise called Only a great Magician) Hun a priest and jourdane witch of Eye, by sorcery to make away the King, and by conjuration to know who should succeed. Of this being justly convicted, she was adjudged to do penance three several times openly in London, and then to perpetual banishment in the I'll of Man, from whence she writeth this Epistle.  

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

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

¶ Duke Humphrey to Elinor Cobham  

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

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
At Agincour●, at Gravant, and Vernoyle,  
THe three famous battles, fought by the Englishmen in France:  
Agincourt by Henry the fifth, against the whole power of France, Cravant fought by Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, and the Duke of Burgoyne, against the Dolphin of France, & William Stuart, Constable of Scotland: Vernoile, fought by john Duke of Bedford, against the Duke of Alencon, and with him most of the Nobility of France, Duke Humphrey an Especial councillor in all these expeditions. 
In Flaunders, Almain, Boheme, Burgundy.   
Here remembering the ancient amity which in his ambassaes he concluded betwixt the King of England, and Sigismond Emperor of Almain, drawing the Duke of Burgoyne into the same league, giving himself as an hostage for the duke of saint Omers, while the Duke came to Calais to confirm the league. With his many other employments to foreign Kingdoms. 
That crosier staff in his imperious hand.   
Henry Beuford, Cardinal of Winchester, that proud & haughty Prelate, received his Cardinal's hat at Calais by the Pope's Legate, which dignity, Henry the fifth his nephew, forbade him to take upon him, knowing his haughty and malicious spirit unfit for that rob and calling. 
The means how Langleis progeny may rise.   
As willing to show the house of Cambridge to be descended of Edmund Langley Duke of York, a younger brother to john of Gaunt his Grandfather (as much as in him lay) to smother the title that the Yorkists made to the crown (from Lionel of Clarence, Gaunts elder brother) by the daughter of Mortimer. 
His priesthood now, stern Mowbray doth restore.   
Nothing the ancient grudge between the house of Lancaster and Norfolk, ever since Mowbray duke of Norfolk was banished for the accusation of Henry duke of Herford, (after the king of England father to duke Humphrey,) which accusation he came as a Combatant, to have made good in the Lists at Coventry. 
And gives our heirs in marriage that their dowers.   
james Stuart King of Scots, having been long prisoner in England, was released, and took to wife the daughter of john duke of Somerset, sister to john duke of Somerset, niece to the Cardinal, and the duke of Excester, and cousin german removed to the King, this King broke the oath he had taken, and became after a great enemy to England.   
FINIS.   

¶ To my Honoured Mistress, Mistress Elizabeth Tanfield, the sole daughter and heir of that famous and learned Lawyer, Laurence Tanfield 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 praiselesse, your virtues alone were a subject sufficient to make it esteemed, though among the barbarous Geteses: by how much the more your tender years give scarcely warrant for your more than womanlike wisdom, by so much is your judgement and reading the more to be wondered at. The Graces shall have one more sister by yourself, and England to herself shall add one Muse more to Muses. I rest the humble devoted servant, to my dear and modest Mistress, to whom I wish the happiest fortunes I can devise.  
Michael Drayton.   

William de la Pole Duke of Suffolk, to Queen Margaret.  
The Argument.  
William de la Pole, first Marquis, and after created Duke of Suffolk, being sent into France by King Henry the sixth, concluded a marriage between the King his Master, and Margaret, 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 and Counsel of the Realm (by reason of the yielding up of Anjou and Maine into the Duke's hands, which shortly after proved the loss of all Aquitaine,) they ever after continually hated the Duke, and after, (by means of the Commons) banished him at the Parliament at Berry; where after he had the judgement of his exile, being then ready to depart, he writeth back to the Queen this Epistle.  

IN my disgrace (dear Queen) rest thy content,  
And Margaret's health from Suffolk's banishment,  
Not one day seems five years exile to me,  
But that so soon I must depart from thee;  
Where thou not present, it is ever night,  
All be exiled that live not in thy sight.  
Those Savages which worship the Suns rise,  
Would hate their God, if they beheld thine eyes;  
The world's great light, mightst thou be seen abroad,  
Would at our noonestead never make abode;  
And make the poor Antipodes to mourn,  
Fearing lest he would never more return,  
Wert not for thee, it were my great'st exile,  
To live within this sea-inuirond I'll.  
Poles courage brooks not limmitting in bands,  
But that (great Queen) thy sovereignty 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 I, by yielding up of Maine,  
Should be the loss of fertile Aquitaine,  
With the base vulgar sort to win him fame,  
To be the heir of good Duke Humfreys name;  
And so by treason spotting my pure blood,  
Make this a mean to raise the Nevels brood.  
With Salisbury his vile ambition's sire,  
In York's stern breast, kindling long hidden fire,  
By Clarence title working to supplant,  
The Eagle airy of great john of Gaunt.  
And to this end did my exile conclude,  
Thereby to please the rascal multitude;  
Urged by these envious Lords to spend their breath,  
Calling revenge on the Protectors death,  
That since the old decrepit Duke is dead,  
By me of force he must be murdered.  
If they would know who robbed him of his life,  
Let him call home Dame Ellinor his wife,  
Who with a taper walked in a sheet,  
To light her shame at noon through London street;  
And let her bring her Necromantic book,  
That fowl hag jordane, Hun, and Bullenbrooke,  
And let them call the spirits from hell again,  
To know how Humphrey died, and who shall reign.  
For twenty years and have I served in France,  
Against great Charles and bastard Orleans?  
And seen the slaughter of a World of men,  
Victorious now, and conquered again;  
And have I seen Vernoylas batfull fields,  
Strewed with ten thousand helms, ten thousand shields,  
Where famous Bedford did our fortune try,  
Or France, or England for the victory?  
The sad innesting of so many Towns,  
Scorde 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 know'st 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 give Duke Rayner, Anjou, Mauns and Maine,  
Thy peerless beauty for a dower to bring,  
To counterpoise the wealth of England's King;  
And from Aumerle withdrew my warlike powers,  
And came myself in person first to Towers,  
Th'Ambassadors for truce to entertain,  
From Belgia, Denmark, Hungary and Spain,  
And telling Henry of thy beauty's story,  
I taught my tongue a lovers Oratory,  
As the report itself did so indite,  
And make it ravish tears with such delight;  
And when my speech did cease (as telling all)  
My looks showed more that was Angelical.  
And when I breathed again and paused next,  
I left mine eyes dilating on the text;  
Then coming of thy modesty to tell,  
In musics numbers my voice rose and fell:  
And when I came to paint thy glorious style,  
My speech in greater 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 fifteens tax in France I freely spent  
In triumphs, at thy nuptial tournament;  
And solemnized thy marriage in a gown,  
Value 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 briny seas which saw the ship enfold thee,  
Would vault up to the hatches to behold thee,  
And falling back, themselves in thronging smother,  
Breaking for grief, ennying one another;  
When the proud Bark, for joy thy steps to feel,  
Scorned the salt waves should kiss her furrowing keel,  
And tricked in all her flags, herself she braves,  
Capering for joy upon the silver waves;  
When like a Bull from the Phenician strand,  
jove with Europa, tripping from the land,  
Upon the bosom of the main doth scud,  
And with his swannish breast cleaving the flood,  
towered the fair fields, upon the other side,  
Beareth Agenor's joy, Ph●●icias pride.  
All heavenly beauties join themselves in one,  
To show their glory in thine eye alone;  
Which when it turneth that celestial ball,  
A thousand sweet stars rise, a thousand fall.  
Who justly saith, mine banishment to be,  
When only France for my recourse is free?  
To view the plains where I have seen so oft,  
England's victorious engines raised aloft,  
When this shall be my comfort in my way,  
To see the place where I may boldly say,  
here mighty Bedford forth the vaward led,  
here Talbot charged, and here the Frenchmen fled,  
here with our Archers valiant Scales did lie,  
here stood the Tents of famous Willoughby;  
here Montacute ranged his conquering band,  
here forth we marched, and here we made a stand.  
What should we stand to mourn and grieve all day,  
For that which time doth easily take away?  
What fortune hurts, let patience only heal,  
No wisdom with extremities to deal.  
To know ourselves to come of human birth,  
These sad afflictions cross us here on earth.  
A tax imposed by heavens eternal law,  
To keep our rude rebellious will in awe.  
In vain we prise that at so dear a rate,  
Whose best assurance is a fickle state,  
And needless we examine our intent,  
When with prevention, we cannot prevent;  
When we ourselves foreseeing cannot shun,  
That which before, with destiny doth run,  
Henry hath power, and may my life depose,  
Mine honour mine, that none hath power to lose;  
Then be as cheerful, (beauteous royal Queen)  
As in the Court of France we erst have been;  
As when arrived in Porchesters' fair road,  
(Where, for our coming Henry made abode)  
When in mine arms I brought thee safe to land,  
And gave my love to Henry's royal hand,  
The happy hours we passed with the King,  
At fair Southampton, long in banqueting,  
With such content as lodged in Henry's breast,  
When he to London brought thee from the West;  
Through golden Cheap, when he in pomp did ride,  
To Westminster, to entertain his Bride,   

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Our Falcon's 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, and urged the accusation so vehemently, that the king was forced to exile him for five years. 
That only I by yielding up of Maine,  
Should be the loss of fertile Aquitaine.   
The Duke of Suffolk being sent into France to conclude a peace, chose Duke Rainers daughter, the Lady Margaret, whom he espoused for Henry the sixth, delivering for her to her father, the Countries of Anjou and Maine, and the City of Mauns. Whereupon the Earl of Arminach (whose daughter was before promised to the King) seeing himself to be deluded, caused all the Englishmen to be expulsed Aquitino Gascoigne and Guienne. 
With the base vulgar sort to win him same,  
To be the heir of good Duke Humfreys name.   
This Richard that was called the great Earl of Warwick, when Duke Humphrey was dead, grew into exceeding great favour with the Commons.  

With Salisbury, his vile ambitious Sire,  
In Yorks stern breast, kindling long hidden fire,  
By Clarence title, working to supplant,  
The Eagle Airy of great john of Gaunt.   
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, in the time of Henry the sixth, claimed the Crown (being assisted by this Richard Nea●ll Earl of Salisbury, and father to the great Earl of Warwick, who favoured exceedingly the house of York) in open Parliament, as heir to Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son of Edward the third, making his title by Anne his Mother, wife to Richard Earl of Cambridge, son to Edmund of Langley, Duke of York; which Anne was daughter to Roger Mortimer Earl of March, which Roger was son & heir to Edmund Mortimer that married the Lady Philip, daughter and heir to Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son of King Edward, to whom the crown after King Richard the seconds death, linealy descended, he dying without issue. And not to the heirs of the Duke of Lancaster, that was younger brother to the Duke of Clarence. Hall. cap. 1. Tit. Yor. & Lanc. 
Urged by these envious Lords to spend their breath,  
Calling revenge on the Protectors death.   
Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, & Lord Protector in the 25. year of Henry the sixth, by the means of the Queen, and the Duke of Suffolk was arrested by the Lord Beumond, at the Parliament holden at Berrie, and the same night after murdered in his bed. 
If they would know who robbed him, etc. To this verse,  
To know how Humphrey died, and who shall reign.  In these verses he jests at the Protectors wife, who (being accused & convicted of treason, because with john Hun a priest, Roger Bullingbrooke a Necromancer, & Margery jordan, called the Witch of Eye, she had consulted by sorcery to kill the king) was adjudged to perpetual prison in the I'll of Man, and to do penance openly in three public places in London. 
For twenty years and have I served in France,   
In the sixth year of Henry the sixth, the Duke of Bedford being deceased, than Lieutenant general, and Regent of France; this Duke of Suffolk, was promoted to that dignity, having the Lord Talbot, Lord Scales, and the Lord Montacute to assist him. 
Against great Charles, and bastard Orleans.   
This was Charles the seventh, and after the death of Henry the fifth obtained the crown of France, and recovered again much of that his father had lost. Bastard Orleans, was son to the Duke of Orleans, begotten of the Lord Cawnies wife, preferred highly to many notable offices, because he being a most valiant Captain, was continual enemy to the Englishmen, daily infesting them with diverse incursions. 
And have I seen Vernoyla's batfull fields.   
Vernoyle is that noted place in France, where the great battle was fought in the beginning of Henry the sixth his reign, where the most of the French Chivalry were overcome by the Duke of Bedford. 
And from Aumerle withdrew my warlike powers,   
Aumerle is that strong defenced town in France, which the Duke of Suffolk got after 24. great assaults given unto it.  

And came myself in person first to Tower's  
Th'ambassadors for 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 twenty and one year of the reign of Henry the sixth, was appointed a great diet to be kept, whither came the Ambassadors of the Empire, Spain, Hungary, & Denmark, to entreat for a perpetual peace, to be made between the two Kings of England and France. 
By truo descent to wear the Diadem,  
Of Naples, Cicilie, and jerusalem.   
Rainer Duke of Anjou, father to Queen Margaret, called himself King of Naples, Sicily, and jerusalem, having the title alone of King of those Countries. 
A fifteen tax in France I freely spent.   
The Duke of Suffolk, after the marriage concluded twixt King Henry and Margaret, daughter to duke Rayner, asked in open Parliament a whole fifteenth to fetch her into England. 
Seen thee for England but embarked at Deep.   
Deep is a town in France, bordering upon the Sea, where the Duke of Suffolk with Queen Margaret, took ship for England. 
As when arrived in Porchester fair Roade.   
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 South-hamton.    

Queen Margaret to William de-la-Poole Duke of Suffolk.  

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

write Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Or brings in Burgoyne to aid Lancaster.  
Philip Duke of Burgoyne and his son, were always great favourites of the house of Lancaster, howbeit they often dissembled both with Lancaster and York. 
Who in the North our lawful claim commends,  
To win us credit with our valiant friends.   
The chief Lords of the North parts, in the time of Henry the fixed, 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 sixth, and Edmund 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 Gloster, 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 fowl ill-favoured crookebacked Stigmatic, etc.  
Till this verse, As though begot an age, etc.   
This Richard (whom ironically she here calls Dick) that by treason after his Nephews murdered, obtained the crown, was a man low of stature, crookebacked, the left shoulder much higher than the right, and of a very crabbed and sour countenance: his mother could not be delivered of him, he was borne toothed, & with his feet forward, contrary to the course of nature. 
To overshadow our vermilion Rose.   
The red Rose was the badge of the house of Lancaster, and the white Rose of York, which by the marriage of Henry the seventh, with Elizabeth indubitate heir of the house of York, was happily united. 
Or who will muzzle that unruly bear.   
The Earl of Warwick, the setter up and puller down of Kings, gave for his Arms the white Bear rampant, and the ragged staff. 
My Daisy flower which erst perfumed the air,  
Which for my favour Princes once did wear, etc.   
The Daisy in French is called Margaret, which was Queen Margaret's badge, wherewithal the Nobility and chivalry of the Land, at the first arrival were so delighted, that they wore it in their hats in token of honour. 
And who be stars but Warwikes 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 upslart groom.   
This was jack Cade, which caused the kentishmen to rebel in the 28. year of King Henry the fixth. 
And this is he the white Rose must prefer,  
By Clarence daughter matched to Mortimer.   
This jack Cade instructed by the Duke of York, pretended to be descended from Mortimer, which married Lady Philip, daughter to the Duke of Clarence. 
And makes us weak by strengthening Ireland.   
The Duke of York being made Deputy of Ireland, first there began to practise his long pretended purpose, strengthening himself by all means possible, that he might at his return into England by open war, claim that which so long he had privily gone about to obtain. 
Great Winchester untimely is deceased.   
Henry Benford, 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.   
Edmund Duke of Somerset, in the 24. of Henry the sixth, was made Regent of France, and sent into Normandy to descend 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 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 sixth. 
And one soretold, by water thou shouldst die.   
The Witch of Eye, received answer from her spirit, that the Duke of Suffolk should take heed of water: which the Queen forwarnes him of, as remembering the Witches prophecy, which afterwards came to pass.   
Finis.   

To the Right Worshipful Sir Thomas Munson, 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.  
Mich: Drayton.   

Edward the fourth to Shore's wife  
The Argument.  
This Mistress Shore, King Edward the fourth's beauteous Paramour, was so called of her husband a Gold smith, dwelling in Lombard street. Edward the fourth, son to Richard Duke of York, after he had obtained the crown by deposing Henry the sixth, (which Henry was after murdered in the Tower by Richard Crookebacke) and after the battle sought at Barnet, where the famous Earl of Warwick was slain, and that King Edward quietly possessed the Crown, hearing (by report of many) the rare and wonderful beauty of the aforesaid Shore's wife, cometh himself disguised to London to see her; where after he had once beheld her, he was so surprised with her admirable beauty, as not long after he rob her husband of his dearest jewel; but first by this Epistle he writeth unto her.  

Unto the fairest that ever breathed this air,  
From English Edward to that fairest fair,  
Ah would to God thy title were no more,  
That no remembrance might remain of Shore,  
To countermand a Monarch's high desire,  
And bar mine eyes of what they most admire.  
O why should Fortune make the City proud,  
To give that more than is the Court allowed?  
Where they like (wretches) hoard it up to spare,  
And do engross it, as they do their ware.  
When fame first blazed thy beauty here in Court,  
Mine cares repulsed it as a light report,  
But when mine eyes saw that mine ear had heard,  
They thought report too niggardly had spared;  
And strooken dumb with wonder, did but mutter,  
Conceiving more than she had words to utter.  
Then think of what thy husband is possessed,  
When I envy that Shore should be so blest;  
When much abundance makes the needy mad,  
And having all, yet knows not what is had.  
Into fools bosoms this good fortune creeps,  
And wealth comes in the whilst the miser sleeps.  
If now thy beauty be of such esteem,  
Which all of so rare excellency deem,  
What would it be, and prized at what rate,  
Where it adorned with a kingly state?  
Which being now but in so mean a bed,  
Is like an uncut Diamond in lead,  
ere it be set in some high-prized ring,  
Or garnished with rich enamiling;  
We see the beauty of the stone is spilled,  
Wanting the gracious ornament of guilt.  
When first attracted by thy heavenly eyes,  
I came to see thee, in a strange disguise,  
Passing thy shop, thy husband calls me back,  
Demanding what rare jewel I did lack:  
I want (thought I) one that I dare not crave,  
And (one I fear) thou wilt not let me have;  
He calls for Caskets forth, and shows me store,  
But yet I knew he had one jewel more;  
And deadly cursed him that he did deny it,  
That I might not for love or money buy it.  
O might I come a Diamond to buy,  
That had but such a lustre as thine eye.  
Would not my treasure serve, my Crown should go,  
If any jewel could be prized so;  
An Agate, branched with thy blushing strains,  
A sapphire, but so az●rde 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 Englishmen?  
I smile to think how fond th'Italians are,  
To judge their artificial gardens rare,  
When London in thy cheeks can show them here,  
Roses and Lilies growing all the year:  
The Portugal, that only hopes to win,  
By bringing stones from farthest India in,  
When happy Shore can bring them forth a girl,  
Whose lips be Rubies, and her teeth be Pearl.  
How silly is the Polander and Dane,  
To bring us Crystal from the frozen main?  
When thy clear skins transparence doth surpass  
Their Crystal, as the Diamond doth glass.  
The foolish French which brings in trash and toys,  
To turn our women, men, or girls to boys,  
When with what tire thou dost thyself adorn,  
That for a fashion only shall be worn;  
Which though it were a garment but of hair,  
More rich than rob that ever Empress ware.  
Me thinks thy husband takes his mark aw●y,  
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 think Shore cannot choose but flout,  
Such as would find the great Elixir out,  
And laugh to see the Alchemists, that choke  
Themselves with fumes, & waste their wealth in smoke.  
When if thy hand but touch the grossest mould,  
It is con●erted to refined gold,  
When theirs is chafferd at an easy rate,  
Well known to all to be adulterate;  
And is no more when it by thine is set,  
Then paltry Beugle, or light-prized jet.  
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,  
Aromatickes, and precious odours are.  
If thou but please to walk into the Pawn,  
To buy thee Cambrieke, calico, or Lawn,  
If thou the whiteness of the same wouldst prove,  
From thy more whiter hand pluck off thy glove;  
And those which buy, as the beholders stand,  
Will take thy hand for Lawn, Lawn for thy hand;  
A thousand eyes, closed up by envious night,  
Do wish for day, but to enjoy thy sight;  
And when they once have blest their eyes with thee,  
Scorn every object else, what ere they see,  
So like a goddess beauty still controls,  
And hath such powerful working in our souls.  
The Merchant which in traffic spends his life,  
Yet loves at home to have a dainty wife,  
The blunt spoke Cynic poring on his book,  
Sometimes (aside) at beauty loves to look.  
The churchman, by whose teaching we are led,  
Allows what keeps love in the marriage bed;  
The bloody Soldier spent in arms and broils,  
With beauty yet content to share his spoils;  
The busy Lawyer wrangling in his pleas;  
Findeth that Beauty gives his labour ease;  
The toiling tradesman, and the sweeting clown,  
Would have his wench fair, though his bread be brown;  
So much is Beauty pleasing unto all,  
To Prince and p●●sant like in general;  
Nor never yet did any man despise it,  
Except too dear, and ●hat 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 axioms go;  
He must be still familiar with the skies,  
Which notes the revolutions of thine eyes:  
And by that skill which measures sea and land,  
See beauties all, thy waste, thy foot, thy hand,  
where he may find, the more that he doth view,  
Such rare delights as are both strange and new;  
And other worlds of beauty more and more,  
Which never were discovered before;  
And to thy rare proportion to apply,  
The lines and circles in Geometry,  
Using alone Arithmetickes 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.  
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 majesties  
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 v● much desire them,  
And beauties seldom seen makes us admire them.  
Nor is it fit a city shop should 〈…〉 de,  
The world's delight and natures only pride,  
But in a Prince's sumptuous gallery.  
Hung all with tissue, floorde with tapestrie●  
Where thou shalt sit, and from thy state shalt see,  
The tiltes and triumphs that are done for thee.  
Then know the difference (if thou list to prove)  
Betwixt a vulgar, and a kingly love;  
And when thou findest, as now thou doubtst the troth,  
Be thou thyself unpartial judge of both.  
Where hearts be knit, what helps if not enjoy?  
Delays breeds doubts, no cunning to be coy.  
Whilst lazy Time his turn by tarriance serves,  
Love still grows sickly, and hope daily starves,  
Mean while receive that warrant by these lines,  
which princely rule and sovereignty resigns:  
Till when, these papers by their Lord's commaund●  
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 & amiable aspect to attain his wanton appetite the rather, which was so well known to Lewes the French king, who at their interview invited him to Paris, that as Comineus reports, being taken at his word, he notwithstanding broke off the matter, fearing the Parisian Dames with their witty conversation, would detain him longer than should be for his benefit, by which means Edwad 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 to seem more delectable. Though the smallness of his eyes full of a shining moisture, as it took away some comeliness; so it argued much sharpness of understanding, and cruelty mingled together. And indeed George Buccanan (that imperious Scot) chargeth him and other Princes of those times, with affectation of tyranny, as Richard the third manifestly did. 
When first attracted by thy heavenly eyes,   
Edward's intemperate desires, with which he was wholly overcome, how tragically they in his offspring were punished, is universally known. A mirror representing their oversight; that rather leave their children what to possess, than what to imitate. 
How silly is the Polander and Dane;  
To bring us Crystal from the frozen main.   
Alluding to their opinions, who imagine Crystal to be a kind of Ice, and therefore it is likely, they who come from the frozen parts, should bring great store of that transparent stone, which is thought to be congealed with extreme cold. Whether Crystal be Ice, or some other liquor, I omit to dispute, yet by the examples of Amber and Coral, there may be such an induration; for Solinus out of Pliny mentioneth, that in the Northerly Region, a yellow jelly is taken up out of the sea at two tides, which he calls Succinum, we Amber; so likewise, out of the Ligusticke deep, a part of the Meridian Sea, a greenish stalk is gathered, which hardened in the air, becomes to be Coral, either white, or red. Amber notwithstanding is thought to drop out of trees, as appears by Marshal's Epigram.  

Et latet, & lucet Phaethonide condita gutta,  
Vt vidcatur apis nectare clausa suo,  
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit ille laborum,  
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mors.   
To behold a Bee enclosed in Electrum, is not so rare as that a boy's throat should be cut with the fall of an Icesicle, the which Epigram is excellent, the 18. li. 4 He calls it Phaethontis G●tta, because of that fable which Ovid rehearseth, concerning the Heliades or Phaeton's sisters, metamorphosed 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 write.  
Would I had led an humble shepherds life,  
Nor known the name of Shore's admired wife,  
And lived with them in Country fields that range,  
Nor seen the golden Cheap, nor glittering Change,  
To stand a Comet gazed at in the skies,  
Subject to all tongues, object to all eyes,  
Oft have I heard my beauty praised of many,  
But never yet so much admired of any;  
A Prince's Eagle eye to find out that,  
which vulgar sights do seldom wonder at,  
Makes me to think affection flatters sight,  
Or in the object some thing exquisite.  
To housed beauty, seldom stoop's report,  
Fame must attend on that which lives in Court.  
What Swan of great Apollo's brood doth sing  
To vulgar love in courtly Sonneting?  
Or what immortal Poets sugared pen,  
Attends the glory of a Citizen?  
Oft have I wondered what should blind your eye,  
Or what so far seduced Majesty,  
That having choice of beauties so divine,  
Amongst the most to choose this least of mine?  
More glorious suns adorn fair London's pride,  
Then all rich England's continent beside;  
Who takes in hand to make account of this,  
May number Rumneys flowers, or Isis' fish;  
Who doth frequent our Temples, walks, and streets  
Noting the sundry beauties that he meets,  
Thinks not that Nature left the wide world poor  
And made this place the Chequer of her store:  
As heaven and earth were lately fallen at jars,  
And grown to vying wonders, dropping stars.  
That if but some one beauty should incite,  
Some sacred Muse, some ravished spirit to write,  
here might he fetch that true Promethian fire,  
As after ages should his lines admire;  
Gathering the honey from the choicest flowers,  
Scorning the withered weeds in Country bowers.  
here in this garden (only) springs the Rose,  
In every common hedge the Bramble grows,  
Nor are we so turned Neapolitan,  
That might incite some fowle-mouth Mantuan,  
To all the world to lay out our defects,  
And have just cause to rail upon our sex;  
To prank old wrinkles up in new attire,  
To alter Nature's course, prove Time a liar,  
Abusing fate, and heavens just doom reverse,  
On beauty's grave to set a crimson hearse,  
With a deceitful foil to lay a ground,  
To make a glass to seem a Diamond.  
Nor cannot without hazard of our name,  
In fashion follow the Venetian Dame,  
Nor the fantastic French to imitate,  
Attired half Spanish, half Italianate;  
Nor wast, nor curl, body nor brow adorn,  
That is in Florence, or in Genoa borne.  
But with vain boasts how witless fond am I,  
Thus to draw on mine own indignity?  
And what though married when I was but young,  
Before I knew what did to love belong,  
Yet he which now's possessed of the room,  
Cropped beauties flower when it was in the bloom,  
And goes away enriched with the store,  
Whilst others glean, where he hath reaped before;  
And he dares swear that I am true and just,  
And shall I then deceive his honest trust?  
Or what strange hope should make you to assail,  
Where strongest battery never could prevailt?  
Belike you think that I repulsed the rest,  
To leave a King the conquest of my breast,  
Or have thus long preserved myself from all,  
A Monarch now should glory in my fall.  
Yet rather let me die the vildest death,  
Then live to draw that sinne-polluted breath;  
But our kind heart's men's tears cannot abide,  
And we least angry oft, when most we chide;  
Too well know men what our creation made us,  
And nature too well taught them to invade us.  
They know but too well, how, what, when, and where,  
To write, to speak, to sue, and to forbear,  
By signs, by sighs, by motions, and by tears,  
When vows should serve, when oaths, when smiles, when prayers,  
What one delight our humours most doth move,  
Only in that you make us nourish love.  
If any natural blemish blot our face,  
You do protest it gives our beauty grace,  
And what attire we most are used to wear,  
That of all other excellentst 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 O●id did those rules impart,  
O that your nature should be helped with Arte.  
Who would have thought, a King that cares to reign,  
Inforcde by love, so Poet-like should feign?  
To say that Beauty, Times stern rage to shun,  
In my cheeks (Lilies) hid her from the Sun;  
And when she meant to triumph in her May,  
Made that her East, and here she broke her day,  
And swearest that summer still is in my sight,  
And but where I am, all the world is night;  
As though the fairest, ere since the world began,  
To me a Sunne-burnt base Egyptian;  
But yet I know more than I mean to tell,  
(O would to God you knew it not too well)  
That women oft their most admirers raise,  
Though publicly not flattering their own praise.  
Our churlish husbands which our youth enjoyed,  
Who with our dainties have their stomachs cloyed,  
Do loath our smooth hand with their lips to feel,  
T'enrich our favours, by our beds to kneel;  
At our command to wait, to send, to go,  
As every hour our amorous servants do;  
Which makes a stolen kisle often we bestow,  
In earnest of a greater good we owe;  
When he all day torments us with a frown,  
Yet sports with Venus in a bed of dowlne;  
Whose rude embracement, but too ill beseems  
Her span broad waste, her white and dainty limbs,  
And yet still preaching abstinence of meat,  
When he himself of every dish will eat.  
Blame you our husbands then, if they deny  
Our public walking, our loose liberty;  
If with exception still they us debar,  
The circuit of the public Theatre;  
To hear the smooth-tongude Poets Siren vain,  
Sporting in his lascivious Comic scene;  
Or the young wanton wits, when they applawd  
The sly persuasions of some subtle Bawd,  
Or passionate Tragedian in his rage,  
Acting a lovesick passion on the stage:  
When though abroad restraining us to room,  
They very hardly keep us safe at home,  
And oft are touched with fear and inward grief,  
Knowing rich prizes soon tempt a theeefe.  
What sports have we whereon our minds to set?  
Our dog, our Parrot, or our Marmuzet;  
Or once a week to walk into the field,  
Small is the pleasure that those toys do yield,  
But to this grief, a medicine you apply,  
To cure restraint with that sweet liberty;  
And sovereignty, (O that bewitching thing)  
Yet made more great, by promise of a King;  
And more, that honour which doth most entice  
The holiest Nun, and she that's ne'er 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 here,  
Short minutes if thou absent be a year.  
And thus by strength thou art become my fate,  
And mak'st me love even in the midst of hate.   

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

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

Mary the French Queen, to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.  
The Argument.  
Mary, the daughter of that renowned Prince King Henry the seventh being very young at her father's death, after by her brother King Henry the eight, was given in marriage to Lewes' King of France, being a man old and decrepit: This fair and beautiful Lady, long afore had planisher 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 up by him. King Lewes, the husband of this beautiful Queen, lived not long after he was married; and Charles Brandon having commission from the King to bring her back into England, but being delayed by some sinister means, the French Queen writeth this Epistle, to hasten the Duke forward on his intended voyage to France.  

Such health from heaven myself may wish to me.  
Such health from France, Queen Mary sends to thee.  
Brandon, how long mak'st thou excuse to stay,  
And knowst how ill we women brook delay?  
If one poor channel thus can part us two,  
Tell me (unkind) what would an Ocean do?  
Leander had an Hellespont to swim,  
Yet this from Hero could not hinder him?  
His bark (poor soul) his breast, his arms, his oars,  
But thou a ship, to land thee on our shores;  
And opposite to famous Kent doth lie,  
The pleasant fields of flowery Picardy,  
Where our fair Calais, walled in her sands,  
In kenning of the 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 swim'st by night;  
Compared with me, wert thou but half so kind,  
Thy sighs should stuff thy sails, though wanting wind;  
But thy breast is becalmd, 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 wafted hither with the tide.  
If when thou comest, I knit mine angry brow,  
Blame me not Brandon, thou hast broke thy vow;  
Yet if I meant to frown, I might be dumb,  
For this may make thee stand in doubt to come:  
Nay come sweet Charles, have care thy ship to guide,  
Come my sweet heart, in faith I will not chide.  
Whenas' my brother and his lovely Queen  
In sad attire for my depart were seen,  
The utmost date expired of my stay,  
when I from Dover did depart away,  
Thou knowst what woe I suffered for thy sake,  
How oft I feigned of thee my leave to take;  
God and thou knowst with what a heavy heart  
I took my farewell when I should depart;  
And being shipped, gave signal with my hand,  
Up to the Cliff, where I did see thee stand,  
Nor could reframe in all the people's view,  
But cried to thee, sweet Charles adieu, adieu.  
Look how a little infant that hath lost,  
The things wherewith it was delighted most,  
weary with seeking, to some corner creeps,  
And there (poor soul) it sits it down and weeps;  
And when the Nurse would fain content the mind,  
Yet still it mourns for that it cannot find:  
Thus in my careful Cabin did I lie,  
whenas the ship out of the road did fly.  
Think'st thou my love was faithful unto thee,  
when young Castille to England sued for me?  
Be judge thyself, if it were not of power,  
when I refused an Empire for my dower.  
To England's Court, when once report did bring,  
How thou in France didst revel with the king,  
when he in triumph of his victory,  
Under a rich embroidered Canopy,  
E 〈…〉 d proud Tournay, which did trembling stand,  
To●eg 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,  
Savoyes' proud dutchesle, knowing how long she,  
By her ●oue sought to win my love from me;  
Fearing my absence might thy vows acquit,  
To change thy Mary for a Margarite,  
When in king Henry's tent of cloth of gold,  
She often did thee in her arms enfold;  
where you were feasted more deliciously,  
Than Cleopatra did Mark Anthony,  
Where sports all day did entertain your sight,  
And then in masks you passde away the night;  
But thou wilt say, 'tis proper unto us,  
That we by nature all are jealous.  
I must confess 'tis oft found in our sex,  
But who not love, not any thing suspects:  
True love doth look with pale suspicious eye,  
Take away love, if you take jealousy.  
Turwin and Turney when King Henry took,  
For this great change who then did ever look?  
When Maximilian to those wars addressed,  
Ware England's Crosle on his imperial breast,  
And in our army let his Eagle fly,  
That viewed our ensigns with a wondering eye.  
Little thought I when Bullen first was won,  
Wedlock should end, what angry war begun  
From which I vow, I yet am free in thought,  
But this alone by Wolseis wit was wrought.  
To his advise the King gave free consent,  
That will I, nill I, I must be content.  
My virgins right, my state could not advance,  
But now enriched with the dower of France;  
Then, but poor Suffolk's Duchess had I been,  
Now, the great Dowager, the most Christian Qucent.  
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 headless fire,  
When all the strength is only in desire.  
And I could tell (if modesly might tell)  
There's somewhat else that pleaseth lovers well,  
To rest his cheek, upon my softer cheek,  
Was all he had, and more he did not seek.  
So might the little baby clip the nurse,  
And it content, she never a whit the worse;  
Then think this Brandon, if that makes thee frown,  
For may denhead, 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 Saint 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;  
Whenas the staves upon thy cask did light,  
Grieved there with, I turned away my sight;  
And spoke aloud, when I myself forgot,  
'tis my swee●e Charles my Brandon, hurt him not:  
But when I feared the King perceived this,  
Good silly man, I pleased him with a kiss;  
And to extol his valiant son began.  
That Europe never bred a braver man;  
And when (poor King) he simply praised thee,  
Of all the rest I asked which thou shouldst be?  
Thus I with him dissembled for thy sake,  
Open confession now amends must make.  
Whilst this old King upon a pallet lies,  
And only holds a combat with mine eyes;  
Mine eyes from his, by thy sight stolen away,  
Which might too well their Mistress thoughts bewray.  
But when I saw thy proud unconquered Lance,  
To bear the prize from all the flower of France,  
To see what pleasure did my soul embrace,  
Might easily be discerned in my face.  
Look as the dew upon a damask Rose,  
How through that liquid pearl his blushing shows,  
And when the sost air breathes upon his top,  
From the sweet leaves falls easily drop by drop;  
Thus by my cheek, distilling 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 ●rie,  
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 great light.  
Alansoon, a fine timbered man, and tall,  
Yet wants the shape thou art adorned withal;  
Vandon, good carriage, and a pleasing eye,  
Yet hath not Suffolk's princely majesty;  
Courageous Bourbon a sweet manly face,  
But yet he wants my Brandon's courtly grace.  
Proud 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 Bounearme, matchless for their might,  
Under thy towering blade have cowcht in fight.  
If with our love, my brother angry be,  
I'll say to please him, I first fancied thee.  
And but to frame my liking to his mind,  
Never to thee had I been half so kind.  
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 forsworn, o wilful periuricls  
Sooner would I with greater sins dispense,  
Then by entreaty pardon this offence.  
But yet I think, if I should come to shrive thee,  
Great were the fault that I should not forgive thee;  
Yet wert thou here, I should revenged be,  
But it should be with too much loving thee.  
ay, that is all that thou shalt fear to taste,  
I pray thee Brandon come, sweet Charles make haste.   

Notes of the Chronicle-Historie.  
The utmost date expired of my stay,  
When I for Dover did depart away.  
KIng Henry the 8. with the Queen and Nobles, in the 6. year of his reign, in the month of September, brought this Lady to Dover, where she took shipping for France. 
Think'st thou my love was faithful unto thee,  
When young Castille to England sued for me.   
It was agreed and concluded betwixt Henry the seventh, 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 eight year of Henry the eight annihilated.  

When he in triumph of his victory,  
Under a rich embroidered Canopy,  
Entered proud Turney 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 Canopy of cloth of gold, borne by four of the chief and most noble Citizens; the king himself mounted upou a gallant courser barbed with the Arms of England, France and Ireland.  

When Charles of Castille there to banquet came,  
With him his sister; that ambitious Dame.  
Savoys proud Duchess,   
The King being at Turnay, there came to him the Prince of Castille, and the Lady Margaret Duchess of Sanoy his sister, to whom King Henry gaus great entertainment. 
Savoys proud Duchess, knowing how long she  
By her love sought to win my love from me.   
At this time there was speech of a marriage to be concluded, between Charles Brandron then Lord L●ste, and the Duchess of Savoy, the Lord L●s●e 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 Maxmilian to those wars addressed  
Were England's Cross on his imperial breast.   
Maxmilian the Emperor with all his soldiers, which served under king Henry, wore the Cross of S. George with the Rose on their breasts. 
And in our 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 & all his soldiers in wages, which served under him during those wars, 
But this alone by Wolsey's wit was wrought,   
Thomas Wolsey, the king's Almoner, than Bishop of Lincoln, a man of great authority with the king, and afterward Cardinal, was the chief cause that the Lady Mary was married to the old French King, with whom the French had dealt underhand 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 five inches square on every side, and at the But nine 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 ten Spears about him: in each stirrup three, under each thigh one, one under his left arm, and one in his hand, and putting his horse to the career, never stopped him till he had broken every staff. 
Hall.     

Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, to Mary the French Queen.  

But that thy faith commands me to forbear,  
The fault thine own, if I unpatient were;  
Were my dispatch such as should be my speed,  
I should want time thy loving lines to reed,  
here in the Court, Chameleon-like I fare,  
And as that creature feed, upon the air,  
All day I wait, and all the night I watch,  
And starve mine ears to hear of thy dispatch;  
If Dover were th'Abydos of my rest,  
Or pleasant Cal 〈…〉 ce were my Maries Cest,  
Thou shouldst not need, fair Queen, to blame me so,  
Did not the distance to desire say no:  
Noted ous night from travel should be free,  
T●ll through the wanes, with swimming unto thee,  
A snowy path I made unto thy Bay,  
So bright as is that Nectar-stained way  
The restless sun by traveling doth wear,  
Passing his course to finish up the year.  
But Paris locks my love within the main,  
And London yet my Brandon doth detain,  
Of thy firm love thou putst me still in mind,  
But of my faith, not one word can I find.  
When Longavile to Mary was affide,  
And thou by him waste made King Lewes' bride,  
How oft I wished that thou a prize mightst be,  
That I in arms might combat him for thee,  
And in the madness of my love distraught,  
A thousand times his murder have sore thought,  
But that th'all-seeing powers which sit a 〈…〉,  
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 then is half so much distressed,  
As he that loves to see his love possessed.  
Coming to Richmond after thy depart  
(Richmond where first thou stolst away my heart)  
Me thought it look not as it did of late,  
But wanting thee ●or loune and desolate,  
In whose fair walks thou often hast been seen,  
To sport with Katherine, Henry's beauteous Queen,  
Astonishing sad winter with thy sight,  
As for thy sake, the day hath put back night;  
That the small birds, as in the pleasant 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, it presently would flow,  
Weeping in drops upon thy labouring oars,  
For joy that it had got thee from the shores.  
The Swans with music that the Roothers make,  
Ruffing their plumes, come gliding on the lake,  
As the fleet Dolphins by Arion● strings,  
Were brought to land with their sweet 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.  
Whenas 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 the Navy now in launching out,  
Her airy mantle loosely doth unbind,  
Which fanning forth a rougher gale of wind,  
Wafted thy sails with speed unto the land,  
And runs thy ship on Bullins harbouring strand.  
How should I joy of thy arrive to hear?  
But as a poor seafaring passenger,  
After long travail, tempest-torne and wracked,  
By some unpitting Pirate that is sacked;  
heareth the false robber that hath stolen his wealth,  
Landed in some safe harbour, and in health,  
Enriched with invaluable store,  
For which he long hath travailed before.  
When thou to Abuile heldst th' appointed day,  
We heard how Lewes met thee on the way;  
Where thou in glittering Tissue strangely dight,  
Appearedst unto him like the Queen of light,  
In cloth of silver all thy virgin train,  
In beauty sumptuous as the Northern wain;  
And thou alone the foremost glorious star,  
Which leadest the team of that great Wagoner.  
What could thy thought be, but as I do think,  
When thine eyes tasted what mine ears did drink?  
A cripple King laid bedrid long before,  
Yet at thy coming crept out of the door,  
'Twas well he rid, he had no legs to go,  
But this thy beauty forced his body to;  
For whom a cullis had more fitter been,  
Then in a golden bed a gallant Queen.  
To use thy beauty as the miser gold,  
Which hoards it up but only to behold,  
Still looking on it with a jealous eye,  
Fearing to lend, yet loving usury;  
O Sacrilege (if beauty be divine)  
The profane hand should touch the hallowed shrine.  
To 〈◊〉 sickness on the sound man's diet;  
To rob content yet still to live unquiet;  
And having all, to be of all beguiled,  
And yet still longing like a little child.  
When Marquis Dorset and the valiant Gray,  
To purchase fame first crossed the narrow Seas,  
With all the Knights that my associates went,  
In honour of thy nuptial tournament;  
Thinkst thou I joyed not in thy beauty's pride,  
When thou in triumph didst through Paris ride?  
Where all the streets as thou didst place along,  
With Arras, Bisse, and Tapestry were hung;  
Ten thousand gallant Citizens prepared,  
In rich attire thy princely self to guard;  
Next them, three thousand choice 〈…〉 igious men,  
In golden vestments followed on again;  
And in procession as they came along,  
With Hymeneus sang thy marriage song.  
Then five great Dukes as did their places fall,  
To each of these, a princely Cardinal,  
Then thou on thy imperial Chariot set,  
Crowned with a rich imperled Coronet,  
Whilst the Persian 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 thy 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- 〈…〉 d Almain of the Giant's race,  
Which bare strength on his breast, fear in his face,  
Whose sinewde arms, with his steele-temperd blade,  
Through plate and male such open passage made,  
Upon whose might the Frenchmens glory lay,  
And all the hope of that victorious day;  
Thou sawe'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 thee which thou already knowst.  
No sacred Queen, my valour I deny,  
It was thy beauty, not my chivalry;  
One of thy tressed curls which falling down,  
As loath to be imprisoned in thy crown,  
I saw the soft air sportively to take it,  
To divers shapes and sundry forms to make it,  
Now parting it to four, to three, to twain,  
Now twisting it, and then untwist again;  
Then make the thirds 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-turnde eye pursues it with my sight,  
The which again redoubleth all my might.  
'tis but in vain of my descent to boast,  
When heavens lamp shines, all other lights be lost,  
Falcons gaze not, the Eagle sitting by,  
Whose brood surveys the sun with open eye;  
Else might my blood find issue from his force,  
In Bosworth plain beat Richard from his horse,  
Whose puissant arms, great Richmond chose to wield,  
His glorious colours in that conquering field;  
And with his sword in his dear Sovereign's fight,  
To his last breath, stood fast in Henry's right;  
Then beauteous Empress, think this safe delay,  
Shall be the even to a joyful day;  
Foresight doth still on all advantage lie,  
Wisemen must give place to necessity;  
To put back ill, our good we must forbear,  
Better first fear, then after still to fear.  
'Twere oversight in that at which we aim,  
To put the hazard on an aftergame;  
With patience then let us our hopes attend,  
And till I come, receive these lines I send.   

send Notes of the Chronicle-Historie.  
When Longavile to Mary was affied.  
THe Duke of Longavile, which was prisonet 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 rigged ships were tossed,  
And thou, etc.   
As the Queen sailed for France, a mighty storm arose at sea, so that the Navy was in great danger, and was severed, some driven upon the coast of Flanders, 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 & her train, attended by the chief of the Nobility of England, with 36. Ladies, all in cloth of silver, their horses trapped with crimson velvet. 
A cripple King laid bedrid long before.   
King Lewes was a man of great years troubled much with the gout, so that he had long time before little use of legs. 
When Marquis Dorset, and the valiant Gray,   
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 marquess Dorset and his four brothers, the Lord Clinton, Sir Edward Nevell, Sir Giles Chapel, Tho: Cheyney, which went all over with the Duke as his assistants. 
When thou in triumph didst through Paris ride.   
A true description of the Queen's entering into Paris, after her coronation performed at S. Dennis. 
Then five great Dukes as did their places fall.   
The Dukes of Alansoon, Bourbon, Vandome, Longavile, Suffolk, with five Cardinals. 
That large-limd Almain of the Giant's race.   
Francis Valois, the Dolphin of France, envying the glory that the Englishmen had obtained at the Tilt, brought in an Almain secretly, a man thought almost of incomparable strength, which encountered Charles Brandon at Barriers, but the Duke grappling with him, so beat him about the head with the pumell of his sword, that the blood came out of the sight of his Cask. 
Else might my blood find issue from his force.  
In Bosworth, etc.   
Sir William Brandon Standard-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 Duke of Suffolk.   
FINIS.   

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

Henry Howard Earl of Surrey to Geraldine  
The Argument.  
Henry Howard, that true noble Earl of Surrey, and excellent Poet, falling in love with Geraldine, descended of the noble family of the Fitzgeralds of Ireland, a fair and modest Lady, and one of the honourable maids to Queen Katherine Dowager: eternizeth her praises in many excellent Poems, of rare and sundry inventions: and after some few years being determined to see that famous Italy, the source and Helicon of all excellent Arts; first visiteth that renowned Florence, from whence the gerald's challenge their descent, from the ancient family of the Geraldi; there in honour of his Mistress be advanceth her picture, and challengeth to maintain her beauty by deeds of Arms, against all that durst appear in the lists; where after the proof of his brave and incomparable valour, whose arm crowned her beauty with eternal memory, he writeth this Epistle to his dearest Mistress.  

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

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
From learned Florence, long time rich in fame.  
FLorence a City of Tuscan, standing upon the River Arnus, (celebrated by Dante Petrarch, and other the most noble wits of Italy) was the original of the family, out of which this General line did spring, as Ireland the place of her birth, which is intimated by these verses of the Earl of Surrey.  

From Tuscan came my Ladies worthy race,  
Fair Florence was sometime her ancient seat,  
The Western I'll, whose pleasant shore doth face  
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat.   
Great learned Agrippa, so profound in Art.  
Cornelius Agrippa, a man in his time so famous for Magic (which the books published by him, concerning that argument, do partly prove) as in this place needs no further remembrance. Howbeit, as those abstruse and gloomy Arts are but illusions: so in the honour of so rare a Gentleman as this Earl, (and therewithal so noble a Poet) (a quality, by which his other titles receive their greatest lustre) invention may make somewhat more bold with Agrippa above the barren truth. 
That Lion set in our bright silver bend.   
The blazon of the Howards honourable armour, was Gules between six crosselets Fitches abend Argent, to which afterwards was added by achievement, In the Canton point of the bend an escutcheon, or within the Scottish tressure, a Demi-lion rampant Gules, etc. as Master Camden now Clerenceaulx from authority noteth. Never shall time nor bitter envy be able to obscure the brightness of so great a victory as that, for which this addition was obtained. The Historian of Scotland George Bucchanan reporteth, that the Earl of Surrey gave for his badge a Silver Lion, (which from antiquity belonged to that name) tearing in pieces A Lion prostrate Gules; and withal, that this which he terms insolency, was punished in him and his posterity, as if it were fatal to the Conqueror, to do his Sovereign such loyal service as a thousand such severe censurers were never able to perform. 
Since Scottish blood discoloured Floden field.   
The batttle was fought at Bramstone near Floden hill, being a part of the Cheviot, a mountain that exceedeth all the mountains in the North of England for bigness, in which the wilful perjury of james the fifth was punished from heaven by the Earl of Surrey, being left by King Henry the eight (then in France before Turwin) for the defence of his Realm. 
Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongues report  
To be the glory, etc.   
Of the beauty of that Lady, he himself testifies in an Elegy which he writ of her, refusing to dance with him, which he seemeth to alegorize under a Lion and a Wolf. And of himself he saith: 
A Lion saw I late, as white as any snow,   
And of her.  

I might perceive a Wolf as white as Whale's bone,  
A fairer beast, of fresher hue, beheld I never none,  
But that her looks were coy, and froward was her grace.   
And famous Wyatt who in numbers sings.  
Sir Thomas Wyatt the elder, a most excellent Poet, as his Poems extant do witness, besides certain Enconiums written by the Earl of Surrey upon some of David's Psalms, by him translated. 
What holy grave, what worthy Sepulchre,  
To Wyat's Psalms shall Christians purchase then.   
And afterward upon his death the said Earl writeth thus:  

What virtues rare were tempered in thy breast?  
Honour that England such a jewel bred,  
And kiss the ground whereas thy corpses did rest.   
At Honsdon, where those sweet cel-stiall eyen,  
It is manifest by a Sonnet written by this noble Earl, that the first time he beheld his Lady, was at Hunsdon. 
Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen.   
Which Sonnet being altogether a description of his love, I do allege in divers places of this gloss, as proofs of what I write. 
Of Hampton Court and Windsor, where abound  
All pleasures, etc.   
That he enjoyed the presence of his fair and virtuous Mistress, in those two places, by reason of Queen Katherine's usual abode there, (on whom this Lady Geraldine was attending) I prove by these verses of his: 
Hampton me tanght to wish her first for mine,  
Windsor alas doth chase me from her sight.   
And in another Sonnet following: 
When Windsor walls sustained my wearied arm,  
My hand my chin, to ease my restless head.   
And that his delight might draw him to compare Windsor to Paradise, an Elegy may prove, where he remembreth his passed pleasures in that place. 
With a King's son my childish years I passed,  
In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy.   
And again in the same Elegy;  

Those large green Courts, where we were wont to rove  
With eyes cast up unto the maiden's Tower,  
With easy sighs, such as men draw in love.   
And again in the same: 
The stately seats, the Ladies bright of hue,  
The dances short, long tales of sweet delight.   
And for the pleasantness of the place, these verses of his may testify in the same Elegy before recited. 
The secret groves which we have made resound,  
With silver drops the meads yet spread for ruth.   
As goodly flowers from Thamisis do grow, etc.  
I had thought in this place not to have spoken of Thames, being so oft remembered by me before, in sundry other places on this occasion: but thinking of that excellent Epigram, which, as I judge, either to be done by the said Earl, or Sir Francis Brian: for the worthiness thereof I will here insert, which, as it seems to me, was compiled at the Authors being in Spain.  

Tagus farewell, which Westward with thy streams,  
Turnest up the grains of gold already tried,  
For I withspur and sail go seek the Thames,  
Against the Sun that shows her wealthy pride;  
And to the town that Brutus sought by dreams,  
Like bended Moon that leans her lusty side,  
To seek my Country now, for whom I live,  
O mighty jove, for this the winds me give.    
FINIS.   

Geraldine to Henry Howard Earl of Surrey.  

Such greeting as the noble Surrey sends,  
The same to thee thy Geraldine commends;  
A maiden's thoughts do check my trembling hand,  
On other terms, or compliments to stand,  
Which (might my speech be as my heart affords)  
Should come attired in far richer words;  
But all is one, my faith as firm shall prove,  
As hers that makes the greatest show of love.  
In Cupid's School I never read those books.  
whose lectures oftwe practise in our looks,  
Nor ever did suspicions rival eye,  
Yet lie in wait my favours to espy,  
My virgin thoughts are innocent and meek,  
As the chaste blushes sitting on my cheek:  
As in a fever I do shiver yet,  
Since first my pen was to the paper set.  
If I do err, you know my sex is weak,  
Fear proves a fault, where maids are forced to speak;  
Do I not ill? ah soothe me not herein,  
O, if I do, reprove me of my sin,  
Chide me infaith, or if my fault you hide,  
My tongue will teach myself, myself to chide.  
Nay noble Surrey, blot it if thou wilt,  
Then too much boldness should return my guilt;  
For that should be even from ourselves concealed,  
Which is disclosed, if to our thoughts revealed,  
For the least motion, more the smallest breath,  
That may impeach our modesty, is death;  
The page that brought thy letters to my hand,  
(Methinks) should marvel at my strange demand,  
For till he blushed I did not yet espy,  
The nakedness of my immodesty,  
Which in my face he greater might have seen,  
But that my sanne I quickly put between;  
Yet scarcely that my inward guilt could hide,  
Fear seeing all, fears it of all espied.  
Like to a taper lately burning bright,  
Now wanting matter to maintain his light.  
The blaze ascending forced by the smoke,  
Living by that which seeks the same to choke;  
The flame still hanging in the air, doth burn,  
Until drawn down, it back again return.  
Then clear, then dim, then spreadeth, & then closeth,  
Now getteth strength, and now his brightness loseth.  
As well the best discerning eye may doubt,  
Whether it yet be in, or whether out:  
Thus in my cheek my divers passions show'd,  
Now ashy pale, and now again it glowed;  
If in your verse there be a power to move,  
It's you alone, who are the cause I love,  
It's you bewitch my bosom by mine ear,  
Unto that end I did not place you there.  
Airs to assuage the bloody soldiers mind,  
Poor women, we are naturally kind.  
Perhaps you'll think that I these terms enforce,  
For that in Court this kindness is of course,  
Or that it is that honny-steeped gall,  
We oft are said to bait our loves withal,  
That in one eye we carry strong desire,  
The other drops which quickly quench the fire;  
Ah, what so false can Envy speak of us,  
But shall find some too vainly credulous?  
I do not so, and to add proof thereto,  
I love in faith, in faith sweet Lord I do;  
Nor let the envy of envenomed tongues,  
Which still is grounded on poor Lady's wrongs,  
Thy noble breast diasterly possess,  
By any doubt to make my love the less:  
My house from Florence I do not pretend,  
Nor from Giraldi claim I to descend,  
Nor hold those honours insufficient are,  
That I receive from Desmond or Kyldare;  
Nor add I greater worth unto my blood,  
Than Irish milk to give me infant food,  
Nor better air will ever boast to breath,  
Then that of Lemster, Monster, or of Meathe,  
Nor crave I other foreign far allies,  
Then Windsor or Fitz-geralds families.  
It is enough to leave unto my heirs,  
If they will but acknowledge me for theirs.  
To what place ever did the Court remove,  
But that the house gives matter to my love,  
At Windsor still I see thee sit and walk,  
There mount thy Courser, there devise, there talk:  
The robes, the garter, and the state of Kings,  
Into my thoughts thy hoped greatness brings;  
Non such, the name imports (me thinks) so much,  
None such as thou, nor as my Lord, none such,  
In Hamptons' great magnificence I find,  
The lively image of thy princely mind,  
Fair Richmond's Towers like goodly pillars stand,  
Reared by the power of thy victorious hand;  
Whitehalls triumphing galleries are yet  
Adorned with rich devices of thy wit,  
In Greenwich yet as in a glass I view,  
Where last thou badst thy Geraldine adieu,  
With every little gentle breath that blows,  
How are my thoughts confused with joys & woes,  
As through a gate, so through my longing ears,  
Pass to my heart whole multitudes of fears;  
O in a map that I might see thee show,  
The place where now in danger thou dost go!  
Whilst we discourse to travail with our eye,  
Romania, ruscaine, and fair Lombary,  
Or with thy pen exactly to set down,  
The model of that Tempell, or that Town,  
And to relate at large where thou hast been,  
And there, and there, and what thou there hast seen.  
Or to describe by figure of thy hand,  
There Naples lies, and there doth Florence stand;  
Or as the Grecians finger dipped in wine,  
Drawing a River in a little line,  
And with a drop, a gulf to figure out,  
To model Venice moated round about;  
Then adding more, to counterfeit a Sea,  
And draw the front of stately Genoa.  
These from thy lips were like harmonious tones,  
Which now do found like Mandrakes dreadful groans.  
Some travel hence t'enrich their minds with skill,  
Leave here their good, and bring home others ill:  
Which seem to like all Countries but their own,  
Affecting most where they the least are known.  
Their leg, their thigh, their back, their neck, their head,  
As they had been in several Countries bred;  
In their attire, their jesture, and their gate,  
Fond in each one, in all Italianate.  
So well in all deformity in fashion,  
Borrowing a limb on every several Nation,  
And nothing more than England hold in scorn,  
So live as strangers where as they were borne.  
But thy return in this I do not reed,  
Thou art a perfect Gentleman indeed;  
O God forbid that Howards noble line,  
From ancient virtue should so far decline,  
The Muse's train (whereof yourself are chief)  
Only with me participate their grief:  
To soothe their humours, I do lend them ears,  
He gives a Poet, that his verses hears,  
Till thy return, by hope they only live;  
Yet had they all, they all away would give:  
The world and they, so ill according be,  
That wealth and Poets never can agree.  
Few live in Court that of their good have care,  
The Muse's friends are every where so rare;  
Some praise thy worth (that it did never know,)  
Only because the better sort do so,  
Whose judgement never further doth extend,  
Than it doth please the greatest to commend,  
So great an ill upon desert doth chance,  
When it doth pass by beastly ignorance.  
Why art thou slack whilst no man puts his hand  
To raise the mount where Surrey's towers must stand▪  
Or who the groundsel of that work doth lay  
Whilst like a wandrer thou abroad dost stray?  
Clipped in the arms of some lascivious dame,  
When thou shouldst rear an ●●on to thy name.  
When shall the Muses by fair Norwhich devil,  
To be the City of the learned Well?  
Or Phoebus' altars there with incense heaped,  
As once in Cyrrha, or in Thebes kept?  
Or when shall that fair hoofe-plowd spring distill  
From great mount Surrey, out of leonard's hill;  
Till thou return, the Court I will exchange  
For some poor cottage, or some country Grange,  
Where to our distaves as we sit and spin,  
My maid and I will tell of things have been,  
Our Lutes vnstrung shall hang upon the wall,  
Our lessons serve to wrap our Tow withal,  
And pass the night, whiles winter tales we tell,  
Of many things that long ago befell;  
Or tune such homely Carols as were sung  
In Country sports when we ourselves were young.  
In pretty Riddles to bewray our loves,  
In questions, purpose, or in drawing gloves.  
The noblest spirits to virtue most inclined,  
These here in Court thy greatest want do find.  
Other there be, on which we feed our eye,  
Like Arras work or such like Imagery;  
Many of us desire Queen Katherine's state,  
●ut very few her virtues imitate.  
Then, as Vlyffes wife write I to thee,  
Make no reply, but come thyself to me.   

¶ Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Then Windsor, or Fitzgeralds families.  
THE cost of many Kings, which from time to time have adorned the Castle at Windsor with their princely magnificence, ●at● made it more noble than that it need to he spoken of now, as though obscure, and I hold it more meet to refer you to our 〈◊〉 monuments for the founders and finishers thereof, then to meddle with matter nothing near to the purpose. As for the family of the Fitzgerald, of whence this excellent Lady was lineally descended, the original was English, though the branches did pr●●d themselves into distant places & names nothing consonant, 〈◊〉 in former times it was usual to denominate themselves of their ●nanours o●●orenames: as may partly appear in that which en●u●th the light whereof proceeded from my learned and very 〈◊〉 friend, Master Francis Thin, Walter of Windsor, the ●onne of Oterus, had issue William, of whom Henry now Lord Windsor is descended, and Robert of Windsor, of whom Robert the now Earl of Essex, and Gerald of Windsor his third son, who married the daughter of R●es the great Prince of Wales, of whom came Nesta, paramour to Henry the first. Which Gerald had issue Maurice Fitzgerald, ancestor to Thomas Fitz-maurice, justice of Ireland buried at Trayly; leaving issue john his eldest son, first Earl of Kildare, ancestor to Geraldine, and Maurice his second son, first earl of Des●oond. 
To raisethe mount where Surrey's Towers must stand,   
Alludeth to the sumptuous house which was afterward builded by him upon leonard's hill right against Norwich, which in the rebellion of Norfolk under Ket, inking Edward the 6. time, was much defaced by that impure rabble. Betwixt the hill and the City, as Alexander Nevil describes it, the river of Yarmouth runs, having West and South thereof a wood, and a little Village called Thorpe, and on the North, the pastures of Mousholl, which contains about six miles in length and breadth. So that besides the stately greatness of Mount-Surrey, which was the houses name: the prospect and site thereof was passing pleasant and commodious; and no where else did that increasing evil of the Norfolk fury enk●nnell itself but then there, as it were for a manifest token of their intent, to debase all high things, and to prophaneall holy. 
Like Arras work, or other imagery.   
Such was he whom juvenal taxeth in this manner.  

— truncoque similimus Hermae  
Nullo quip al●o vineis discrimine quamquod,  
Illi marmoreum caput est, tua v●●it image.   
Being to be borne for nothing else but apparel and the outward appearance, entitled Complement, with whom theridiculous fable of the Ape in Esope sorteth fitly, who coming into a carvers house, and viewing many Marble works, took up the head of a man very cunningly wrought, who greatly in praising did seem to pity it, that having so comely an outside, it had nothing within, like empty figures walk and talk in every place, at whom the noble Geraldine modestly glanceth.   
Finis.   

To the virtuous Lady, the Lady Francis Goodere, wife to sir Henry Goodere, Knight.  
MY very gracious and good Mistress, the love and duty I bore unto your father whilst he lived, now after his decease is to your hereditary; to whom by the blessing of your birth he left his virtues. Who bequeathed you those which were his, gave you whatsoever good is mine, as devoted to his, he being gone, whom I honoured so much whilst he lived; which you may justly challenge by all laws of thankfulness. Myself having been a witness of your excellent education, and mild disposition (as I may say) ever from your Cradle, dedicate this Epistle of this virtuous and godly 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.  
M. Drayton.   

The Lady Jane Grace to the Lord Gilford Dudley.  
The Argument.  
After the death of that virtuous young Prince King Edward the sixth, the son of that famous King Henry the eight, jane the daughter of Henry Grace, Duke of Suffolk by the consent of john Dudley Duke of Northumberland, was proclaimed Queen of England, being married to Gilford Dudley, the fourth son of the foresaid Duke of Northumberland; which match was concluded by their ambitious fathers, who went about by this means, to bring the Crown unto their children and to dispossess the Princess Mary eldest daughter to King Henry the eight, heir to King Edward her brother. Queen Mary rising in Arms to claim her rightful Crown, taketh the said jane Grace and the Lord Gilford her husband, being lodged in the Tower for their more safety, which place being lastly their Palace, by this means became their prison, where being severed in sundry prisons, they write these Epistles one to another.  

MIne own dear Lord, sith thou art locked from me,  
In this disguise my love must steal to thee,  
Since to renew all loves, all kindness past,  
This refuge scarcely left, yet this the last.  
My Keeper coming, I of thee inquire,  
Who with thy greeting answers my desire,  
Which my tongue willing to return again,  
Grief stops my words, and I but strive in vain;  
Wherewith amazed, away in haste he goes,  
When through my lips, my heart thrusts forth my woes,  
Whenas the doors that make a doleful sound,  
Drive back my words, that in the noise are drowned,  
Which somewhat hushed, the Echo doth record,  
And twice or thrice reiterates my word;  
When like an adverse wind in Isis' course,  
Against the tide bending his boisterous force;  
But when the flood hath wrought itself about,  
He following on, doth headlong thrust it out;  
Thus strive my fighes 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,  
The depth of woe with words we hardly sound,  
Sorrow is so insensibly profound:  
As tears do fall and rise, sighs come and go,  
So do these numbers ebb, so do they flow.  
These briny tears do make my ink look pale,  
My ink clothes tears in this sad mourning vail,  
The letters mourners, weep with my dim eye,  
The paper pale, grieved at my misery.  
Yet miserable ourselves, why should we deem,  
Sith none is so, but in his own esteem?  
Who in distress from resolution flies,  
Is rightly said, to yield to miseries;  
They which begot us, did beget this sin,  
They first begun, what did our grief begin,  
we tasted not, 'twas they which did rebel,  
Not our offence, but in their fall we fell;  
They which a crown would to my Lord have linked,  
All hope of life and liberty extinct;  
A subject borne, a Sovereign to have been,  
Hath made me now, nor subject, nor a Queen.  
Ah vile ambition, how dost thou deceive us,  
which show'st us heaven and yet in hell dost leave us?  
Seldom untouched doth innocence escape,  
when error cometh in good counsels shape,  
A lawful title counterchecks proud might,  
The weakest things become strong props to right.  
Then my dear Lord, although affliction grieve us,  
Yet let our spotless innocence relieve us.  
Death but an acted passion doth appear,  
where truth gives courage, and the conscience clear,  
And let thy comfort thus consist in mine,  
That I bear part of whatsoe'er is thine;  
As when we lived untouched with these disgraces,  
whenas our kingdom was our dear 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 Grace,  
when they devised to link by wedlocks band,  
The house of Suffolk to Northumberland;  
Our fatal Dukedom to your Dukedom bound,  
To frame this building on so weak a ground.  
For what avails a lawless usurpation,  
which gives a Sceptre, but not rules a Nation?  
Only the surfeit of a vain opinion,  
What gives content, gives what exceeds dominion.  
When first mine ears were pierced with the fame,  
Of jane proclaimed by a Princess name,  
A sudden fright my trembling heart appalls,  
The fear of conscience entereth iron walls.  
Thrice happy for our fathers had it been,  
If what we feared, they wisely had foreseen,  
And kept a mean gate in an humble path,  
To have escaped the heavens impetuous wrath,  
The truebred Eagle strongly bears the wind,  
And not each bird that's near unto their kind,  
That like a King, doth from the clouds command,  
The fearful fowl 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 York's sweet branch with Lancaster's entwine,  
And in one stalk did happily unite,  
The pure vermilion Rose, with purer white;  
I the untimely slip of that rich stem,  
Whose golden bud brings forth a Diadem.  
But oh forgive me Lord, it is not I,  
Nor do I boast of this, but learn to die,  
Whilst we were as ourselves conjoined then,  
Nature to nature, now an alien.  
The purest blood, polluted is in blood,  
Nearness contemned, if sovereignty withstood;  
A Diadem once dazzling the eye,  
The day too dark to see affinity;  
And where the arm is stretched to reach a Crown,  
Friendship is broke, the dearest thing thrown down;  
For what great Henry most strove to avoid,  
The heavens have built, where earth would have destroyed,  
And seating Edward on his regal throne,  
He gives to Mary, all that was his own,  
By death assuring what by life is theirs,  
The lawful claim of Henry's lawful herres.  
By mortal laws the bound may be divorced,  
But heavens decree by no means can be forced:  
That rules the case, when men have all decreed,  
Who took him hence, foresaw who should succeed,  
For we in vain rely on humane laws,  
When heaven stands forth to plead the righteous 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 fortunes power;  
Then my kind Lord, sweet Gilford be not grieved,  
The soul is heavenly, and from heaven relieved;  
And as we once have plighted troth together,  
Now let us make exchange of minds to either;  
To thy fair breast take my resolved mind,  
Armed against black despair, and all her kind,  
And to my bosom breath that soul of thine,  
There to be made as perfect as is mine;  
So shall our faith as firmly be approved,  
As I of thee, or thou of me beloved.  
This life no life, were 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 e'er 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 divineness which through that we see;  
Which never errs, but accidentally,  
By our frail flesh's imbecility;  
By each temptation over-apt to slide,  
Except our spirit becomes our body's guide;  
For as these Towers our bodies do enclose  
Their prisons, so unto our souls suppose  
Our bodies, stopping that celestial light,  
As these do hinder our exterior sight;  
Whereon death seizing, doth discharge the debt,  
And us at blessed liberty doth set.  
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;  
By which to heaven ascending by degrees,  
Persist in prayer upon your bended knees;  
Whereon if you assuredly be staid,  
You need in peril not to be distnaide,  
Which still shall keep you that you shall not fall,  
For any peril that you can appall;  
The key of heaven thus will● you, you shall bear,  
And grace you guiding, give you entrance there,  
And you of those celestial joys possess,  
Which mortal tongue's unable to express.  
Then thank the heaven, preparing us this room,  
Crowning our heads with glorious martyrdom,  
Before the black and dismal days begin,  
The days of all idolatry and sin,  
Not suffering us to see that wicked age,  
When persecution vehemently shall rage,  
When tyranny n●w 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, waste, and desolate before;  
And from black cinders, and rude heaps of stones,  
Shall gather up the Martyrs sacred 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 beg●t us did beget this si●ne.  
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 Grey, 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 prince's name   
Presently upon the death of King Edward, the Lady jane was taken as Queen, conveyed by water to the Tower of London for her safety, and after proclaimed in divers parts of the realm, as so ordained by king Edward's Letters-pattents, and his will. 
My Grandsire Brandon did our house advance  
By princely Mary, dowager of France.   
Henry Grace, duke of Suffolk, married Francis the eldest daughter of Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, by the French Queen, by which Francis he had this Lady jane: this Mary the French Queen, was daughter to king Henry the seventh, by Elizabeth his Queen, which happy marriage conjoined the two noble families of Lancaster 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, and 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.    

¶ Gilford Dudley to jane Grace.  

AS the Swan singing at his dying hour,  
So I reply from my imprisning tower:  
O could there be that power but in my verse,  
To express the grief my wounded heart doth pierce!  
The very walls that straightly thee enclose,  
Would surely weep at reading of my woes;  
Let your eyes lend, I'll pay you every tear,  
And give you interest, if you do forbear,  
Drop for a drop, and if you'll needs have lone,  
I will repay you frankly, two for one.  
Perhaps you'll think (your sorrows to appease)  
That words of comfort fitter were than these:  
True, and in you when such perfection liveth,  
As in most grief most comfort always giveth:  
And think not (jane) that cowardly I faint,  
To beg man's mercy by my sad complaint,  
That death so much my courage can control,  
At the departing of my living roll.  
For if one life a thousand lives could be,  
All those too few to consummate with thee,  
When thou this cross so patiently dost bear,  
As if thou wert incapable of fear,  
And dost no more this dissolution fly,  
Than if long age constrained thee to die:  
Yet it is strange thou art become my foe,  
And only now add'st most unto my woe,  
Not that I loath, that most did me delight,  
But that so long deprived of thy sight;  
For when I speak, and would complain my wrong.  
Straitwayes thy name possesseth all my tongue,  
As thou before me overmore didst lie  
The present object to my longing eye.  
No ominous start did at thy birth tide shine,  
That might of thy sad destiny divine;  
'tis only I that did thy fall persuade,  
And thou by me a sacrifice art made,  
As in those countries where the loving wives  
With their kind husband's end their happy lives,  
And crowned with garlands in their Bride's attire,  
Burn with his body in the funeral fire;  
And she the worthiest reckoned is of all,  
Whom lost the peril seemeth to appall.  
I boast not of Northumberland great name,  
Nor of Ket conquered, adding to our fame,  
When he to Norfolk with his armies sped,  
And thence in chains the rebels captive led;  
And brought safe peace returning to our doors,  
Yet soread his glory on the eastern shores,  
Not of my brothers, from whose natural grace,  
Virtue may spring to beautify our Race,  
Not of Grates match my children borne by thee,  
Of the great blood indoubtedly to be,  
But of thy virtues only do I boast,  
That wherein I may justly glory most:  
I craved no kingdoms though I thee did crave,  
It might suffice thy only self to have,  
Yet let me say however it befell,  
Me thinks a Crown should have become thee well:  
For sure thy wisdom merited (or none)  
To have been heard with wonder from a throne.  
When from thy lips the counsel to each deed,  
Doth as from some wise oracle proceed,  
And more esteemed thy virtues were to me,  
Then all that else might ever come by thee;  
So chaste thy love, so innocent thy life,  
As being a virgin when thou wert a wife,  
So great a gift the heaven on me bestowed,  
As giving that it nothing could have owed,  
Such was the good I did possess of late,  
Ere worldly cares disturbed our quiet state,  
Ere trouble did in every place abound,  
And angry war our former peace did wound.  
This is all that ambition us affords,  
One crown is guarded with a thousand swords,  
To mean estates, mean sorrows are out shown,  
But crowns h 〈…〉 cares whose workings be unknown,  
When Dudley led his armies to the east,  
Of our whole forces generally possessed,  
What then was thought his enter prize could let,  
Whom a grave counsel freely did abet,  
That had the judgement of the powerful laws,  
In every point to justify the cause,  
The holy Church a helping hand that laid,  
Who would have thought that these could not have swayed:  
But what alas can parlements avail,  
Where Mary's right must Edward's Act 〈…〉  
When Suffolk's power doth Suffolk's hopes withstand,  
Northumberland doth leave Northumberland;  
And they that should our greatness undergo,  
Us, and our actions only overthrow,  
Ere greatness gained we give it all our heart,  
But being once come, could wish it would depart,  
And indescreetly follow that so fast,  
Which overtaken punisheth our haste;  
If any one do pity our offence,  
Let him be sure that it be far from hence:  
here is no place for any one that shall,  
So much as (once) commiserate our fall;  
And we of mercy vainly should but think,  
Our timeless tears th'insatiate earth doth drink.  
All lamentations utterly forlorn,  
Dying before they fully can be borne.  
Mother's that should their woeful children rue,  
Fathers in death too kindly bid adieu.  
Friends their dear farewell lovingly to take,  
The faithful servant weeping for our sake.  
Brothers and sisters waiting on our beer,  
Mourners to tell what we were living hear:  
But we alas deprived are of all,  
So fatal is our miserable fall,  
And where at first for safety we were shut  
Now in dark prison woefully are put,  
And from height of our ambitious state,  
Lie to repent our arrogance too late,  
To thy persuasion thus I then reply,  
Hold on thy course resolved still to die,  
And when we shall so happily be gone,  
Leave it to heaven to give the rightful throne,  
And with that health regret I thee again,  
Which I of late did gladly entertain.   

Notes of the Chronicle History.  
Not of Ket conquered adding to our fame;  
IOhn Duke of Northumberland, when before he was Earl of Warwick in his expedition against Ket, overthrew the rebels of Norfolk and Suffolk, encamped at Mount-Surrey in Norfolk. 
Nor of my brothers from whose natural grace,   
Gilford Dudley as remembering in this place the towardness of his brothers, which were all likely indeed to have raised that house of the 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 Grace, by her mother, which was Francis the daughter of Charles Brandon, by Mary the French Queen, daughter to Henry the seventh, and sister to Henry the eight. 
To have been heard with wonder from a throne.   
Seldom hath it ever been known of any woman endued with such wonderful gifts, as was this Lady, both for her wisdom and learning, of whose skill in the tongues one reporteth by this Epigram.  

Miraris janam Graio, sermone valere,  
Quo ●●●mum 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 haste away, appointed the rest of his forces to meet him at Newmarket Heath: of whom this saying is reported, that passing through Shoreditch, the Lord Grace in his company, seeing the people in great numbers came to see him, he said, the people press to see us, but none bid God speed us. 
Whom a grave Council freely did abet.   
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 Council of the land; insomuch that passing through the Council chamber at his departure, the Earl of Arundel 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 lean 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 Fermingham Castle, still increasing her aids, until the Duke of Northumberland, was lest forsaken at Cambridge.   
Finis.   


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

To the Reader of his Poems. Sonnet. 1.  
INto these loves who but for passion looks,  
At this first sight, here let them lay them by,  
And seek elsewhere in turning other books,  
Which better may his labour satisfy,  
No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast,  
Love from mine eye, a tear shall never w●ing,  
Nor in ah-mees my whining Sonnets dressed,  
(A Libertine) fantastickly I sing;  
My verse is the true image of my mind,  
Ever in motion, still desiring change,  
The choice of all variety inclined,  
And in all humours sportively I range,  
My active Muse is of the world's right strain,  
That cannot long one fashion entertain.   

The second to the Reader. Sonnet. 2  
MAny there be excelling in this kind,  
Whose well tricked rhymes with all invention swell;  
Let each commend as best shall like his mind,  
Some Sidney, Constable, some Daniel.  
That thus their names familiarly I sing,  
Let none think them disparaged to be,  
Poor men with reverence may speak of a King,  
And so may these be spoken of by me;  
My wanton verse near keeps one certain stay,  
But now, at hand; then, seeks invention far,  
And with each little motion runs astray,  
Wild, madding, jocund, and irregular;  
Like me that lust, my honest merry rhymes,  
Nor care for Critic, nor regard the times.   

IDEA.  

Sonnet 1.  
THine eyes taught me the alphabet of love,  
To kon my crosse-row ere I learned to spell,  
For I was apt, a Scholar like to prove,  
Gave me sweet looks whenas I learned well,  
Vows were my vowels when I then begun,  
At my first lesson in thy sacred name,  
My consonants the next when I had done,  
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame;  
My liquids then, were liquid crystal tears,  
My cares, my mutes, so mute to crave relief,  
My doleful dipthongs, were my life's despairs,  
Redoubling sighs, the accents of my grief;  
My loves Schoolmistress now hath taught me so,  
That I can read a story of my woe.   

Sonnet. 2.  
MY heart was slain, and none but you and I,  
who should I think the murder should commit?  
Since but yourself, there was no creature by  
But only I, guiltless of murdering it.  
It slew itself; the verdict on the view  
Do quit the dead, and me not accessary;  
Well, well, I fear it will be proved by you,  
The evidence so great a proof doth carry.  
But O, see, see, we need inquire no further,  
Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found,  
And in your eye, the boy that did the murder,  
Your cheeks yet pale since first they gave the wound.  
By this, I see, how ever things be past,  
Yet heaven will still have murder out at last.   

Sonnet 3.  
TAking my pen, with words to cast my woes,  
Duly to count the sum of all my cares,  
I find, my grief innumerable grows,  
The reckonings rise to millions of despairs,  
And thus dividing of my fatal hours,  
The payments of my love I read, and cross  
Substracting, set my sweets unto my sowers,  
My joys arrearage leads me to my loss;  
And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye,  
Which by extortion gaineth all their looks,  
My heart hath paid such grievous usury,  
That all his wealth lies in thy beauty's books.  
And all is thine which hath been due to me,  
And I a Bankrupt, quite undone by thee.   

An allusion to Narcissus. Sonnet. 4.  
Beauty sometime in all her glory crowned,  
Passing by that clear fountain of thine eye,  
Her sunshine face there chancing to espy,  
Forgot herself, deeming she had been drowned,  
And thus whilst beauty, on her beauty gazed,  
Whothen (yet living) thought she had been dying,  
And yet in death some hope of life espying,  
With her own rare perfections so amazed,  
Twixt joy and grief, yet with a smiling frowning,  
The glorious sunbeams of her eyes bright shining,  
And she on her own destiny divining,  
Cast herself, to save herself by drowning;  
The well of Nectar, paved with pearl and gold,  
Where she remains for all eyes to behold.   

Sonnet. 5.  
NOthing but no and I, and I and no,  
How falls it out so strangely you reply?  
I tell ye (Fair) i'll not be answered so,  
With this affirming no, denying I,  
I say I love, you slender answer I,  
I say you love, you pule me out a no;  
I say I die, you echo me with ay,  
Save me I cry, you sigh me out a no:  
Must woe and I, have nought but no and I,  
No I am I, if I no more can have,  
Answer no more, with silence make reply,  
And let me take myself what I do crave;  
Let no and I, with I and you be so,  
Then answer no, and I, and I, and no.   

To Harmony. Sonnet. 6.  
Love once would dance within my Mistress eye.  
And wanting music fitting for the place,  
Swore that I should the instrument supply,  
And suddenly presents me with her face;  
Straightways my pulse play lively in my veins,  
My panting breath doth keep a meaner time,  
My q●au'ring arteries be the tenors strains,  
My trembling sinews serve the counterchime,  
My hollow sighs the deepest b●se do bear,  
True diapason in distincted sound;  
My panting heart the treble makes the air,  
And desken●s finely on the musics ground;  
Thus like a Luteor vial did I he,  
Whilst he proud slave danced galliards in her eye.   

Sonnet 7.  
Love in an humour played the prodigal,  
And bids my senses to a solemn feast,  
Yet more to grace the company withal,  
Invites my ha●t to be the chiefest guest;  
No other drink would serve this glutton's turn,  
But precious tears distilling from mine eine,  
Which with my sighs this Epicure doth burn,  
Quaffing carouses in this costly wine,  
Where, in his cups o'ercome with foul excess,  
Begins to play a swaggering ruffians part,  
And at the banquet, in his drunkenness  
S 〈…〉 my dear friend, his kind and truest heart;  
A gentle warning friends, thus may you see,  
What 'tis to keep a drunkard company.   

To the Moon. Sonct. 8  
PHoebe look down, and here behold in me,  
The elements within thy sphere enclosed,  
How kindly Nature placed them under thee,  
And in my world, see how they are disposed;  
My hope is earth, the lowest, cold and dry,  
The grosser mother of deep melancholy,  
Water my tears, cooled with humidity,  
Wan, phlegmatic, inclined by Nature wholly;  
My sighs, the air, hot, moist, ascending higher,  
Subtle of sanguine, died in my ha●ts dolour,  
My thoughts they be the element of fi●e,  
Hot, dry, and piercing, still inclined to choler,  
Thine eye the Orb unto all these, from whence  
Proceeds th'effects of powerful influence.   

To Lunacy. Sonnet. 9  
AS other men, so I myself do muse.  
Why in this sort I wrest invention so,  
And why these giddy metaphors I use,  
Leaving the path the greater part do go;  
I will resolve you; I am lunatic,  
And ever this in madmen you shall find,  
What they last thought on when the brain grew sick,  
In most distraction keep that still in mind.  
Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,  
Reason and I (you must conceive) are twain,  
'tis nine years now, since first I lost my wit,  
Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain;  
With diet and correction, men distraught,  
(Not too far passed) may to their wits be brought.   

Sonnet. 10.  
TO nothing fitter can I thee compare,  
Then to the son of some rich penny father,  
Who having now brought on his end with care,  
Leaves to his son all he had heaped together;  
This new rich novice, lavish of his chest,  
To one man gives, and on an other spends,  
Then here he riots, yet amongst the rest,  
Haps to send some to one true honest friend.  
Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste,  
False friends thy kindness, borne but to deceive thee,  
Thy love, that is on the unworthy placed,  
Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leave thee;  
Only that little which to me was lent,  
I give thee back, when all the rest is spent.   

Sonnet. 11.  
YOu not alone, when you are still alone,  
O God from you that I could private be,  
Since you one were, I never since was one,  
Since you in me, myself since out of me,  
Transported from myself into your being,  
Though either distant, present yet to either,  
Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing,  
And only absent when we are together.  
Give me myself, and take yourself again,  
devise some means but how I may forsake you,  
So much is mine that doth with you remain,  
That taking what is mine, with me I take you;  
You do bewitch me, O that I could fly,  
From myself you, or from your own self I.   

To the Soul. Sonnet. 12.  
THat learned father, which so firmly proves  
The Soul of man immortal and divine,  
And doth the several offices define:  
Anima Gives her that name as she the body moves,  
Amor Then is she love embracing Charity,  
Animus Moving a will in us, it is the mind,  
men's Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind;  
Memoria As intellectual it is the memory,  
Ratio In judging, Reason only is her name,  
Sensus In speedy apprehension it is sense,  
Conscientia In right or wrong, they call her conscience:  
Spiritus The spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame.  
These of the soul the several functions be,  
Which my heart lightened by thy love doth see.   

To the Shadow. Sonnet. 13.  
Letter's and lines we see are soon defaced,  
Mettells do waste, and fret with cankers rust,  
The Diamond shall once consume to dust;  
And freshest colours with fowl stains disgraced,  
Paper and ink, can paint but naked words,  
To write with blood, offorce offends the sight,  
And if with tears, I find them all too light,  
And sighs and signs, a silly hope affords.  
O sweetest shadow, how thou servest my turn,  
Which still shalt be, as long as there is sun,  
Nor whilst the world is, never shall be done,  
Whilst Moon shall shine, or any fire shall burn:  
That every thing whence shadow doth proceed,  
May in his shadow, my loves story reed,   

Sonnet. 14.  
IF he from heaven that filched that living fire,  
Condemned by jove to end less torment be,  
I greatly marvel how you still go free,  
That far beyond Prometheus did aspire?  
The fire he stole although of heavenly kind,  
Which from above he craftily did take,  
Of lifeless clods us living men to make,  
Again bestowed in temper of the mind.  
●ut you broke into heavens immortal store,  
Where virtue, honour, wit and beauty lay,  
Which taking thence, you have escaped away,  
Yet stand as free as e'er you did before;  
But old Prometheus punished for his rape,  
Thus poor thieves suffer, when the greater escape.   

Sonnet. 15.  
VIewing the glass of my youths miseries,  
I see the face of my deformed ears,  
With withered brows, all wrinkled with despairs,  
That for my youth the tears fall from mine eyes,  
Then in these tears the mirrors of these eyes,  
Thy fairest youth and be 〈…〉 y do I see,  
Imprinted there by looking still on thee;  
Thus midst my woes, ten thousand joys arise.  
Yet in these joys the shadows of my good,  
In this fa●e limmed ground as white as snow,  
Painted the blackest image of my woe,  
With murdering hands imbrued in mine own blood;  
And in this image his dark cloudy eyes,  
My life, and love, I here anatomize.   

To the Phoeniae. Sonnet 16.  
WIthin the compass of this spacious round,  
Amongst all birds the Phoenix is alone,  
Which but by you could never have been known.  
None like to that, none like to you is found,  
Heap your own virtues seasoned by their sun,  
On heavenly top of your divine desire;  
Then with your beauty set the same on fire,  
So by your death, your life shallbe begun.  
Yourself thus burned in this sacred flame,  
With your own sweetness all the heavens perfuming,  
And still increasing as you are consuming,  
Shall spring again from th'ashes of your fame,  
And mounting up shall to the heavens ascend,  
So may you live, past world, past fame, past end.   

To Time. Sonnet. 17.  
STay, stay, sweet Time, behold or e'er thou pass,  
From world to world, thou long hast fought to see,  
That wonder now wherein all wonders be,  
Where heaven beholds her in a mortal glass:  
Nay look thee Time in this celestial glass,  
And thy youth past, in this suit mirror see,  
The first world's beauty in the infancy,  
What it was then, what thou before it was.  
Now pass on Time, to af●r-worlds tell this:  
(And yet shalt tell) but truly what hath been,  
That they may say what former time hath seen,  
And heaven may joy to think on past world's bliss:  
here make a period Time, and say for me,  
She was, whose like again shall never be.   

To the Celestial numbers. Sonnet. 18.  
Unto the world, to learning, and to heaven,  
Three nine there are, to every one a nine,  
One number of the earth, the other both divine,  
One woman now makes three odd numbers even:  
Nine orders first of Angels be in heaven,  
Nine Muses do with learning still frequent,  
These with the Gods are ever resident;  
Nine worthy ones unto the world were given:  
My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth,  
And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine,  
And my good Angel in my soul divine,  
With one more order, these nine orders gladdeth:  
My Muse, my worthy, and my Angel then,  
Makes every one of these three nine a ten.   

To Humour. Sonnet. 19  
YOu cannot love my pretty heart and why?  
There was a time you told me that you would,  
But now again you will the same deny,  
If it might pease you, would to God you could;  
What will you hate? nay that you will not neither,  
Nor love, nor hate, how then? what will you do,  
What will you keep a mean then betwixt either?  
Or will you love me, and yet hate me too?  
Yet serves not this, what next, what other shift?  
You will, and will not, what a coil is here?  
I see your craft, now I perceive your drift,  
And all this while I was mistaken there:  
Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you,  
You love in hate, by hate to make me love you.   

Sonnet. 20.  
AN evil spirit your beauty haunts me still,  
Wherewith (alas) I have been long possessed,  
Which ceaseth not to tempt me unto ill,  
Nor gives me once but one poor minutes rest:  
In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake,  
And when by means to drive it out I try,  
With greater torments than it me doth take,  
And tortures me in most extremity,  
Before my face, it lays all my despairs,  
And hastes me on unto a sudden death;  
Now tempting me to drown myself in tears,  
And then in sighing to give up my breath;  
Thus am I still provokde to every evil,  
By this good wicked spirit, sweet Angel devil.   

To the Spheres. Sonnet. 21.  
THou which dost guide this little world of love,  
Thy planets mansions here thou mayst behold,  
My brow the sphere where Saturn still doth move,  
wrinkled with cares, withered, dry and cold;  
Mine eyes the Orb where jupiter doth trace,  
Which gently smile because they look on thee,  
Mars in my swarthy visage takes his place,  
Made lean with love, where furious conflicts be:  
Sol in my breast with his hot scorching flame,  
But in my heart alone doth Venus' reign;  
Mercury my hands, the Organs of my fame,  
Luna my wavering and unconstant vain;  
The starry heaven thy praise by me expressed,  
Thou the first mover, guiding all the rest.   

To Folly. Sonnet. 22.  
WIth fools & children good discretion bears,  
Then honest people bear with Love & me,  
Nor older yet, nor wiser made by years,  
Amongst the rest of fools and children be,  
love's still a baby, places with gauds and joys,  
And like a wanton, sports with every feather,  
And idiots still are running after boys,  
Then fools and children fitt'st to go together,  
He still as young as when he first was borne,  
No wiser I, then when as young as he,  
You that be hold us laugh us not to scorn,  
Give Nature thanks you are not such as we:  
Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play,  
Some wise in show, more fools indeed then they.   

Sonnet. 23.  
Love banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn.  
wandering abroad in need and beggary,  
And wanting friends, though of a God desk borne,  
Yet craved the alms of such as passed ●y,  
I like a man, dovote and charitable;  
Clothed the naked, lodged this wandering guest,  
With sighs and tears still furnishing his table,  
With what might make the miserable blessed;  
But this ungrateful for my good desert.  
Enticde my thoughts against me to conspire,  
Who gave consent to steal away my heart.  
And set my breast his lodging on a fire:  
Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold,  
No marvel then though charity grow cold.   

Sonnet 24.  
I Hear some say, this man is not in love,  
Who, can he love? a likely thing they say:  
Read but his verse, and it will easily prove,  
O judge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray,  
Because I loosely trifle in this sort,  
As one that fame his sorrows would beguile:  
You now suppose me, all this time in sport,  
And please your self with this conceit the while.  
You shallow censures, sometime see you not  
In greatest perils some men pleasant be,  
Where fame by death is only to be got;  
They resolute, so stands the case with me;  
Where other men in depth of passion cry,  
I laugh at Fortune, as in jest to die.   

Sonnet 25.  
O Why should nature niggardly restrain.  
The Southern nations relish not our tongue,  
Else should my lines glide on the waves of R 〈…〉,  
And crown the Pirens with my living song;  
But bounded thus to Scotland get you forth,  
Thence take you wing unto the Orcadeses,  
There let my verse get glory in the north,  
Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas,  
And let the Bards within that Irish isle,  
To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,  
Call back the stiff necked rebels from exile,  
And mollify the slaughtering Galliglasse;  
And when my flowing numbers they rehearse,  
Let wolves and bears be charmed with my verse.   

To Despair. Sonnet 26.  
I Ever love, where never hope appears,  
Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,  
And my life's hope would die but for despair,  
My never-certain joy, breeds ever-certaine fears,  
Vncertaine-dread, gives wings unto my hope,  
Yet my hopes wings are loaden so with fear,  
As they cannot ascend to my hopes sphere,  
Yet fear gives them more than a heavenly scope;  
Yet this large room is bounded with despair,  
So my love is still fettered with vain hope,  
And liberty deprives him of his scope,  
And thus am I imprisoned in the air;  
Then sweet despair, a while hold up thy head,  
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.   

To Fantasy. Sonnet 27.  
I Gave my faith to Love, Love his to me,  
That he and I sworn brothers should remain,  
Thus faith received, faith given back again,  
Who would imagine bond more sure could be?  
Love flies to her, yet holds he my faith taken,  
As from my virtue raising my offence,  
Making me guilty by mine innocence;  
And only bond by being so forsaken,  
He makes her ask what I before had vowed,  
Giving her that, which he had given me,  
I bound by him, and he by her made free.  
Who ever so hard breach of faith allowed?  
Speak you that should of right & wrong discuss,  
Was right ere wronged, or wrong ere righted thus?   

Sonnet 28.  
TO such as say, thy love I over-prise,  
And do not stick to term my praises folly,  
Against these folks that think themselves so wise,  
I thus appose my force of reason wholly,  
Though I give more, than well affords my state,  
In which expense the most suppose me vain,  
Would yield them nothing at the casiest rate,  
Yet at this price, returns me treble gain,  
The value not unskilful how to use,  
And I give much, because I gain thereby,  
I that thus take, or they that thus refuse,  
Whether are these deceived then, or I?  
In every thing I hold this maxim still,  
The circumstance doth make it good or ill.   

To the Senses. Sonnet 29.  
WHen conquering love did first my heart assail,  
Unto mine aid I summoned every sense,  
Doubting if that proud tyrant should prevail,  
My heart should suffer for mine eyes offence;  
But he with beauty first corrupted sight,  
My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony,  
My taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight,  
My smelling won with her breath's spicery;  
But when my touching came to play his part,  
(The King of senses, greater than the rest)  
He yields love up the keys unto my heart,  
And tells the other how they should be blest:  
And thus by those of whom I hopde for aid,  
To cruel love my soul was first betrayed.   

To the Vestals. Sonnet 30.  
THose Priests which first the Vestal fire begun,  
Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,  
devised a vessel to receive the Sun,  
Being steadfastly opposed to the same;  
Where, with sweet wood, laid curiously by Ar●●,  
Whereon the Sun might by reflection beat,  
Receiving strength from every secret part,  
The fuel kindled with colestiall heat.  
Thy blessed eyes, the Sun which lights this fire,  
My holy thoughts, they be the Vestal flame,  
The precious odours be my chaste desire,  
My breast the fuel which includes the sa;  
Thou art my Vesta, thou my goddess art,  
Thy hallowed temple one lie is my heart.   

Sonnet 31.  
ME thinks I see some crooked Mimics jeer,  
And ●axe my Muse with this fantastic grace,  
Turning my papers, asks, what have we here?  
Making withal, some filthy antic face;  
I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say,  
Nor shall my spirit one jo●e of vigour lose,  
Thinkst thou my wit shall keep the packhorse way,  
That every d●dgen low invention goes?  
Since Sonnets thus in bundles are impressed,  
And every drudge doth dull our sa●iate e●re?  
Thinkst thou my Love shall in those rags be dressed,  
That every dowdy, every t●ull doth wea●e?  
Unto my pitch no common judgement flies,  
I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies.   

To the river Anchor. Sonnet 32.  
Our floods Queen Thames; for ships & swans is crowned,  
And stately Severne for her shores is praised,  
The crystal Trent, for Fords and Fish renowned,  
And Anons fame, to Albion's clives is raised.  
Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holy Dee,  
York many wonders of her Owse can tell,  
The Peake her Dove, whose banks so fertile be,  
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excel,  
Cotsall commends her Isis and her Tame,  
Our northern borders boast of Tweedes fair flood,  
Our western parts extol her Wilis fame,  
And old Legea brags of Danish blood;  
Arden's sweet Anchor let thy glory be,  
That fair Idea she doth live by thee.   

To Imagination. Sonnet 33.  
WHilst yet mine eyes do surfeit with delight,  
My woeful heart imprisoned in my breast,  
Wisheth to be transformed in my sight,  
That it like those, by looking might be blest,  
But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze,  
Finding their objects over-soone depart,  
These now the others happiness do praise,  
Wishing themselves that they had been my heart;  
That eyes were heart, or that the heart were eyes,  
As covetous the others use to have;  
But finding reason, their request denies,  
This to each other mutually they crave;  
That since the one cannot the other be,  
That eyes could think, or that my heart could see.   

To Admiration. Sonnet 34.  
Marvel not Love, though I thy power admire,  
Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought,  
That knowing more than ever hath been taught,  
That I am only statued in my desire;  
Marvel not Love, though I thy power admire,  
Aiming at things exceeding all perfection,  
To wisdoms self to minister direction,  
That I am only starved in my desire;  
Marvel not Love, though I thy power admire,  
Though my conceit I further seem to bend,  
Than possibly invention can extend,  
And yet am only starved in my desire;  
If thou wilt wonder, here's the wonder Love,  
That this to me doth yet no wonder prove,   

To Miracle. Sonnet 35.  
SOme misbelieving, and profane in love,  
When I do speak of miracles by thee,  
May say that thou art flattered by me,  
Who only write, my skill in verse to prove.  
See miracles, ye unbelieving see,  
A dumb-borne Muse, made to express the mind,  
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,  
One by thy name, the other touching thee;  
Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine,  
And mine ears deaf, by thy fame healed be,  
My vices cured, by virtues sprung from thee,  
My hopes reviv'd which long in grave had live:  
All unclean thoughts, foul spirits cast out in me,  
Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.   

To Wonder. Sonnet 36.  
REading sometime, my sorrows to beguile,  
I find old Poets hills and floods admire,  
One, he doth wonder monster breeding Nile,  
Another maruells' sulphur Aetn●es fire.  
Now broad-brimd Indus, then of Pindus' height,  
Pe●ion and Ossa, frosty Cauc●se old,  
The Delian Cinthus, than Olympus' weight,  
Slow Arrer, frantic Gallus, Cydnus cold.  
Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,  
Some whirlpool Po, and sliding Hypasis,  
Some old Parnassus where the Muses dwell,  
Some Helicon, and some fair Simois;  
A fools think I, had you Idea seen,  
Poor brooks and banks, had no such wonders been   

Sonnet 37.  
Dear, why should you command me to my 〈◊〉  
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?  
Me thinks this time becometh lovers best,  
Night was ordained together friends to keep,  
How happy are all other living things,  
Which though the day disjoin by several flight,  
The quiet evening yet together brings,  
And each returns unto his love at night.  
O thou that art● so cu●●eous unto all,  
Why shouldst thou Night abuse me only thus,  
That every creature to his kind dost call,  
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us:  
Well could I wish it would be ever day,  
If when night comes you bid me go away.   

Sonnet 38.  
SItting alone, Love bids me go and write,  
Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,  
Boasting that she doth still direct the way,  
Or else love were unable to indite;  
Love growing angry, vexed at the spleen,  
And scorning Reasons maimed argument,  
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,  
Where she with Love conversing hath not been,  
Reason reproached with this coy disdain,  
Dispiteth Love, and laugheth at her folly,  
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholly,  
Thought it in weight too light by many a grain.  
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,  
And Love alone finds reason in my love.   

Sonnet 39  
SOme, when in time they of their loves do tell,  
With flames and lightning their exordiums paint,  
Some call on heaven, some invocate on hell,  
And Fates and Furies with their woes acquaint,  
Elysium is too high a seat for me,  
I will not come in Styx or Phlegeton,  
The thriee three Muses but too wanton be,  
Like they that lust, I care not, I will none.  
Spiteful Errinis frights me with her looks,  
My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell,  
I quake to look on Heccats charming books,  
I still fear bugbeares in Apollo's Cell.  
I pass not for Minorua, nor Astrea,  
Only I call upon divine Idea.   

Sonnet. 40.  
MY heart the aquile where my thoughts do beat,  
My words the hammers fashioning my desire,  
My breast the forge, including all the heat,  
Love is the fuel which maintains the fire:  
My sighs the bellows which the same increaseth,  
Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning,  
Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth,  
In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning:  
Mine eyes with tears against the fire striving,  
Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth;  
But with those drops, the flame again reviving,  
Still more and more unto my torment burneth:  
With Sisyphus thus do I role the stone,  
And turn the wheel with damned Ixion.   

Sonnet. 41.  
WHy do I speak of joy, or write of love,  
When my heart is the very den of horror,  
And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,  
With all his torments and infernal terror?  
What should I say, what yet remains to do?  
My brain is dry with weeping all too long,  
My sighs be spent in yttring of my woe,  
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong:  
But still distracted in loves lunacy,  
And bedlam-like thus raving in my grief,  
Now rail upon her hair, now on her eye,  
Now call her Goddess, than I call her thief;  
Now I deny her, than I do confess her,  
Now do I curse her, than again I bless her.   

Sonnet. 42.  
SOme men there be which like my method well,  
And do commend the strangeness of my vain,  
Some say, I have a passing pleasing strain,  
Some say, that in my humour I excel:  
Some, who not kindly relish my conceit,  
They say (as Poets do) I use to feign,  
And in bare words paint out my passions pain.  
Thus sundry men their sundry minds repeat;  
I pass not I, how men affected be,  
Nor who commends, or discommends my verse,  
It pleaseth me, if I my woes rehearse,  
And in my lines, if she my love may see:  
Only my comfort still consists in this,  
Writing her praise, I cannot write amisso.   

Sonnet. 43.  
WHy should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace,  
Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,  
Whilst I in darkness in the self same place,  
Get not one glance to recompense my merit:  
So doth the ploughman gaze the wandering star,  
And only rests contented with the light,  
That never learned what constellations are,  
Beyond the bent of his unknowing fight.  
O why should beauty (custom to obey)  
To their gross sense apply herself so ill?  
Would God I were as ignorant as they,  
When I am made unhappy by my skill;  
Only compelled on this poor good to boast,  
Heavens are not kind to the that know them most.   

Sonnet. 44.  
WHilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee,  
Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face,  
Where in the map of all my misery,  
Is modelled out the world of my disgrace,  
Whilst in despite of tyrannising times,  
Medea-like I make thee young again,  
Proudly thou scorust my world-outwearing rhymes,  
And murther'st Virtue with thy coy disdain;  
And though in youth my youth untimely perish,  
To keep thee from oblivion and the grave,  
Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish,  
When I entombed my better part shall save;  
And though this earthly body fade and die,  
My name shall mount upon eternity.   

Sonnet. 45.  
Muses which sadly sit about my chair,  
Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines,  
With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,  
Painting my passions in these sad designs;  
Since she disdains to bless my happy verse,  
The strong-built Trophies to her living fame,  
Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse,  
Wherein the world shall now entomb her name;  
Enclose my music you poor senseless walls,  
Sith she is deaf and will not hear my moans,  
Soften yourselves with every tear that falls,  
Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones;  
Which with my plaint seem yet with pity moved,  
Kinder than she who I so long have lived.   

Sonnet. 46.  
PLain pathed Experience the unlearneds guide,  
Her simple followers evidently shows,  
Sometime what schoolmen scarcely can decide,  
Nor yet wise Reason absolutely knows:  
In making trial of a murder wrought,  
If the yile actor of the heinous deed,  
Near the dead body happily be brought.  
Oft hath been proved the breathless coarse will bleed;  
She coming near that my poor heart hath slain,  
Long since departed (to the world no more)  
The ancient wounds no longer can contain,  
But fall to bleeding as they did before:  
But what of this? should she to death be led.  
It furthers justice, but helps not the dead.   

Sonnet. 47.  
IN pride of wit, when high desire of fame  
Gave life and courage to my labouring 〈◊〉  
And first the sound and virtue of my name,  
Won grace and credit in the ears of men;  
With those the througed theatres that press.  
I in the circuit for the Laurel strove,  
Where the full praise I freely must confess,  
In heat of blood and modest mind might move:  
With shouts and claps at every little pause,  
When the proud round on every side hath rung.  
Sadly I sit unmoved with the applawse,  
As though to me it nothing did belong:  
No public glory vainly I pursue.  
The praise I strive, is to eternize you.   

Sonnet. 48.  
CUpid, dumb I doll, peevish faint of Love,  
No more shalt thou nor saint nor idol be,  
No god art thou, loves goddess she doth prove,  
Of all thine honour she hath robbed thee:  
Thy bow old broke, is peecde with half desire,  
Her bow is beauty with ten thousand strings,  
And every one of purest golden wire;  
The least, of force to conquer hosts of Kings:  
Thy shafts be spent, and she (to war appointed)  
Hides in those Crystal quivers of her eyes,  
More arrows with hart-piercing mettle pointed,  
Then there be stars at midnight in the skies:  
With these she steals men's hearts for her relief,  
Yet happy he that's robbed of such a thief.   

Sonnet. 49.  
THou leaden brain which censur'st what I write  
And sayst my lines be dull, and do not move.  
I marvel not thou feelest not my delight,  
Which never feltst my fiery tuch of love:  
But thou whose pen hath like a Packhorse served,  
Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,  
Whose senses like poor prisoners hunger-starved.  
Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood;  
Thou which hast scorned life, and hated death,  
And in a moment mad, sober, glad and sorry,  
Thou which hast banned thy thoughts, and cursed thy birth  
With thousand plagues more than in purgatory,  
Thou thus whose spirit Love in his fire refines,  
Come thou and read, admire and plawd my lines.   

Sonnet. 50.  
AS in some Countries far remote from hence,  
The wretched creature destined to die,  
Having the judgement due to his offence,  
By Surgeons begged, their Art on him to try:  
Which on the living work without remorse,  
First make incision on each mastering vain,  
Then staunch the bleeding, then transperce the coarse,  
And with their balms recure the wounds again,  
Then poison and with Physic him restore,  
Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill,  
But their experience to increase the more;  
Even so my Mistress works upon my ill,  
By curing me, and killing me each hour,  
Only to show her beauties sovereign power.   

Sonnet. 51.  
CAlling mind since first my love begun,  
Th'incertain times oft varying in their course,  
How things still unexpectedly have run,  
As please the fates, by their resistless force:  
Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen,  
Essex great fall, Tyrove his peace to gain,  
The quiet end of that long-living Queen,  
This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,  
We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever,  
Thus the world doth, and evermore shall reel,  
Yet to my goddess am I constant ever;  
How ere blind fortune turn her giddy wheel:  
Though heaven & earth prove both to me untrue,  
Yet am I still inviolate to you.   

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

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

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

Sonnet 55.  
MY Fair, if thou wilt register my love,  
More than world's volumes shall thereof arise;  
Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shalt prove,  
A second flood down raining from mine eyes:  
Note but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold,  
The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke;  
And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled,  
They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke;  
Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see,  
Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice,  
That soul (sweet Maid) which so hath honoured thee,  
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes;  
Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright,  
When darkness hath obscured each other light.   

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

Sonnet 57  
YOu best discerned of my interior eyes,  
And yet your graces outwardly divine,  
Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,  
Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine:  
You in whom Nature chose herself to view,  
When she her own perfection would admire,  
Bestowing all her excellence on you;  
At whose pure eyes Love lights his hallowed fire,  
Even as a man that in some trance hath seen,  
More than his wondering uttrance can unfold,  
That rapt in spirit in better worlds hath been,  
So must your praise distractedly be told;  
Most of all short, when I should show you most,  
In your perfections altogether lost.   

Sonnet 58.  
IN former times, such as had store of coin,  
In wars at home, or when for conquests bound,  
For fear that some their treasures should purloin,  
Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground;  
And to attend it, them so strongly tie,  
Till they returned, home when they never came,  
Such as by art to get the same have tried,  
From the strong spirit by no means get the same,  
Nearer you come, that further flies away,  
Striving to hold it strongly in the deep:  
Even as this spirit, so she alone doth play,  
With those rich Beauty's heaven gives her to keep:  
Pity so left, to coldness of her blood,  
Not to avail her, nor do others good.   

To Proverb. Sonnet 59  
AS Love and I, late harbourde in one Inn,  
With Proveths thus each other entertain;  
In love there is no lack, thus I begin:  
Fair words makes fools, replieth he again:  
That spares to speak, doth spare to speed (quoth I)  
As well (saith he) too forward as too slow.  
Fortune assistes the boldest, I reply:  
A hasty man (quoth he) ne'er wanted woe.  
Labour is light, where love (quoth I) doth pay,  
(Saith he) light burdens heavy, if far borne:  
(Quoth I) the main lost, cast the by away:  
You have spun a fair thread, he replies in scorn.  
And having thus a while each other thwarted,  
Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.   

Sonnet 60.  
DEfine my love, and tell the joys of heaven,  
Express my woes, and show the pains of hell,  
Declare what fate unlucky stars have given,  
And ask a world upon my life to dwell.  
Make known that faith, unkindness could not move;  
Compare my worth with others base desert,  
Let virtue be the tuch-stone of my love,  
So may the heavens read wonders in my heart;  
Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun,  
And view the crosses which my course doth let;  
Tell me, if ever since the world begun,  
So fair a rising had so foul a set:  
And by all means, let foul unkindness prove,  
And show a second to so pure a love.   

Sonnet 61.  
WHen first I ended, than I first began,  
The more I travel, further from my rest,  
Where most I lost, there most of all I wan,  
Pined with hunger, rising from a feast.  
Me thinks I flee, yet want I legs to go,  
Wise in conceit, in act a very sot,  
Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe,  
What most I seem, that surest am I not.  
I build my hopes a world above the sky,  
Yet with the Mole I creep into the earth,  
In plenty am I ●●aru'd with penury,  
And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth:  
I have, I want, despair, and yet desire,  
Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire.   

Sonnet 62.  
TRuce gentle Love, a parley now I crave,  
Me thinks 'tis long since first these wars begun,  
Nor thou nor I, the better yet can have:  
Bad is the match where neither party won.  
I offer free conditions of fair peace,  
My heart for hostage, that it shall remain,  
Discharge our forces here, let malice cease,  
So for my pledge, thou give me pledge again.  
Or if nothing but death will serve thy turn,  
Still thirsting for subversion of my state;  
Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn,  
Let the world see the utmost of thy hate:  
I send defiance, since if overthrown,  
Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own.    

Certain other Sonnets to great and worthy Personages.  

To the high and mighty Prince, james king of Scots. Sonnet 61.  
NOt thy grave Counsels, nor thy subjects love,  
Nor all that famous Scottish royalty,  
Or what thy sovereign greatness may approve,  
Others in vain do but historify,  
When thine own glory from thyself doth spring,  
As though thou didst all meaner praises scornee  
Of Kings a Poet, and the Poet's King,  
They Princes, but thou Prophets dost adorn;  
Whilst others by their Empires are renowned,  
Thou dost enrich thy Scotland with renown,  
And Kings can but with diadems be crowned,  
But with thy laurel thou dost crown thy Crown;  
That they whose pens (even) life to Kings do give,  
In thee a King, shall seek themselves to live.   

To Lucy Countess of Bedford. Son. 61.  
GReat Lady, essence of my chiefest good,  
Of the most pure and finest tempered spirit,  
Adorned with gifts ennobled by thy blood,  
Which by descent true virtue dost inherit:  
That virtue which no fortune can deprive,  
Which thou by birth tak'st from thy gracious mother,  
Whose royal minds with equal motion strive,  
Which most in honour shall excel the other;  
Unto thy fame my Muse herself shall task,  
Which rainst upon me thy sweet golden showers,  
And but thyself, no subject will I ask,  
Upon whose praise my soul shall spend her powers.  
Sweet Lady yet, grace this poor Muse of mine,  
whose faith, whose zeal, whose life, whose all is thine.   

To the Lady Anne Harington. Sonnet. 62.  
MAdam, my words cannot express my mind,  
My zealous kindness to make known to you,  
When your deserts all severally I find;  
In this attempt of me do crave their due:  
Your gracious kindness first doth claim my heart,  
Your bounty bids my hand to make it known,  
Of me your virtues each do challenge part,  
And leave me thus the least that is mine own:  
What should commend your modesty and wit,  
Is by your wit and modesty commended,  
And standeth dumb, in most admiring it,  
And where it should begin, is only ended;  
Returning this your praises only due,  
And to yourself, say you are only you.   

To the Lady L. S. Sonnet 63.  
BRight star of Beauty, on whose cie-lids sit,  
A thousand Nymph-like and enamoured graces,  
The goddesses of memory and wit,  
which in due order take their several places,  
In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious love,  
Lays down his quiver, that he once did bear,  
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove,  
Forsook his mother's lap to sport him there.  
Let others strive to entertain with words,  
My soul is of another temper made;  
I hold it vile that vulgar wit affords,  
Devouring time my faith shall not invade:  
Still let my praise be honoured thus by you,  
Be you most worthy, whilst I be most true.   

To sir Anthony Cook. Sonnet 64.  
VOuchsafe to grace these rude unpolished rhymes,  
Which but for you had slept in sable night,  
And come abroad now in these glorious times,  
Can hardly brook the pureness of the light.  
But sith you see their destiny is such,  
That in the world their fortune they must try,  
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,  
Wearing your name their gracious livery.  
Yet these mine own, I wrong not other men,  
Nor traffic further than this happy clime,  
Nor filch from Portes, not from Petrarches pen,  
A fault too common in this latter time;  
Divine sir Philip, I avouch thy writ,  
I am no pickpurse of another's wit.   
Finis.   

The Legend of Robert Duke of Normandy.  

WHat time soft night had silently begun,  
To steal by minutes on the long-lived days,  
The furious dog pursuing of the sun,  
Whose noisome breath adds fervour to his rays,  
That to the earth sends many a sad disease:  
Which then inflamed with his intemprate fires,  
Herself in light habiliments attires.   

When the rather morning newly but awake,  
Scarce with fresh beauty burnished her brows,  
Herself beholding in the general Lake,  
(To which she pays her never-ceasing vows,)  
With the new day me willingly to rouse;  
Down to fair Thames I softly took my way,  
Where the mild winds continually do play.   

Striving to fancy his chaste breast to move,  
Whereas all pleasures plentifully flow,  
When him along the wanton tide doth shove,  
And to keep back they easily do blow,  
Still meet him coming, thinking him too slow:  
He forcing waves to check their hot embrace,  
They fanning breath upon his crystal face.   

Still forward sallying from his bounteous ●ource,  
Along the shores lasciviously doth strain,  
And often times retreating in his course,  
As to his fountain he would back again,  
Or turned to look upon his silver 〈◊〉;  
With coy regards the goodly soil he greets,  
Till with fair Medway happily he meets.   

Steering my compass by the wandering stream,  
whose flight might teach me 〈…〉 es ne'r-turning hours,  
Delighted thus as in a pretty dream,  
Where pleasure wholly had possessed my powers;  
Yet looking back on London's c 〈…〉 g Towers,  
So Troy, thought I, her stately head did rear,  
Whose crazed ribs the furrowing plough doth eire.   

Weary at length, a willow-tree I found,  
Which on the bank of this great torrent stood,  
Whose root, with rich grass greatly did abound,  
(Forced by the moisture of the surging flood)  
Ordained it seemed to sport her Nimphish brood;  
Whose curled top denied the heavens great eye,  
To view the stock he was maintained by.   

The Lark that learns observance to the Sun,  
Quavers her clear notes in the quiet air,  
That on the rivers murmuring base doth run,  
And the pl〈…〉sde heavens, their fairest livery ware,  
The place such pleasure gently doth prepare;  
The flowers my scent, the flood my taste to steep,  
Each sense thus s●ted, 〈…〉ed me asleep.   

When in a dream it seemed unto me,  
Triumphal music from the flood arose,  
As when the Sovereign we embargde do see,  
And by fair London for his pleasure rows,  
whose tender welcome the glad City shows;  
The people swarming thick upon the shores,  
And the curled water overspread with oa●es.   

A troop of Nymphs came suddenly on land,  
In the full end of this triumphal sound,  
And me encompassed, taking hand in hand,  
Casting themselves about me in a round,  
And so down set them on the easy ground;  
Their sober eyes cast with a modest grace,  
Upon my swarth and melancholy face.   

Next, twixt two Ladies came a goodly Knight,  
As newly brought from some distressful place,  
To me who seemed some right worthy wight,  
Though his attire were miserable base,  
Many deep furrows in his manly face;  
And though cold age had frosted his fair hairs,  
It rather seemed with sorrow then with years.   

The one a Lady of a princely port,  
Leading this sad Lord, scarcely that could stand,  
The other fleering in disdainful sort,  
with scornful gestures drew him by the hand,  
who lame and blind, yet bound with many a band;  
which (I perceived nearer as they came)  
That this was Fortune, that more constant fame.   

Fame on the right hand in a rob of gold,  
whose train old Time obsequiously did bear,  
whereon in rich Embraudry was enrolled,  
The acts of all the worthies ever wear,  
which all might read depainted lively there,  
Set down in lofty well composed verse,  
Fi●st the great deeds of Heroes to rehearse.   

On her fair breast she two broad Tablets wore,  
Of crystal th'one, the other Ebony,  
where were engraven all the names of yore,  
In the large Tomb of lasting memory,  
Or the black book of endless obloquy;  
The first with Poets and with Conquerors piled,  
That with base worldlings every where defiled.   

And in her words appeared (as a wonder)  
Her instant force and after-during might,  
which softly spoke, far off were heard to thunder,  
About the world that quickly took their flight,  
And brought the most obscurest things to light:  
That still the farther off, the greater still  
Did sound our good, or manifest our ill.   

Fortune, as blind as he whom she did lead,  
Her feature often changing in an hour,  
Fantastically carrying her head,  
Soon would she smile, and suddenly would lower,  
And with one breath, her words both sweet & sour  
Upon her foes she amorously would glance,  
And on her followers coily look askance.   

About her neck in manner of a chain,  
Torn diadems and broken sceptres hung,  
If any on her steadfastly did lean,  
Them to the ground disdainfully she flung;  
And in this order as she passed along,  
Great bags of gold out of her bosom drew,  
Which to the unworthiest evermore she threw.   

A dusky vail which hid her sightless eyes,  
Like clouds that cover our uncertain lives,  
wherein were portrayed direful tragedies,  
Fools wearing Crowns, and wisemen clogged in gives,  
All things how she preposterously contrives;  
That as a map her regency discovers,  
In Camps, in Courts, and in the fate of lovers.   

An easy bank near to this place there was,  
A seat fair Flora used to sit upon,  
Curling her fair locks in this liquid glass,  
Putting her rich gems and attiring on,  
Fitter than this about us was there none;  
here set they down this poor distressed man,  
And in this sort proud Fortune thus began.   

Behold this Duke of Normandy quoth she,  
The heir of William, Conqueror of this I'll,  
Appealing to be justified by thee,  
(whose tragedy this Poet must compile)  
He of all other that I hold most vile,  
His birth being marked with my unlucky brand,  
For whom I see thou comest prepared to stand.   

What art thou but a tumour of the mind,  
A bubble blown up with deceitful breath,  
Which never yet exactly wert defined,  
In whom no wise man t'rereposed faith,  
Speaking of few well until after death,  
That from loose humour hast thy timeless birth,  
Unknown to heaven, and less esteemed on earth?   

First in opinion hadst thou thy creation,  
On whom thou still dost servilely attend,  
Like whom thou long retain'st not any fashion,  
But with the world uncertainly dost wend,  
Which as a post, doth up and down thee send;  
Without profane tongues, thou couldst never rise,  
Nor be upholden, were it not with lies.   

In every corner prying like a thief,  
And through each cranny subtly dost creep,  
Apt to report, and easy of belief:  
What's he whose counsel thou didst ever keep,  
That into closets saucily dar'st peepe●  
Telling for truth, what thou canst but suppose,  
And that divulging, thou shouldst not disclose.   

With extreme toil and labour thou art sought,  
The way is danger leadeth to thy Cell,  
Only with blood thy favour must be bought,  
And who would have thee, fetcheth thee from hell,  
Where thou impalde with fire and sword dost dwell,  
And when thou art in all this peril found,  
What art thou? only but a tinkling sound.   

Such as the world holds (of all other) base,  
And of the rest reproachfully doth scorn,  
That amongst men sit in the seruilst place,  
These be the creatures which thou dost suborn,  
Those wait on fame, whose weeds be nearly worn,  
Yet these poor wretches come not unto thee,  
Unless preferred and dignifide by me.   

Thy trump such men supposed to advance,  
Is but as those fantastically deem,  
Whom folly, youth, or vanity entrance,  
Only to sound sufficing but to seem,  
(Which the wise sort a dotage but esteem;)  
And with this toy the humorous abusing,  
Their wilful error, and thy fault excusing.   

Except in peril thou dost not appear,  
And yet not then, but with entreats and wooing.  
Flying oft times when thou art very near  
At hand, diminishd and augmented going,  
On slightest things the greatest cost bestowing;  
In promising their losses to repair,  
When the performance is but only air.   

On baleful hearses as the fittest grounds,  
(Written with blood) thy sad memorials lie,  
Whose letters are immedicable wounds,  
Only fit objects for the weeping eye,  
And from the dust thou worth dost only try;  
And what sometime thou falsely didst deprave,  
Thou dost acknowledge only in the grave.   

The mighty Orb is witness of my power,  
And how I reign with the eternal fates,  
With whom I sit in council every hour,  
On th'alterations of the times and states,  
Them setting down their changes and their dates,  
In fore-apointing every thing to come,  
Until the great and universal doom.   

The stars to me an everlasting book,  
In that eternal register the sky,  
Whose mighty volumes I do overlook,  
Still turning o'er the leaves of destiny;  
which man I to inviolate, deny,  
And his frail will imperiously control,  
By such strong clauses as I there unroll.   

Predestination giving me a being,  
whose depth man's wit could never thoroughly sound,  
Into those secrets have I only seeing,  
wherein wise Reason doth herself confound,  
Searching where doubts do more and more abound;  
where sacred texts unlock the way to me,  
To lighten those that will my glory see.   

What names old Poets to their gods did give,  
were only figures to express my might,  
To show the virtues that in medo live,  
And my great power in this all-mooving wight,  
And all their altars unto me were dight;  
Up alterations evermore did bring,  
Matter whereon, continually they sing.   

Still most uncertain varying in my course,  
Yet in all changes aim one certain end,  
Crossing man's forecast (he may know my force)  
Still foe to none, to none a perfect friend,  
To him lest thought of, soon I do send;  
That all should find I worthily bestow,  
Nor reasonurge, but that I hold it so.   

Forth of my lap I power abundant bliss,  
All good proceeds from my all-giving hand,  
By me, man happy or unhappy is;  
For whom I stick, or whom I do with stand,  
And it is I am friendship's only band;  
And upon which, all greedily take hold,  
Which being broke, love suddenly grows cold.   

Pausing, she frowns, when suddenly withal,  
A fearful noise ariseth from the stood,  
As when a tempest furiously doth fall,  
within the thick waste of some ancient wood,  
That in amazement every mortal stood;  
As though her words such powerfulness did bear,  
That every thing her minaces did fear.   

When fame yet smiling, mildly thus replies,  
Alas quoth she, what labour thou hast lost,  
what wondrous mists thou casts before our eyes?  
Yet will the gain not countervail the cost;  
what wouldst thou say if thou hadst cause to boast,  
which sett'st thy state forth in such wondrous sort,  
Which but thyself, none ever could reports   

A thing constrained only by event,  
Breeding in some a transitory terror;  
A, what men will, that comes by accident,  
And only named to excuse their error.  
What then is Fortune? or who doth prefer her?  
Or who to thee so foolish is to lean,  
Which weak tradition only doth maintain?   

A toy whereon the doting world doth dream,  
Soothed by that uncertain observation  
Of all attempts, that being the extreme,  
Fasteneth thereby on weak imagination;  
Yet notwithstanding all this usurpation,  
Unto thyself art incidently loathing  
Most, when thou wouldst be, that art rightly nothing.   

That slightly by insinuating thus,  
And under so allowable pretence,  
Closely incroacheth on man's Genius,  
In good and evil taking refidence,  
And having got some small pre-eminence,  
Unto thyself a being that wouldst frame,  
Finds in conclusion only but a name.   

Those ignorant which made a god of Nature,  
And Nature's God divinely never knew,  
Were those to Fortune did direct a stature,  
From whom thy worship ignorantly grew,  
Which being adored foolishly by few,  
Grounded thy loser and uncertain laws,  
Upon so weak and indigent a cause.   

First, stouth did bear thee in her sleepy cell,  
And thee with ease dishonourably fed,  
Delivering thee with Cowardice to dwell,  
Which with base thoughts continually thee bred.  
By superstition idly being led:  
A lewd imposture after did thee make,  
Whom for a goddess fools do only take.   

And as thy followers, nothing dost forecast.  
And as thou art improvident, as light;  
And this the chiefest property thou hast,  
That against virtue thou bendst all thy might,  
With whom thou wagest a continual fight;  
The yielding spirit in fetters thou dost bind,  
But weak and slavish to the constant mind.   

Such is thy froward and malignant kind,  
That thou dost all things crossly in despite,  
Thou art enamoured of a barbarous hind,  
Whom thou dost make thy only favourite,  
None but the base in baseness doth delight;  
For wert thou heavenly; thou in love wouldst be,  
with that which nearest doth resemble thee.   

But I alone the herald am of heaven,  
Whose spacious kingdom shetcheth far and wide,  
To every coast as swift as lightning driven,  
And on the sunbeams gloriously I ride;  
Now mount I up, now down again I slide:  
I register the world's eternal hours,  
That know the hid will of th'immortal powers.   

Men to the stars, me guiding them, do clime,  
That all dimensions perfectly express,  
And I alone the vanquisher of time,  
Bearing that sweere that cures death's bitterness,  
That do all labour plentifully bless,  
That all obstruse profundities impart,  
Leading man through the tedious ways of Arte.   

My palace placed betwixt earth and skies,  
Which many a Tower ambitiously upheares,  
Whereof the windows are composed of eyes,  
The walls as strongly edifide of ears,  
where every thing in heaven and earth appears,  
Nothing so softly whispered in the round,  
But through my palace presently doth sound.   

And underfoot floor'd all about with drums,  
The rafters trumpets admirably clear,  
Sounding aloud each name that thither comes,  
The crannies tongues, and talking every where,  
And all things past do in remembrance bear:  
The doors unlock with every little breath,  
And open wide with every word man saith.   

And throwout hung with arms & conquered spoils,  
The posts whereon the goodly roof doth stand,  
Are Pillars graven with Herculean toils,  
Th'achievements great of many a warlike hand,  
Both in the christened and in heathen land;  
Done by those Nobles that are most renowned,  
Which there by me immortally are crowned.   

Here in the body's likeness whilst it lives,  
Appear the thoughts proceeding from the mind,  
To which the place a glorious habit gives,  
When unto me they freely are resigned,  
To be preserved there, by my power refined;  
That when the body by plae death doth perish,  
Then doth this place the minds true Image cherish.   

My beauty never Fades, but as new borne,  
As years increase, so ever waxing young,  
My strength is not diminished, nor worn,  
What weakeneth all things, makes me only strong,  
Nor am I subject unto worldly wrong,  
The rape of time I carelessly defy,  
Nor am I awed by all his tyranny.   

The brow of heaven my monuments contain,  
which is the mighty register of Fame,  
which there in fiery characters remain,  
The gorgeous ceiling of th'immortal frame,  
The Constellations publishing my name  
where my memorials evermore abide,  
In those pure bodies highly glorified.   

F 〈…〉 having ended, Fortune next began,  
Further to urge what she before had said,  
when (lo quoth she) duke Robert is the man,  
which as my prisoners I in bonds do lead,  
For whom thou comest against me here to plead,  
Whom I alone deprined of his crown,  
Who can raise him that Fortune will have down?   

A fitter instance (Fame replying) none,  
Then is Duke Robert, Fortune do thy worst,  
Greater to man thy might was never shown,  
Doing on him what ever Fortune durst;  
And since thy turn allotted thee the first,  
Proceed; see which the Norman Duke shall have,  
Whether that Fame, or Fortune and the grave.   

Quoth Fortune then, I found th'unsteadfast star,  
Whose luckless working limited his fate,  
That marked his sad nativity with war,  
And brothers most unnatural debate,  
Public sedition and with private hate,  
And on that good his father him begun,  
Grounded the wrack and down fall of this son.   

What bounteous nature frankly did bestow,  
Wherein her best she strained her to try,  
Thereby, himself I made him overthrow,  
Above you both so powerful am I;  
His breast to all so openly did lie,  
Judged from his fashion differing so far,  
For peace too mild, too merciful for war.   

And yet the courage that he did inherit,  
And from the greatness of his blood did take,  
Though shrouded in so peaceable a spirit,  
When now his wrong so roughly did awake,  
Forthwith such fury violently broke,  
As made the world impartially to see,  
All human actions managed by me.   

That till revenge was wholly him bere●t,  
Opposed against so absolute a power,  
And him to lean on nothing being left,  
when danger most him threatened to devour,  
Unto the period of the utmost hour;  
Him flattering still with promise of my love,  
Did make him all extremities to prove.   

That whilst his father with the Norman sword,  
On fruitful England prosperous entrance made,  
I cast the project that this youthful Lord,  
In the mean time should Normandy invade;  
And with as proved and powerful a blade,  
Him I persuaded (constantly by this)  
To make his own yet doubtful to be his.   

That Robert daily in disgrace might run,  
As still the Conqueror towards his end did grow,  
who well in years, thus vexed by his son,  
which now his will so openly did show;  
His state devised wisely to bestow,  
For his own safety that his days to close.  
He might himself more quietly repose.   

And that lest time might cool his weakened blood,  
This luckless war by lingering I supplied,  
That whilst Duke Robert justly censured stood,  
Under the weight of his unnatural pride;  
In heat of all, this Conqueror William died,  
Setting young Rufus on th'unrightful throne,  
Leaving h 〈…〉 struggling for his own.   

Which in small time so many mischiefs bred,  
As sundry plagues on William's offsprings sent,  
Attaining to so violent a head,  
which policy not after could prevent;  
when to destruction all things headlong went,  
And in the end, as consumating all,  
Was Roberts irrecoverable fall.   

When none could prosperous Nonmandie dissuade,  
From sending ensigns to the English field,  
Brother opposed the brother to invade,  
Sword against sword, shield menaced to shield,  
whose equal worth to other scorn to yield;  
One arm a front, the others furious stroke,  
Sceptre with sceptre violently broke.   

These sundry soils, in both of which was sown,  
By so approved and fortunate a hand,  
The seed to both might prosprously have grown,  
By their 〈◊〉 in a mutual band;  
Now when these Princes opposite do stand;  
what them should foster, greater wounds them lent,  
Then the prowd'st power that Europe could have sent.   

Having myself won William in his life,  
This conquered Realm to Rufus that did give,  
Getting by strength what he did leave in strife,  
Those to molest that after him should live;  
In this advantage cunningly I drive,  
T'afflict his issue with a general ill,  
Yet th'extreme in Robert to fulfil.   

As when stout Odo (that with William held,  
Daily pricked forward by proud Lanfrancks' spite,  
Both powerful Prelates rigorously compelled,  
Rufus to leave abetting Robert's right,  
Drawing both Mortaines and Mongomeries might,  
Mangling the I'll with many a grievous scar,  
Scarcely yet cured of the former war.   

That being set in so direct a way,  
Strong friends at hand his enterprise to beck,  
Ready before him when his entrance lay,  
Of all supplied that he did lately lack,  
Him I persuade the remedy to slack,  
Stopping the course which he did lately run,  
All to undo that he had ever done.   

Thus did I stir up that unkindly rage,  
That did so far prevail upon his blood,  
And at my pleasure did again assuage,  
When now this heat in stead might him have stood;  
Thus with his humour altered I my mood,  
That first by Arms his vigour he might lose,  
Which then laid down gave strength unto his foes.   

That by concluding this untimely peace,  
I might thereby a lingering war begin,  
That whilst these tumults did a little cease,  
Craft more advantage cunningly might win;  
Thus let I treason secretly in,  
Giving deceitful Policy the key,  
To the fair closet where his councils lay,   

Thus reconciling outwardly a friend,  
I drew an inward and a dangerous foe,  
That all his wit ambitiously did lend,  
To cloth his treasons in a virtuous show;  
Which were contrived ●so currently to go,  
That secret malice strengthened more and more,  
Lastly, should prove more dangerous than before.   

And now poor Fame, my power to thee addressed,  
And thee mine only instrument I made,  
That whilst these brothers at this pass do rest,  
Him to the wars I won thee to persuade,  
With those that now were going to invade,  
With great Duke Godfrey pressing for his bands,  
From Pagan's power t'regain the holy lands.   

His youthful humour finely thus I feed,  
The mean most fit to draw him forth abroad,  
When now at home his presence most should need,  
In foreign lands to fasten his abode,  
Him in this order only I bestowed;  
That William dying, Robert being gone,  
Henry might seat him on his brother's throne.   

So sweet the sounds of these aduent'rous Arms,  
And every sense so strougly they do bind,  
That he hath now no feeling of his harms,  
So far away transported is his mind,  
Declaring well the greatness of his kind;  
That him so high and forcibly doth bear,  
As when most cause, he lest his ill doth fear.   

Him having thrown into eternal thrall,  
Wisely forecasting how the same should be,  
When every thing made fit unto his fall,  
Which none could hinder, though the most foresee,  
For which I made an instrument of thee;  
For where destruction sadly I pretend,  
Mischief like lines, all to their centre bend.   

He gone, and William yielded up the breath,  
The younger Henry covetous of reign,  
Offered so fairly by his brother's death,  
whilst Robert doth in Palestine remain,  
And now a Kingdom easily might gain;  
what by his power and science to persuade,  
Himself a Monarch absolutely made.   

Whilst this great Duke embraced is by thee,  
which thou as thine dost absolutely claim,  
Finding mere shadows only missing me,  
And idle Castles in the air doth frame;  
Lot, such a mighty Monarchesse is Fame,  
That what she gives, so easy is to bear,  
As none therefore needs violence to fear.   

Until returning from those holy wars,  
So highly honoured with the Pagan's flight,  
From foreign battles unto civil ●arres,  
And getting others for his own to fight,  
enforced to use the utmost of his might;  
with that rich sword in Pagan blood imbrued,  
Himself to save by his own friends pursued.   

When wanting sums, the sinews of his force,  
which his great courage quickly comes to find,  
Even in the high speed of his forward course,  
So skilfully I managed his mind,  
That I a way out readily did find;  
To his destruction, Henry to supply,  
His future safety happily to buy.   

Him by all ways to amity to win,  
Not fully yet established as he would,  
Having thus far already gotten in,  
Setting himself substantially to hold,  
By the frank offers of bewitching gold;  
The yearly tribute from his Crown to rise,  
Which might all former injuries suffice.   

Which entertained by confident belief,  
By which to pass his purposes were brought,  
Not yet suspicious of this secret thief,  
By which he soon and cunningly was caught;  
Of which the least when princely Robert thought,  
Even in a moment did annoy him more,  
Then all their power could ever do before.   

Which to this great Lord utterly unknown,  
Not understanding, easily could not fly,  
Into his way that subtly was thrown,  
which to avoid, Duke Robert looked too high,  
Into good minds fraud doth the soon pry;  
whose pliant nature I securely chose,  
To work what form it pleased me to dispose.   

This fatal tribute cutting off the claim,  
A lawful Prince to England's Empire laid,  
His former right doth altogether maim,  
As they agreed yearly to be paid;  
Thereon relying after being stayed,  
As from a fountain plenteously did spring,  
The efficient cause of Roberts ruining.   

Whenas his friends so well to him that meant,  
And for this day did wholly them prepare,  
Seeing him thus their purpose to prevent,  
And how thereby 'twas like with him to far;  
Now upon Henry bended all their care,  
Giving their power their peace with him to make,  
Gathered at first the Norman part to take.   

And I by whom yet every thing had been,  
Since Norman William conquest here begun,  
To show myself the world's imperious Queen,  
Direct my course against his eldest son,  
Things falling out disastrously to run,  
On England's part 'gainst Normandy to stand,  
Conquered but lately by the Norman hand.   

The conquest William made upon this I'll,  
When Norman blood the Englishmen did tame,  
That native now enriched with her style,  
Turned with revenge to captivate the same,  
As back descending whence it lately came,  
As Norman power did English thrall provoke,  
That Norman necks should bear the English yoke.   

For which, being up, and fallen to open Arms,  
Such mortal hate between them daily grows,  
And pressing in where deadly peril swarms,  
The angry brothers dealing furious blows,  
Back to regain what they before did loose,  
Either to quit him of the others thrall,  
Either to rise, or evermore to fail.   

Him on whom late in Palestine I smiled,  
Returned from France now dreadfully I frown,  
Being called home that chiefly is exiled,  
And in his kingdom only leaves his crown,  
Him in the deluge of mischance to drown:  
Lastly, himself contemptfully doth lose,  
Leaving his realm to his injurious foes.   

Which home to England prisoner do him bring,  
Left as a spoil and prey unto his own,  
Become her captive should have been her king,  
Such was the lot upon his life was thrown,  
Where he remaining in continual moan,  
Prescribed to one poor solitary place,  
Whose lawful bounds the ocean did embrace,   

Could human knowledge comprehend my hate,  
Or reason sound the depth of things divine,  
The world amazed at Duke Robert's state,  
Might think no might to be compared with mine,  
And all the chances unto me resign,  
In Robert's fall apparently to see,  
Amongst the stars the strength that rests in me.   

That sword upon him which resumes such power,  
Yet is too weak to consummate his days,  
Time, whose swift course doth every thing devour,  
In his most need, prolongs him with delays,  
Whilst he his brother's tyranny obeys,  
That he in life a thousand deaths might die,  
In every course so forcible am I.   

And whilst in such extremity he lies,  
Deprived of all comfort but the blessed light,  
Yet 'twas not this that could my rage suffice,  
But to abridge that, rob him of his sight,  
To suit his days directly with the night;  
That, that to all men last which should be,  
Due to the wretchedst, him denied by me.   

That Robert so infortunately blind,  
No outward object night disperse his care,  
The better to illuminate his mind,  
To see his sorrows thoroughly what they are,  
To do so much unto this Prince I dare,  
That being deprived of that which was the chief,  
Did of the other amplify the grief.   

And when bereaved of his nightly rest,  
With the remembrance of so great a wrong,  
Fastening so deeply on his pensive breast,  
His heart the while that violently stung,  
Nature in him doth show herself so strong;  
That grief, which many doth of life deprive,  
Seems to preserve and keeps him still alive.   

Him I denied his enemy to kill,  
Nor by his own hand wretchedly to die,  
That life unto him should be loathsome still,  
And that death from him evermore should fly,  
Making them both to him an enemy;  
Willing to die by life, him double killing,  
Urged to live, twice dying he unwilling,   

So many years as he hath worn a Crown,  
So many years as he hath hopde to rise,  
So many years upon him did I frown,  
So many years he lives without his eyes,  
So many years in dying ere he dies,  
So many years shut up in prison strong,  
Sorrow doth make the shortest time seem long.   

Thus sway I in the course of earthly things,  
That time might work him everlasting spite,  
To show how I can tyrannize on Kings,  
And in the fall of great ones do delight,  
In fined things my working infinite;  
All worldly changes at my will disposed,  
For that in me all wonder is enclosed.   

At Fortune's speech amazed whilst they stand,  
And Fame herself yet wondereth at his woe,  
When from Duke Robert Fortune takes her hand,  
Whose misery she thus had let them know;  
When now to answer her despiteful foe,  
Fame from deep silence seeming to awake,  
Thus for her Client modestly bespoke.   

Quoth she, returning from renowned Rome,  
Seeking myself in Europe to advance,  
To win her Princes to regain the tomb,  
Which had been lost by her misgovernance,  
Calling to England, Germany and France  
(At length) persuaded happily by me,  
From Pagan hands fair Palestine to free.   

That holy hermit long that did bemoan  
This their so great and evident a loss,  
With famous Godfrey forwards that was gone,  
Bearing the banner of the bloody Cross.  
Now whilst in so fair forwardness it was,  
And every care attentive now did stand,  
To this great business only then in hand.   

Thither did all the noblest spirits resort,  
Which I that time successfully did bring,  
Allured by the confident report  
That from so great an enterprise did spring.  
T'aduenture in so popular a thing;  
And no man deemed worthy to be mine,  
That was not forward in this great design.   

Where now this duke the Conqueror's eldest son,  
Which with his birthright Normandy did wrest,  
When of what else his noble father won,  
His brother Rufus strongly was possessed;  
Which whilst he striveth from his hands to rest,  
This great attempt now gloriously broke forth,  
Which was by me divulged through the north.   

Which having got free entrance to his care,  
Such entertainment happily did find,  
As no persuasion suffereth to be there,  
From this high purpose to divert his mind,  
And being so religiously inclined,  
wooed with this offer fitly doth prepare  
Himself to furnish to this great affair.   

That kingdom he doth carelessly neglect,  
His brother Rufus wrongfully doth keep,  
And only that doth constantly respect,  
where he once in his sepulchre did sleep,  
At whose dear death the very rocks did weep,  
His crown of gold this christian Prince doth scorn,  
So much he loved him that was crowned with thorn.   

The want that him did grievously oppress,  
Of those great sums in levying power were spent,  
Himself again of England to possess,  
Much hindereth his religious intent,  
Yet could not this his purpose so prevent,  
Although a while it seemed delay to make,  
Of that which he did bravely undertake.   

Wherefore this noble and high spirited Lord.  
whilst now his business standeth at this stay,  
And since his state no better could afford,  
In gage to Henry Normandy doth lay,  
Providing first his soldiers how to pay,  
Rather himself chose kingdomlesse to leave,  
His country's hopes then basely to deceive.   

To his victorious ensign comes from far,  
Th'inlled Red-shanks touched with no remorse,  
The lightfoot Irish that with darts do war,  
The Scot so much delighting in his horse,  
The English Archer of a Lion's force,  
The valiant Norman most his troops among,  
With the brave Britton wonderfully strong.   

Remote from comfort in this colder clime,  
To other Countries kindly doth you bring,  
(And wisely teach you to redeem the time,  
Whence your eternal memory might spring)  
Unto the place whereas the heavenly King.  
Your dear redemption happily began,  
Living on earth, which was both God and man.   

Poor Islanders which in the Ocean's chain,  
Too long imprisoned from the cheerful day,  
Your warlike leader brings you to the main,  
Which to my Court doth show the open way,  
And his victorious hand becomes the key;  
Unto so high adventures that you bears,  
Glory to you, and honour to your heirs.   

And doth thereto so zealously proceed,  
As those fair locks his temples that adorn,  
Until the great jerusalem were freed,  
He made a vow should never more be shorn,  
Which since they so religiously were worn;  
In every eye did beautify him more,  
Then did the Crown of Normandy before.   

Whilst he still on his upright course doth hold,  
As we the sequel briefly shall relate,  
Bearing himself (as worthily he could)  
And best became his dignity and state,  
Teaching how his themselves should moderate,  
Not following life, so with his chance content,  
Nor flying death, so truly valiant.   

So did he all his faculties bestow,  
That every thing exactly might be done,  
That due foresight before the act might go,  
Others gross errors happily to shun,  
Wisely to finish well that was begun;  
justly directed in the course of things,  
By the strait rule from sound experience springs.   

Idle regards of greatness that did scorn,  
Careless of pomp, magnificent to be,  
That man reputing to be noblest borne,  
That was the most magnanimous and free,  
In honour so impartial was he,  
Esteeming titles meritlesse and nought,  
Unless with danger absolutely bought.   

Giving the soldier comfortable words,  
And oft imbalmes his well-received wound,  
To him that needed maintenance affords,  
To brave attempts encouraging the sound,  
Never dismayed in any peril found,  
His Tent a seat of judgement to the grieved,  
And as a Court to those should be relieved.   

So perfect was that rarefying fire,  
That did compose and rectify his mind,  
Unto that place that raised his desire,  
Above the usual compass of his kind,  
And from the world so clearly him refined,  
As him did wholly consecrate to glory,  
A subject fit whereon to build a story.   

Who in embassage to the Emperor sent,  
Passing along through Macedon and Thrace,  
Never did sleep but only in his tent,  
Till he reviewd that famous Godfreis' face,  
Nor till he came unto that hallowed place,  
ne'er did repose his body in a bed,  
Such were the cares possess his troubled head.   

O wherefore then great singer of thy days,  
Renowned Tasso in thy noble story,  
Shouldst thou be taxed as partial in his praise,  
And yet so much shouldst set forth others glory?  
Me thinks for this thou shouldst be inly sorry,  
That thou shouldst leave another to recite,  
That which so much thou didst neglect to write.   

There was not found in all the christian host,  
Any than he more forward to the field,  
Nor their battalions could another boast,  
To bear himself more bravely with his shield,  
So well his arms this noble Duke could wield,  
As such a one he properly should be,  
That● I did mean to consecrate to me.   

Of so approved and deliver force,  
Charging his lance or brandishing his blade,  
Whether on foot, or managing his horse,  
That open passage through the ranks he made,  
At all assays so happy to invade,  
That were he absent in the charge or chase,  
It was supposed the day did lose the grace.   

In doubtful fights where danger soonest did fall,  
He would be present ever by his will,  
And where the Christians for supplies did call,  
Thither through peril Robert pressed still,  
To help by valour, or relieve by skill;  
To every place so providently seeing,  
As power in him had absolutely being.   

When in the morn his Courser he bestrid,  
He seemed composed essentially of fire,  
But from the field he ever drooping rid,  
As he were vanquished only to retire,  
Nearest his rest, the furth'st from his desire,  
And in the spoils his soldiers share the crowns,  
They rich in gold, he only rich in wounds.   

And when the fair jerusalem was won,  
And king thereof they gladly him would make,  
All worldly titles he so much doth shun,  
As he refused the charge on him to take,  
One the vain world that clearly did forsake,  
So far it was from his religious mind,  
To mix things vile with those of heavenly kind.   

No triumph did his victories adorn,  
But his high praise for sinful man that died,  
Nor other mark of victory is worn,  
But that red Cross to tell him crucified,  
All other glories that himself denied:  
A holy life so willingly he leads,  
In dealing alms, and bidding of his beads.   

Thus a poor Pilgrim he returns again,  
For glittering arms in Palmer's homely grey,  
Leaving his Lords to lead his warlike train,  
Whilst he alone comes sadly on the way,  
Dealing abroad his lately purchased pray;  
An aged staff his careful hand doth hold,  
That with a lance his heathen foe controlled.   

But now to end this long continued strife,  
Henceforth thy malice takes no further place,  
The hate thou bar'st him ended with his life,  
By thee his spirit can suffer no disgrace,  
Now in mine arms his virtues I embrace,  
His body thine, his crosses witness be,  
But mine his mind, that from thy power is free.   

Thou gav'st up rule when he gave up his breath,  
And where thou end'st, e'en there did I begin,  
Thy strength was buried in his timeless death,  
when as thy Conqueror lastly came I in,  
That all thou got'st from thee again did win;  
To whom thy right thou wholly didst resign,  
That all thou hadst was absolutely mine.   

To the base world than Fortune get thee back,  
The same with dreary tragedies to fill,  
There by thy power bring all things unto wrack,  
And on weak mortals only work thy will,  
And since so much thou dost delight in ill,  
Hear his complaint, who wanting eyes to see,  
May give thee sight, which art as blind as he.   

At her great words amazed whilst they stand,  
The Prince which looked dreadfully and grim,  
Bearing his eyes in his distressful hand,  
Whose places stood with blood unto the brim,  
In the great anguish shaking every limb;  
After deep sighs and lamentable throws,  
Thus 'gan at length to utter forth his woes.   

Saith he, farewell, the lights are now put out,  
And where they were, is buried all my joy,  
That are with darkness compassed about,  
Which tyranny did wilfully destroy,  
To breed my more perpetual annoy,  
That even that sense I only might forego;  
That could alone give comfort to my woe.   

You which beheld fair Palestine restored,  
And from profane hands of the Pagans freed,  
The Sepulchre of that most gracious Lord,  
And seen the mount where his dear wounds did bleed  
That with these sights my zealous soul did feed;  
Sith from your functions night doth you dissever,  
Seclude me now from worldly joys for ever.   

They saw no Sun, nor did they view the day,  
Except a candle, they beheld no light,  
Strong walls before those blessings kept away,  
What could be feared '? they could not hurt the night,  
For then tears wholly hindered them of sight;  
O then from whence should Henries hate arise,  
Though I saw nothing that I should have eyes?   

The wretchedst thing the most despisedst beast,  
Enjoys that sense as generally as we,  
The very Gnat, or what than that is least,  
Of sight by nature kindly is made free,  
What thing hath mouth to feed, but eyes to see,  
O that a tyrant than should me deprane,  
Of that which else all living creatures have:   

Whilst yet the light did mitigate my moan,  
Tears found a mean to sound my sorrows deep,  
But now ay me, that comfort being gone,  
By wanting eyes wherewith I erst did weep,  
My cares alas concealed I must keep;  
O God, that blindness stealing my delight,  
Should above all things give my sorrow sight   

Where sometime stood the beauties of this face,  
Those lamps once lighted with the vestal flame,  
Is now a dungeon, a distressed place,  
A harbour fit for infamy and shame,  
Which but with horror none can scarcely name;  
Out of whose dark grates misery and grief,  
Starved for vengeance, daily beg relief.   

The day abhors me, and me still doth fly,  
Night still me follows, yet too long doth stay,  
This never comes though it be ever nigh,  
And this in coming vanisheth away,  
What now me booteth either night or day;  
All's one, still day, or be it ever night,  
Sith one to me the darkness and the light.   

You wherewith once my comforts I did view,  
Th'alcouering heaven and glory that it bears,  
No more the same shall e'er be seen of you,  
That happy sight that every mortal cheers,  
No more to me for ever now appears;  
Betake you selves unto your darksome cell,  
And bid the world eternally farewell.   

His speech thus ending, Fortune discontent,  
Turning herself as she away would fly,  
Playing with babes and fools incontinent,  
As never tutched with human misery,  
As what she was herself to verify;  
And straight forgetting what she had to tell,  
To other speech and girlish laughter fell.   

When graceful Fame conveying thence her charge,  
With all these troops that did to her resort,  
Gave me this book, wherein was writ at large,  
His life set out in admirable sort,  
T'amaze the world with this so true report,  
But Fortune angry with her foe therefore,  
Gave me this gift, that I should still be poor.   
FINIS.   

The Legend of Matilda  

IF yet a Muse there happily remain,  
That is by truth so diligently taught,  
As vninstructed wanton to feign,  
Declareth but what modestly she ought;  
If this be such which I so long have sought,  
I crave by her my life may be revealed,  
By black oblivion enviously concealed.   

Oh if such favour I might hope to find,  
here in this world yet once to live again,  
As I yet lastly might express my mind,  
By the endeavour of a powerful pen,  
In all my sorrows happy were I then;  
Three hundredth years by all men overpast,  
Finding one friend to pity me at last.   

O you of him so happily elect,  
Whom I entreat to prosecute my story,  
Lady most dear, most worthy all respect,  
The world's best jewel, and your sex's glory,  
It shall suffice me, be Idea sorry,  
Reading my Legend sadly in his verse,  
Which now alone must serve me for a her●●.   

〈◊〉 you the pattern by whose perfect view,  
Like your fair self he wisely may me make,  
For sure alive none fitter is then you,  
Whose form unspotted chastity may take,  
Be you propitious, for whose only sake  
For me I know he'll gladly do his best,  
So you and I may equally be blest.   

Bright Rosamond so highly that is graced,  
Inroled in the register of same,  
That in our sainted calendar is placed,  
By him who strives to stellify her name;  
Yet will the modest say she was too blame,  
Though full of state and pleasing be his rhyme,  
Yet can his skill not expiate her crime.   

The wife of Shore wins general applause,  
Finding a pen laborious in her praise,  
●lstr●d reviv'd to plead her pitied cause,  
After the envy of so many days,  
happy's the man their glories highest can raise;  
Thus the loose wanton liked is of many,  
Vice shall find friends, but virtue seldom any.   

To vaunt of my Nobility were vain,  
Which were I know, not bettered by the best,  
Nor should beseem an honourable strain,  
And me a maiden fits not of the rest,  
Nor worldly titles fond will suggest;  
A virtuous life I mean to boast alone,  
Our birth our sires, our virtues be our own:   

'tis shame to fetch our long descent from Kings,  
If from the gods derived thou shouldst be,  
The old achievements of those wondrous things,  
Which thou thyself than livedst not to see,  
What be their acts material unto thee?  
Staining that blood and honour that was theirs,  
Which could not leave their virtues to their heirs.   

Heaven poured down more abundance on my birth,  
Than it before had usually bestowed,  
And was in me so bountiful to earth,  
As though the fullness meaning to have showed,  
On me it so immeasurably flowed,  
That such a shape with such a spirit inspired,  
Did of the wisest make me most desired.   

Upon my brow sat Beauty in her pride,  
Unto the world as ministering her law,  
And unto all such riches did divide,  
As unto her all generally did draw;  
And yet mine eye did keep them so in awe,  
As that which only could true virtues measure,  
Ordained by Nature to preserve her treasure.   

My carrige such as might content the wise,  
My speech such comely decen●●e retain,  
As of the younger was not deemed precise,  
Nor of the aged was accounted vain;  
So well instructed to observe the mean,  
So well compact, and native was each good,  
That did coher● with temper of my blood.   

Nature in me did such perfections vary,  
As that the least allowed not of compare,  
And yet so well did teach me them to carry,  
That then themselves did make them seem more rare,  
As in my portion suffering none to share,  
In her fair grace by placing me so high,  
That there should sit the darling of the sky.   

When Fame began my beauty first to blaze,  
That soon became too lavish of the same,  
Having her trumpet laden with my praise,  
That every place was filled with my name,  
For which report thou too much wert too blame;  
But unto thee is beauty subject still,  
Which I may say, is causer of our ill.   

This jealous monster hath a thousand eyes,  
Her airy body hath as many wings,  
Now about earth, now up to heaven she flies,  
And here and there with every breath she flings,  
Even from the deep her messages she brings,  
Nothing so secret but to her appeareth,  
As apt to credit every thing she heareth.   

And Princes ears as open to report,  
As skill in blazing beauty to a King,  
Subject unto the censure of the Court,  
From whence Fame carries, thither she doth bring,  
And which soever she doth loudly ring,  
Thither ah me unhappily she brought,  
Where I my bar unfortunately caught.   

There stood my beauty boldly for the prize,  
Where the most clear and perfectest judgements be,  
And of the same the most judicial eyes,  
Did give the goal impartially to me;  
So did I stand unparaleld and free,  
And like a comet in the evenings sky,  
Struck with amazement every wondering eye.   

This 'twas possessed the breast of princely john,  
This on his heartstrings endless music made,  
This wholly won him unto it alone,  
And fully did his faculties invade,  
From which not reason ever could dissuade;  
This taught his eyes their due attendance still,  
Holding the reins which ruled his princely will.   

When yet my father fortunate in Court,  
And by his blood ranked equal with the best,  
Having his quick ear touched with this report,  
Which yet the news but hardly could digest,  
And on my youth his only care did rest;  
straightly pursues it by those secret spies,  
As still in Courts attend on Prince's eyes.   

And he thus while who seemed but to sleep,  
Till he the Prince's purposes could sound,  
And to himself yet secretly did keep,  
What he but late had providently found;  
So well that wise Lord could conceal his wound,  
That well foresaw how dangerous it would prove,  
To cross the course of his impatient love.   

When having found how violent a flame,  
Unbridled will had kindled in the King,  
If on the sudden he should stop the same,  
A greater inconvenience might bring,  
Which being known so dangerous a thing,  
Me doth bethink him fittest to persuade,  
ere for my safety further means he made.   

Dear girl quoth he, thou seest who doth await,  
T'entrap that beauty bred to be thy foe,  
Being so fair and delicate a bait,  
Tempting all eyes themselves there to bestow,  
Whose power the King is taught too soon to know;  
Of his desire that what the end may be,  
Thy youth may fear my knowledge doth foresee.   

And for thou livest publicly in Court,  
Whose privilege doth every mean protect,  
Where the ensample of the greatest sort,  
Doth more than opportunity effect,  
None thriving there that dwell upon respect,  
Being a lottery where but few do win,  
falsehood th'adventure, and the prize but sin.   

Subtly opposing to thy longing sight,  
What may to pleasure possibly provoke,  
And fitly fashioned unto thy delight,  
That with the gravest strikes too great a stroke,  
Having withal imperious power thy cloak;  
With such strong reasons on her part propounded,  
As may leave virtue seemingly confounded.   

Many the ways inducing to thy fall,  
And to thy safety none is left to guide thee,  
And when thy danger greatest is of all,  
Even than thy succour soon is denied thee:  
So sundry means from virtue to divide thee,  
Having with all mortality about thee,  
Frailty with in, temptation set without thee.   

The lechers tongue is never void of guile,  
Nor wants he tears when he would win his prey,  
The subtilst tempter hath the smoothest style,  
Sirens sing sweetly when they would betray,  
Lust of itself had never any stay,  
Nor to contain it bounds could have devised,  
That when most filled, is least of all sufficed.   

With every mean and majesty is fraught,  
That all things hath contained in his power,  
And who will conquer, leaves no mean unsaught,  
Soft golden drops did pierce the brazen Tower,  
Watching th'advantage of each passing hour,  
Time offering still each hour to do amiss,  
Thy baneful poison spiced with thy bliss.   

And when this heady and unseasned rage,  
Which in his blood doth violently reign,  
Time, that the heat shall peaceably assuage,  
Shall show the more apparently thy stain,  
Which unto ages ever shall remain;  
Sin in a chain leads on her sister shame,  
And both in gives fast fettered to defame.   

King's use their loves as garments they have worn,  
Or as the meat whereon they fully fed,  
The Saint once gone, who doth the shrine adorn?  
Or what is Nectar carelessly if shed,  
what Princes wealth redeems thy maidenhead,  
which should be held as precious as thy breath,  
whose dissolution consumates thy death.   

The stately Eagle on his height doth stand,  
And from the main the fearful fowl doth smite,  
Yet scorns to touch it lying on the land,  
When he hath felt the sweet of his delight,  
But leaves the same a prey to every kite;  
With much we surfeit, plenty makes us poor,  
The wretched Indian spurns the golden ore.   

When now he points the period with a tear,  
which in my bosom made so great a breach,  
As every precept firmly fixed there,  
And still his council unto me did preach,  
A father so effectually should teach,  
That then his words I after ever found,  
Written on so immaculate a ground.   

The youthful king deluded but the while,  
That in his breast did bear this quenchless fire,  
Whilst flattering hope his senses doth beguile,  
That with fresh life still quickened his desire,  
And gone so far now meant not to retire;  
Thinks if that aptly winning him but place,  
By love or power to purchase him my grace.   

Which still deferring, found he still did fail,  
Nor to his mind aught (kindly) took effect.  
Courageously resolving to assail,  
That other means doth utterly neglect,  
In spite what fear could any way object,  
And finding time, not booting to be mute,  
Thus to me lastly did prefer his suit.   

Dear maid (quoth he) when Nature had ordained  
Thee to the world her workmanship to bring,  
All other creatures knowing she had stained,  
By so divine and excellent a thing,  
Only therefore to gratify a King,  
Sealed thee the Charter dated at thy birth,  
Mirror of heaven, the wonder of the earth.   

Hoord not thy beauty, heaven doth give thee store,  
Pity such treasure should lie idly dead,  
Which being imparted shall increase the more,  
And by the interest evermore be fed,  
To be man's comfort that was only bred,  
which of itself is of such power and might,  
As like the sun joys all things with the sight.   

From those bright stars such streams of lightning glide  
As through the eyes do wound the very heart,  
Whose virtues may be sundry ways applied,  
Hurting and healing like Achilles' dart;  
Such bounty Nature did to them impart,  
Those lamps two planets clearer than the seven,  
That with their splendour light the world to heaven.   

Had Art such colours as could truly show,  
Each rare perfection rightly in his kind,  
And on each one sufficiently bestow,  
Unto the glory properly assigned,  
Painting the beauties aptly to the mind,  
But O alone thy excellence is such,  
As words though many lessen worth so much.   

He is thy king, who is become thy subject,  
Sometimes thy Lord now servant to thy love,  
Thy graceful features be his only object,  
Who for thy sake a thousand deaths durst prove,  
A Prince's prayer should some compassion move;  
Let wolves and bears be cruel in their kinds,  
But women meek and have relenting minds.   

Deign (dear) to look upon these brimful eyes,  
With tides of tears continually frequented,  
Where hope without food hunger-starven lies,  
which to betray me treacherously consented,  
That for the fact being lawfully convented,  
judgde in these waters still to have their being,  
For their presumption thy perfections seeing.   

Sat thou commanding under mine estate,  
Having thy tresses honoured with my Crown,  
As not unworthy of a meaner fate  
And make the prowd'st to tremble with a frown,  
Raise whom thou wilt, cast whom it please thee down:  
And be my love renowned through this I'll,  
With all the titles fame may thee instile.   

What if my Queen repining at our bliss,  
Thee as did juno Ioues fair darling keep,  
Mine I'll preserve as that great god did his,  
Wise Mercury lulled Argus eyes to sleep,  
Love ever laughs when jealousy doth weep,  
When most she stirs, our power shall keep her under,  
She may raise storms, but we do rule the thunder.   

Thus having made the entrance to his love,  
Which he supposed assuredly in time,  
Of better tidings messenger might prove,  
By which he after to his joys might climb,  
And of my youth now being in the prime,  
Leaves me, not knowing well which way to turn me,  
warmed with the fire which unawares might burn me.   

Upon my weakness that so strongly wrought,  
Whilst in my breast a mutiny arose,  
Fear and Desire a doubtful combat fought,  
As like two eager and ambitious foes,  
This strives to win, the other fears to lose;  
By this oft cleared, and by that accused,  
Flattered by that most, most which me abused.   

And in myself that well suspected treason,  
Knowing who watched to have me for his prey,  
And in so apt and dangerous a season,  
when youth and beauty bore so great a sway,  
And where he battery still to me might lay,  
who girt so strongly every way about,  
well might suspect I could not long hold out.   

All doubts end fears cast utterly aside,  
Resolved at last away from Court to go,  
Whither it pleased my happy stars to guide,  
There I myself determined to bestow,  
Until time might this passion over-blow,  
Or if at least it wrought not the extrusion,  
Might lend me power to help my resolution.   

When he whose care this while me not forsook,  
That many a sweet sleep for my safety broke,  
Much that was pleased with the course I took,  
As one that truly suffered for my sake,  
Did his abode at Baynard's Castle make,  
which since the Court so haply did leave one,  
To his protection kindly did receive me.   

Whence sorrow seemed utterly exiled,  
wherein my life I long before did waste,  
The present time that happily beguiled,  
with thought of that which was already past,  
where I was now so fortunately placed;  
Even as a bird escaped the Fowler's snare,  
whom former danger warneth to beware.   

When now the King whose purposes were crossed,  
which this evasion subtly did prevent,  
And that the mean to which he trusted most,  
was that which most did frustrate his intent,  
Seeing his suit preposterously went,  
Another course bethinks himself to run,  
Else now as far off, as when first begun.   

Thenceforth devising to dissolve the mass,  
That lay so full betwixt him and the light,  
That in his suit so great a hindrance was  
And lest expected wrought him most despite,  
Finding the cause that all things went not right,  
Casteth forth with my father to remove,  
To make the way more clearer to his love.   

When scarcely cured of that sickly qual 〈…〉  
And that my heart was happily at case,  
But as a ship that in a gentle calm,  
Floats up and down upon the quiet seas,  
By some rough gust some adverse star doth raise,  
Driven again into the troubled main,  
wh 〈…〉 well had hopde securely to have lain.   

The powerful Prince whom I did thus reject,  
Hereon in Court doth first this Peer disgrace,  
Thereby to give the people to suspect,  
T'offend in some thing sitting near his place,  
Them it (by all means) urging to embrace;  
Which if he clearly modelled out, that path  
Should give a passage freely to his wrath.   

And giving colour to his ran'ckrous hate,  
By such false council as to him he drew,  
Cunning in all the stratagems of state,  
My guiltless father ceaselesly pursue,  
Whose kingly power too quickly overthrew  
Him which I hoped me succour should have given,  
Till from all refuge absolutely driven.   

And not their clear and intellectual sight,  
Into the quarrel that did thoroughly look,  
Nor our allies that to their utmost might  
'Gainst his proceeding that our party took,  
Unto the end that never me forsook;  
Could the effect of his great power prevent,  
To stay from France my banished father sent.   

Not all his service to his sovereign done,  
In war as valiant as in council sound,  
Which from this Prince compassion might have won,  
To him that faithful evermore was found,  
How deeply thou ingratitude dost wound:  
Sure first devised to no other end,  
But to grieve those whom nothing could offend.   

Ay me forsaken, left unto my foe,  
Thus by my fortune fro wardly betrayed,  
Never poor maiden was besieged so,  
And all depressed that should lend me aid,  
Such weight the heavens upon my birth had laid,  
Yet her due merit virtue never loseth,  
'Gainst her fair course though heaven itself opposeth.   

Embarked for France his sd dejected eyes,  
Filled with tears in plentifullest store,  
His parting threatened by the lowering skies,  
Then under sail from sight of any shore,  
Fear him behind, and sorrow him before;  
Wasting withal his sad laments in vain,  
To the rude waters only to complain.   

When like a dear before the hounds imboste,  
when him his strength beginneth to forsake,  
Leaves the smooth lawns to which he trusted most,  
And to the covert doth itself betake,  
Doubling that creeps from brake again to brake;  
Thus still I shift me from the Prince's face,  
which hath me now continually in chase.   

The coast now clear, suspicion laid to rest,  
And each thing fit to further his intent,  
which with much pleasure quieted his breast,  
That every thing so prosperously went,  
And if the rest successfully consent,  
Of former aid that being quite forsaken,  
He hopes the fort may easily be taken.   

A Prince's arms are stretched from shore to shore,  
Kings sleeping see with eyes of other men,  
Craft finds a key to open every door,  
Little it boots in walls myself to pen,  
The lamb enclosed in the lion's den;  
whose watchful eyes too easily descried me,  
And found me soonst, where hur'st I thought to hide me.   

My paths by spies are diligently noted,  
O'er me he holds so vigilant a watch,  
And on my beauty he so fond doted,  
That at my looks he enviously did catch;  
Ready that stood attending at my ●atch,  
where jealous love continually did ward,  
Treason my handmaid, Falsehood on my guard.   

Wherefore since this so badly sorted out,  
He to my shifts so narrowly me drove,  
Another course must needesly cast about,  
Where safer harbour happily to have,  
Since insufficient this was me to save,  
His power so spacious every way did lie,  
That still I stood in his ambitious eye.   

And fear which taught me every way to prove,  
When I of many long time did debate,  
Me at the last it pleased the powers to move,  
To take upon me a religious state,  
The holy Cloister none might violate;  
Where after all these storms I did endure,  
There yet at last might hope to live secure.   

Wherefore to Dunmow secretly conveyed,  
Unto a house that sometime was begun,  
By juga, of our ancestry, a maid,  
At whose great charge this Monastery was done,  
In which she after did become a Nun;  
And kept her order strictly with the rest,  
Which in that place virginity professed.   

Where I myself did secretly bestow,  
From the vain world which I too long had tried,  
One whom affliction taught myself to know,  
My youth and beauty gently that did chide,  
And me instructing as a skilful guide;  
Printed with all such coldness in my blood,  
That it might so perpetuate my good.   

The King who with an envious eye did see,  
His power deluded, strongly discontent,  
who thence his power not possibly could free,  
Which his sad breast doth grievously torment;  
which since that I so wilfully was bend,  
And he past hope now ever to enjoy me,  
Resolves by some means lastly to destroy me.   

And he that knew one fit for such a fact,  
To whom he durst his secret thoughts impart,  
One that for him would any thing enact,  
And in performance wanted not his Art,  
That had a strong hand, a relentless heart;  
On him the King (in madness so enraged)  
Imposed my death, himself thereto that gauged.   

Who making haste the fatal deed to do,  
Thither repairs, but not as from the King,  
One that did well know what belonged thereto,  
Nor therein needed any tutor,  
But as one sent upon some needful thing;  
with a smooth countenance and with settled brows,  
Obtains to get in where I paid my vows.   

Where I alone and to his tale exposed,  
As one to him a willing ear that lent,  
Ay me, too soon himself to me disclosed,  
And who it was that him unto me sent,  
From point to point, relating his intent;  
Which whilst I stood struck dumb with this invasion,  
He thus pursues me strongly with persuasion.   

Saith he but hear how greatly thou dost err,  
Fond to dote upon thine own perfection,  
Whenas the King thee highly will prefer,  
And that his power desireth thy protection;  
So indiscreetly sort not thy election,  
To shut up in a melancholy cell,  
That in the Court ordained was to dwell.   

How dangerous is so bountiful an offer,  
If thy neglect do recklessly abuse it,  
who was it ever that did see a coffer,  
Filled with gold, and proffered did refuse it;  
Greater thy fault the more thou dost excuse it,  
Thyself condemning in thine own good hap,  
Refusing treasure cast into thy lap.   

Wrong not thy fair youth, nor the world deprive  
Of that great riches Nature freely lent,  
Pity 'twere they by niggardize should thrive,  
whose wealth by waxing craveth to be spent,  
For which thou after justly shalt be shent;  
Like to some rich churl burying his pelf,  
Both to wrong others, and to starve himself.   

What is this vain, this idle reputation,  
which to the show you seemingly respect,  
Only the weakness of imagination.  
which in conclusion worketh no effect?  
Less then that, can the worshippers protect,  
That only standeth upon fading breath,  
And hath at once the being, and the death.   

A fear that grew from doting superstition,  
To which still weak credulity is prone,  
And only since maintained by tradition,  
Into our ears impertinently blown,  
By folly gathered, as by error sown;  
Which us still threatening, hindereth our desires,  
Yet all it shows us be but painted fires.   

Thee let it like this Monastery to leave,  
Which youth and beauty justly may forsake,  
Do not the Prince of those high joys bereave,  
Which happy him eternally may make,  
Which sends me else thy life away to take;  
For dead to him if needsly thou wilt prove,  
Die to thyself, and buried with his love.   

Rage that resumde the colour of his face,  
Whose eye seemed as the Basalisks to kill,  
The horror of the solitary place,  
Being so fit wherein to work his will,  
Each good omitted, every present ill;  
Which all do seem my overthrow to further,  
By fear dissuaded, menaced by murder.   

In this so great and peremptory trial,  
With strong temptations grievously afflicted,  
With many a yielding, many a denial,  
Oft times acquitted, oftentimes convicted,  
Whilst fear before me lively stands depicted,  
And at the instant by a little breath,  
Gives me my life, or sends me unto death.   

When now my soul that gathered all her powers,  
Which in this need might friendly give her aid,  
The resolution of so many hours,  
whereon herself she confidently staid;  
(In this distress their help together laid,)  
Making the state which she maintained good,  
Expelled the fear, usurping on by blood.   

The which my tongue did modestly enlarge,  
From those strict limits terror it confined,  
My grieved bosom sadly to discharge,  
And my lost spirits did liberally unbinds;  
To my clear eyes their residence resigned,  
And strongly there mine honour to maintain,  
Checked his presumption with a chaste disdain.   

Finding me thus inviolably bend,  
He for my death that only did abide,  
Having a poison murdering by the seent,  
Unto the organ of that sense applied;  
which for the same when fittest time he spied,  
Unto my nostrils forcibly did strain,  
Which at an instant wrought my deadly bane.   

With his rude touch (my vail disordered then)  
My face discovering, whose delicious check  
Tinckted with crimson, fading soon again,  
with such a sweetness as made death even meek,  
Seeming to him, beholding it even like  
Unto a spark extinguished to the eye,  
Breaks forth in fire e'er suddenly it die.   

And whilst thereat amazed he doth stand,  
wherein he such an excellency saw,  
Ruing the spoil done by his fatal hand,  
whom nothing else my beauty now did awe,  
And from his eyes would force him tears to draw;  
Of which deprived and settled even as dead,  
Grieving for me that it had none to shed.   

When life retreating gently towards the heart,  
(On whom cold death invasion now did make,  
winning by little every outward part)  
As more and more her succours her forsake,  
To this last fort enforced her to betake,  
To him whom sadly yet did me behold,  
Thus with mild speech my grief I did unfold.   

Is this the gift the King on me bestows,  
which in this sort he sends thee to present me?  
I am his friend, what gives he to his foes,  
If this in token of his love be sent me?  
His pleasure thus, it must not discontent me;  
Yet after sure a proucrhe this shall prove,  
The gift King john bestowed upon his love.   

When all that race to memory are set,  
And by their statues their achievements done  
which won abroad, and which at home did get.  
From son to sire, from sire unto the son,  
Graced with the spoils that gloriously they won;  
O that of him it only should be said,  
This was that King, the murderer of a maid!   

O keep it safely from the ears of Fame,  
That none do hear of this unhallowed deed,  
To him be secret and conceal his shame,  
Lest after ages hap the same to reed,  
And in their eyes the very letters bleed;  
O let the grave my innocency hold,  
Ere of a King so heinous sin be told.   

Uttering my mind my sorrow to assuage,  
The heavy burden of my pensive breast,  
The poison now that inwardly did rage,  
The present vigour forcibly expressed,  
Me no way suffering to declare the rest;  
Longer for him 'twas now no time to stay,  
And death called on to hasten me away.   

Thus in my closet being left alone.  
Upon the floor uncomfortably lying,  
The deed committed and the murderer gone,  
Almost arrived at the point of dying,  
Some of the sisters me by chance espying,  
Calls all the rest that in most woeful plight,  
Came to behold this miserable sight.   

Where like a rose by an unkindly blast,  
'mongst many buds that round about it grow,  
The withered leaves improsp'rously doth cast.  
Yet all the rest their sovereign beauties show,  
Amidst this goodly sisterhood even so;  
Nipped with cold death untimely did I fade,  
Whilst they about me piteous wailing made.   

When as my poor soul in her sudden flight,  
Neglects the organ of each several sense,  
with all that horror could the same affright,  
Being disturbed in her parting hence,  
Only constrained for her best defence,  
Unto her spotless innocence to take her,  
Which her not leaves when all the rest forsake her.   

When all our pleasures are but children's toys,  
And as mere shadows presently do pass,  
As years increasing, waning are our joys,  
As we forget our favours in a glass,  
Even as a tale of that which never was;  
Death our delights continually doth sever,  
Virtue alone abandoneth us never.   

And now my spirit thus liberally enlarged,  
By gently flitting from this earthly room,  
The debt to Nature faithfully discharged,  
And at the hour conditioned on my tomb;  
Such is the heavens inevitable doom,  
Me Baynard's Castle to the earth did bring,  
D 〈…〉 again my place of burying.   

Now scarcely was my breathless body cold,  
But every where my tragedy was spread,  
For tattling Fame in every place had told,  
My resolution being lately dead,  
Ruing my blood so prodigally shed,  
And to my father flies with this mischance,  
Which then remained in the Court of Frarce.   

His loss too great to be bewailed with tears,  
Nor were there found words to express his woe,  
Terror itself so settled in his ears,  
No more might enter, nothing out might go,  
O while again should grief distract me 〈◊〉?  
Enough of sorrow is already shown,  
And telling his renewing of mine own.   

Me 'tshall suffice my fortunes to relate,  
And bear the burden of my proper ill,  
If I express my pitiful estate,  
'tis all I ask, and I obtain my will,  
For why, true sorrow needs not others skill,  
It is too much the bitterness we taste,  
without remembrance when the same is past.   

Somesaie, the King repentant for this deed,  
whenas remorse to thoughts thereof him drove,  
Poorly disguised in a Pilgrims weed,  
Offered his tears on my untimely grave,  
For which, no doubt but heaven his sin forgave;  
And did thereby my grieved spirit appease,  
H●●●●ing contrite, I haply at ease.   

Thus told my story, I my state devise,  
To you sweet Madam, fitt'st with you to r●st,  
which do my virtues daily exercise,  
That be impressed in your patient breast,  
By whom alone I rightliest am expressed;  
For whom my praise (it grieves me) is too scant,  
Whose happy name an Epithet shall want.   

Then most dear Lady for a maiden's sake,  
To shed one tear, if gently you but deign,  
For all my wrongs it full amends may make,  
And be my pass to the Elysian plain,  
In your chast● eyes such power there doth remains,  
As can th'afflicted prosprously deliver,  
Happy be they may look upon them ever.   
FINIS.   

The Legend of Pierce Gaveston.  

FRom gloomy shadows of eternal night,  
Shut up in darkness where I long did dwell,  
O here behold me miserable wight,  
Lastly, invokt my tragedy to tell;  
Give me then leave my sorrows to impart,  
Somewhat to ease my poor afflicted heart.   

Goddess of Arts and Arms, Pallas divine,  
Let thy bright fawchion lend me Cypress bughes,  
Be thou assisting to this Poet of mine,  
With funeral wreaths encompassing his brows,  
Pitying my case when none would hear me weep,  
To tell my sorrows, lays his own to sleep.   

And mournfulst maiden of the sacred Nine,  
That baleful sounds immovably dost breath,  
With thy swollen visage, and thy blubbered eine,  
I unto thee my sad complaints bequeathe;  
Matter that yields sufficient for thy glory,  
If thou exactly prosecute my story.   

Tell how the stars my wandering state did guide,  
Th'unconstant turns of every changing hour,  
Of many a low ebb, many as high a tide,  
Many a smooth calm, many a stormy shower,  
The height whereto I lastly did ascend,  
My strange beginning, and my fatal end.   

When Edward sat upon the English throne,  
Longshanks that so victoriously did reign;  
First of that name, and second unto none,  
In all to knighthood ever did pertain,  
My life begun, and then begun my bliss,  
Even in those days, those happy days of his.   

So much did virtue gracious hearts inflame,  
Promotion than not purchased with gold,  
And in those times he that desired fame,  
Bought it of them that it full dearly sold,  
Hateful excess so much did not devour,  
Laws had less force, and honesty more power.   

And since that time so violently prays  
Upon those ages that even holiest be,  
Let me remember those more happy days,  
In these sad hours my grieved eyes do see,  
With greater grief that makes me these deplore,  
When I do think of those that were before.   

And Muse, to thee I sadly then appeal,  
Since thou my life will't need●ly have me show,  
That I by thee may faithfully reveal,  
Even what the most inquisitive would know,  
Whilst that my soul here bodied did abide,  
In the vain world that pampered mein pride.   

From Gascony our name and our descent,  
Of which my father naturally was borne,  
In all his wars that with king Edward went,  
To him a 〈…〉 egg man and a soldier sworn:  
And in his country ventured his estate.  
To follow him that seemed to govern fate.   

Whose trust that great king highly did employ,  
And near his person took him for the same,  
Who with myself, but then a little boy,  
Unto the Court of famous England came;  
Whereas the King for service he had done,  
Made me a page unto the Prince his son.   

In me what shape that man's did not excel,  
Where every part such harmony did beat,  
As in this model Nature seemed to tell,  
'Twas not perfection if it were not there,  
As every age reserved his rarest feature,  
Thereof to make so excellent a creature.   

My looks the powerful adamants to love,  
Which unto them attracted every sight,  
With which the same was fixed or did move,  
As sumpathizing naturally delight,  
That where my thoughts intended to surprise,  
I at my pleasure conquered with mine eyes.   

If even the best in Paintings curious art,  
In some rare piece his workmanship should show,  
Imag 〈…〉 on helping with her part,  
w●●n th'hand had done the utmost it could do  
Unto that body modeling a mind,  
Such a one was I the mirror of my kind.   

This was the bait was laid for Edward's love,  
That bred the league of amity thereby,  
That no misfortune after could remove,  
when she the utmost of her force did try,  
Nor death itself retained power to sunder,  
Friendship seld seen, and in the world a wonder.   

here on this earth th'only mean thou art,  
Whereby we hold intelligence with heaven,  
And it is thou that only dost impart,  
All good can to mortality be given;  
That 〈…〉 red bo●d that never canst be broken,  
O word divine to be with reverence spoken!   

With this sweet Prince in height of worldly bliss;  
whilst Tutors care his wandering ears did guide,  
I lived enjoying whatsoe'er was his,  
who ne'er my pleasures any thing denied,  
Whose dear affection still me so attended,  
As on my joys his happiness depended.   

Whether that it my rare perfections were,  
That won my youth such favour in his eye,  
Or that the heavens to whom I seemed so dear,  
On me down showered this blessing from the sky;  
I cannot tell, but well it did direct,  
That could produce such wonderful effect.   

Thou Ark of heaven where wonders are enrouled,  
O depth of Nature, who can look unto thee?  
What might he be that hath thy doom controlled?  
Or hath the key of Reason to undo thee?  
Thy works divine, which thine alone do know,  
Shallow man's wit, too short for things below.   

The soul her liking subtly doth espy,  
In the high power that is to her assigned,  
By the clear sight discovering through the eye,  
The thing agreeing aptliest with her kind;  
And by each motion quickly apprehendeth,  
That which itself passed human sense extendeth.   

This Edward in the April of his age,  
Whilst yet the crown sat on his father's head,  
Like that great love with his raped Phrygian page,  
Me with Ambrosial delicacies fed;  
He might command that was the Sovereign's son,  
And what I said, that only must be done.   

My will a law autentically passed,  
My yea by him was never crossed with no,  
Who in affection chained was so fast,  
He as my shadow still with me did go,  
To me this Prince so pliant was in all,  
Still as an echo answering to my call.   

My smiles his life, his heaven was in my sight,  
And his delight confined by my desire,  
Who from my clear eyes borrowed all his light,  
As pal 〈…〉 I'd Cynthia from her brother's fire;  
My cheek the pillow where he laid his head,  
My brow his book, my bosom was his bed.   

Like fair Idalia bend to amorous sports,  
With young Adonis in the wanton shade,  
Figuring her passions in as sundry sorts,  
As he to her endearments to persuade  
Either's affections happily to move,  
With all the tender dalliances of love.   

The table (thus) of our delight was laid,  
Screwed with what dainties pleasure could devise,  
And many a Siren music sweetly played,  
(O that youth had us wherewith to suffice)  
whilst we on that unsatiately do feed,  
Which our confusion afterwards did breed.   

For still I spurred his violent desire,  
Holding the reins wherewith he ruled the sun,  
My blandishment the fuel to the fire,  
In which to fry already he begun;  
waxing his wings taught him Art to fly,  
Who on his back might bear me through the sky.   

Whilst the vain world upon us still did win,  
Enticed his flatteries steadfastly to trust,  
Losing the clew which led us safely in,  
Are lost within this Labyrinth of lust;  
For when the flesh is nussed once in vice,  
The sweet of sin makes hell a paradise   

Who thy deceits vile world yet ever told,  
In thee what is that's not extremely ill?  
A shop where poison's only to be sold,  
whose very entrance instantly doth kill,  
where all deformed wickedness do dwell,  
And all thy ways guide head long into hell.   

The King that saw his hopeful son betrayed,  
That like young Phaeton ventured on the skies,  
Perceived his course with danger hardly staid,  
(For he was grave and providently wise;)  
That wanting skill to master youths desire,  
Might by misguidance set his throne on fire.   

This was a corsive to King Edward's days,  
That without ceasing fed upon his bones,  
That in the day bereaved him of his case,  
Breaking his night-sleepe with unquiet groans;  
That did depress and burdened him down,  
More than the weight that sat upon his Crown.   

When now their judgement that severely tried,  
The matter whence this malady first grew,  
Likewise must now a remedy provide,  
To prevent the peril likely to ensue,  
The cause must end e'er the effect could cease,  
Else (well) of one, there many might increase.   

When such in Court my opposites as were,  
On all advantage that could wisely play,  
Who did to me invetterate malice bear,  
That for their purpose found so fair a way;  
On this their forces instantly did ground,  
My name and fame perpetually to wound.   

And the time fit for venting their untruth,  
Me into hate more forcibly to bring,  
Stick not to charge the looseness of my youth,  
T'offend even in th'unnaturalest thing,  
And old forepassed outrages awake,  
With all that me contemptible might make.   

Wherefore the Prince to privacy bestowed  
In Realms remote I banished to room,  
Censured of all men fitst to be abroad,  
That had betrayed my honest trust at home,  
A diudged to die, if after I were found,  
The day prescribed upon the English ground.   

So much astonished with the sudden blow,  
That I became insensible of pain,  
Until awaked with sharpness of my woe,  
I saw the wound which open did remain;  
By which my joys still fainted more and more,  
No hope at all me ever to restore.   

Even as a Turtle for her faithful make,  
Whose youth her dear virginity enjoyed,  
Sits shrouded in some solitary brake,  
With melancholy pensiveness annoide;  
Thus without comfort sit I all alone,  
From the sweet Prince infortunately gone.   

My beauty once which sdainde the summer's sight,  
Beaten with bleak and chilly winter storms,  
Those tender limbs must travel day and night,  
So often hug'd in Edward's princely Arms;  
Those eyes oft viewing pleasure in her pride,  
With fearful objects every way supplied.   

And whilst these storms me strangely thus did toss,  
where I myself confined yet in France,  
Thwarted the while with many a grievous cross,  
Inseperables to my sad mischance;  
Others that stemmed the current of the time,  
By which I fell, proved afterwards to climb.   

Chameleon-like the world doth alter hue,  
And as false Proteus puts on sundry shapes,  
One change scarce gone, another doth ensue,  
This filled, that likewise for promotion gapes;  
Thus did they swarm like Bees about the brim,  
Some drowned, and some as dangerously swim.   

And some on whom the higher powers looked fair,  
Yet of the season little seemed to vaunt,  
For there were clouds hung in the troubled air,  
which show'd something to their desire did want,  
That forced them stoop which otherwise would fly,  
Whilst with much care they fading honour buy.   

When restless Time that never turns again,  
Whose winged feet are sliding with the sun,  
By the fleet hours attending on his train,  
His resolution fatally begun;  
In a just course eftsoon to bring about,  
That which long since the wiser sort did doubt.   

For whilst the King doth seriously attend,  
His long-hoped voyage to the Holy-land,  
For which his subjects mighty sums did lewd,  
Even whilst this business only was in hand;  
All on the sudden happily doth fall,  
The death of Edward quickly altered all.   

Should I assay his virtues to report,  
To do the honour due unto his name,  
My mean endeavours should come far too short,  
And I thereby should greatly wrong the same;  
But leave it to some sacred Muse to tell,  
Upon whose life a Poet's pen might dwell.   

His princely body scarcely wrapped in lead,  
Before his mournful obsequies were done,  
But that the Crown was set on Edward's head,  
With whom too soon my happy days begun;  
After black night like brightness of the day.  
All former sorrows vanished away.   

When now Carnarvan calls within a while,  
Whom Edward Longshanks hated to the death,  
He whom the father lately did exile,  
Is to the son as precious as his breath,  
What th'old inscribed the younger forth did blot,  
Kings wills performed, and dead men's words forgot.   

When the wind wafts me to that happy place.  
And soon did set me safely on that shore,  
From whence I seemed but banished for a space,  
That my return might honoured be the more;  
Unto this new King happily to leave me,  
Whose princely arms were ready to receive me.   

Who would have seen how that kind Roman dame.  
O'ercome with joy did yield her latest breath,  
Hersonne returning laden with such fame,  
When thankful Rome had mourned for his death,  
Might here behold her personated right,  
When I approached to the Prince's sight.   

My jove now Lord of the Ascendant is,  
In an aspect that promised happy speed,  
Whilst in that lucky influence of his,  
Some praised the course wherein I did proceed;  
Yet it to some prodigiously appears,  
Telling the troubles of ensuing years.   

When like to Midas all I touched was gold,  
Poured as 'twas once down into Danae's lap,  
For I obtained any thing I would,  
Fortune had yet so lotted out my hap;  
The chests of great men like to Oceans are,  
To whom all floods by course do still repair.   

The Isle of Man he first unto me gave,  
To show how high I in his grace did stand,  
But fearing me sufficient not to have,  
I next received from his bounteous hand,  
Fair Wallingford that anciently had been,  
The wealthy dower of many an English Queen.   

The sums his father had been levying long,  
By impositions for the war abroad,  
Other his princely benefits among,  
At once on me he bounteously bestowed;  
When those which saw how much on me he cast,  
Soon found his wealth sufficed not his waste.   

He gives me then chief Secretary's place.  
Thereby to train me in affairs of state,  
And those high rooms that I did hold to grace,  
Me Earl of Cornwall frankly did create;  
And that in Court he freely might partake me,  
Of England Lord high Chamberlain did make me.   

And that he would more strongly me alley,  
To back me 'gainst their insolent ambition,  
Doth his fair cozen unto me affy,  
A Lady of right virtuous condition,  
which his dear sister prosperously bare,  
To the Earl of Gloster blood-ennobled Clare.   

O sacred bounty, mother of content,  
Fautresse and happy nourisher of Arts,  
That giv'st success to every high intent,  
The Conqueror of the most noblest hearts:  
High grace into mortality infused,  
Pity it is that e'er thou wast abused.   

When those that did my banishment procure,  
Still in my bosom hated did abide,  
And they before that could me not endure,  
Are now much more impatient of my pride;  
For emulation ever did attend,  
Upon the great, and shall unto th'end.   

And into favour closely working those,  
That from mean places lifted up by me,  
And factious spirits being fittest to oppose,  
Them that perhaps too powerful else might be;  
That even 'gainst envy raised by my hand,  
Me must uphold to make themselves to stand.   

And since the frame by fortune so contrived,  
To give protect to my ambitious ways,  
Urging thereby their hate to me derived,  
From those high honour's 〈◊〉 upon me lays,  
Drawing the King my courses to partake,  
Still to maintain what he himself did make.   

Thus doth my youth still exercise extremes,  
My heed fond rashness to forerun my fall,  
My wit mere folly, and my hopes but dreams,  
My council serves myself but to enthrall,  
That me abused with a vain illusion,  
When all I did intending my confusion.   

And now the King, to hasten his repair,  
Himself by marriage highly to advance,  
With Isabel a Princess, young and fair,  
As was her father Philip king of France,  
When now the more to perfect my command,  
Leaves unto me protection of the land.   

My power confirmed so absolute withal.  
That I drank pleasure in a plenteous cup,  
when there was none me to account to call,  
All to my hands so freely rendered up,  
That earth to me no greater bliss could bring,  
Except to make me greater than a King.   

When being now got as high as I could climb,  
That the vain world thus bountifully blest,  
Frankly embrace the benefit of time,  
Fully t'enjoy that freely I possessed;  
Strongly maintaining he was worse than mad,  
Fond to spare, a Prince's wealth that had.   

Their counsels when continually I crossed,  
As scorning their authority and blood;  
And in those things concerned their honour's most,  
In those against them ever most I stood:  
And things most public privately extend,  
To feed my riot that had never end.   

When lastly Fortune like a treacherous foe,  
That had so long attended on my fall,  
In the plain path wherein I was to go,  
Lays many a bait, to train me on withal;  
Till by her skill she cunningly had brought me,  
Unto the place where at her will she caught me.   

The mighty business falling then in hand,  
Triumphs ordained to welcome his return  
(Before the French in honour of the land)  
with all my power I laboured to adjourn;  
Till all their charge was lastly over thrown,  
who liked t'have seen no glory but mine own.   

Thus every thing me forward still doth set,  
Even as an engine forcing by the slight,  
One mischief thus a second doth beget,  
And that doth lead th'other but to right;  
Yet every one himself employing wholly,  
In their just course to prosecute my folly.   

Which when they found how still I did retain,  
Th'ambitious course wherein I first began,  
And lastly felt, that under my disdain  
Into contempt continually they ran;  
Take arms at once to remedy their wrong,  
which their cold spirits had suffered but too long.   

Me boldly charging to abuse the King  
A wasteful spender of his needful treasure,  
A secret thief of many a sacred thing,  
And that I led him to unlawful pleasure,  
That never did in any thing delight,  
But what might please my sensual appetite.   

That as a scourge upon the land was sent,  
Whose hateful life the cause had only been,  
The State so universally was rend,  
Whose ill increasing every day was seen;  
I was reproached openly of many,  
Who pitied none, not pitied now of any.   

And for opposed by men of greatest might,  
(The King my danger that had wisely weighed)  
That did pursue me with such deadly spite,  
Me into Ireland secretly conveyed,  
Until he might my peace again procure,  
And his own safety better might assure.   

As one whose house remedilessly burning,  
Seeing his goods now heaped together lost,  
His grief no whit disburdened by his mourning,  
Taking some one thing that he loveth most,  
To some remote place doth with that retire,  
Leaving the rest toth' mercy of the fire.   

Yet he so much that still did me esteem,  
That ever strove to cover my disgrace,  
To make my absence otherwise to seem,  
And to the world to bear a fairer Face,  
Lest my exile suggested by their hate,  
Might overthrow my livelihoode and estate.   

By their near council that were him about,  
His Deputy of Ireland doth me make,  
And caused it each-where to be given out,  
My journey thither instantly to take,  
To stop their mouths that gladly would embrace,  
Any report might tend to my disgrace.   

There lived I in that honourable sort,  
As to my high place purchased renown;  
with no less bounty managing a court,  
Then hourly craved th'revenues of a Crown;  
To me his love such sovereignty did bring.  
That though he reigned, I absolutely King.   

Few weeks there went but some the channel crossed,  
With some such present Princes hold in price,  
Some jewel that him infinitely cost,  
Or sumptuous robe of excellent devise;  
When they that saw what he upon me cast,  
Found that his treasure long time could not last.   

And since the flood me followed in this wise,  
His fullness I as amply entertain,  
It might show folly to be found precise,  
That to refuse which fell as did the rain,  
Such as no age before did ever win,  
And since his being, yet hath never been.   

When now th'abated Baronry that found,  
The cunning used for covering of my flight,  
That me but shifted to a surer ground,  
On which so vainly they bestowed their might;  
Perceived far off where greater peril rose,  
Then they could find how rightly to dispose.   

Like those that strive to stop some violent source,  
whose plenty Nature planted not for bounds,  
Climes above all the opposers of his course,  
Or let at large the neighbouring plain surrounds,  
That in itself s'enated is blessed,  
That will the more be, more it depressed.   

And fearing now the force I had abroad,  
who knew the way the Irish hearts to win,  
Fitter by far at home to be bestowed,  
(And to the State more safety found therein)  
where though my riots they could not prevent,  
Yet might survey the giddy course I went.   

Whereof they scarcely entertained the thought,  
And did thereto but seemingly descend,  
But that his love immediately it caught,  
Nor cares he by it what they do intend;  
Plot what they could, so he thereby might gain him,  
That with delight, which still did entertain him.   

O how thy presence majesty commands!  
That so severely humbleth every eye,  
whose only self acts more than many hands,  
In thee such virtue secretly doth lie,  
Having about thee the high power of fate,  
Art both imperious over love and hate.   

He that occasion never did neglect,  
That aught unto my happiness might win,  
My business did so carefully effect,  
That ever was so fortunate therein,  
As he to pass doth providently bring,  
Before deemed so impossible a thing.   

And Messengers immediately are sent,  
Me into England instantly to call,  
Authorizde by the general consent,  
Although not liked of inwardly of all;  
Yet, 'twas sufficient that it freedom gave me,  
But to be there where he desired to have me.   

My sails now swelling with a prosperous wind,  
The boisterous seas do homage to mine eyes,  
That much above their usual course are kind,  
All lowering clouds abandoning the skies,  
Nothing discerned that any whit might fear me,  
Fortune herself sits at the helm to steer me.   

What time the King his progress then did take,  
That part of Wales pretending now to see,  
For which he forward instantly did make,  
which was (indeed) there but to meet with me,  
with all the favour that he could devise,  
To give me honour in the public eyes.   

Where for my landing long he did provide,  
That ●ought might want intending my delight,  
And at each place as leisurely we ride,  
Did 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with some pleasing sight,  
And unto L●ndon to the pompous Court,  
Bring, me in the magnificentest sort.   

Which proved but spurs to my untamde desire,  
Giving the 〈◊〉 to my 〈…〉 ious will,  
●ho let me forth unto my full ca●●re,  
On places slippery, and my manage ill,  
Small my forefight, and overmuch my haste,  
That me alas infortunately cast.   

The Prince's ear, that having at command,  
That who would aught have, me must entertain,  
And yet before it passde my gripple hand,  
Got the greatest share unto my private gain;  
Nor card I what from any I did wring,  
Many thereby too much impoverishing.   

And daily begging of Monopolies,  
Taking the lands belonging to the Crown,  
〈◊〉 ●ence transporting those commodities,  
〈◊〉 England useful coming of her own,  
And basely selling offices (ere then)  
The due reward of best deserving men.   

And being irrecoverably proud,  
Held all things vile that suited not my vain,  
Nothing might pass, my judgement not allowed,  
A great opinion to my wit to gain,  
Giving vile terms and nicke-names of disgrace,  
To men that sat in honourable place.   

By which broke out that execrable rage,  
That long before had boiled in their blood,  
And for revenge they boldly them engage,  
When lastly for their liberty they stood;  
And in this quarrel open Arms they take,  
Or to mar all, or better it to make.   

They durst affirm my mother was a witch,  
And for the fact condemned burnt to be,  
And I her son and rightly of her pitch,  
She had bequeathed her damned Art to me;  
Urging it an inseparable thing,  
That I by Magic wrought upon the King.   

And into France did charge me to convey,  
A goodly table that was massy gold,  
A relic kept at Windsor many a day,  
●●at to King Arthur did belong of old;  
Upon whose margin as they did surmise,  
Merlin engraved many prophecies.   

And by appealing to the sea of Rome,  
A Legate thence procuring to the land,  
With malediction by the Church's doom,  
On any one that on my part should stand:  
The King suspending should he not consent,  
And ratify the general intent.   

Which they did but to prosperously effect,  
Being so strong to counterprize his force,  
The Clergy still being ready to direct  
Them the best way in all their restless course,  
That at the last they strongly him procure,  
By solemn oath me ever to abjure.   

Th'uncertain biding of each earthly thing,  
(Set out most lively in my star-crossed state)  
That doth remain in Fortunes managing,  
Appearing in my variable fate  
On me that frowned and flattered me so oft,  
Casting me down and setting me aloft.   

To Flanders then my present course I cast,  
Which being the nearest, lay fittest for my ease,  
Safest the way the sooner it was past,  
All not my friends that were abroad at seas;  
Such means in France they daily do procure,  
That there myself I doubted to secure.   

And though I changed my habit and my name,  
Because I meant to live unknown to any,  
Yet swift report had so divulged my shame,  
My hated life was published to too many;  
In every street that as I passed along,  
I was the talk of every common tongue.   

And finding that which only I did crave,  
A secret means to send unto the King,  
To me certain intelligence that gave,  
Of the state and course of every thing;  
Who laboured now (more ever then before)  
Me into England safely to restore.   

For which relying on my Sovereign's love,  
(To whom my life had ever been so dear)  
Which I then now had ne'er more cause to prove,  
Striving t'obtain (if any mean there were;)  
A dispensation for his former oath,  
In their despite that thereto seemed most loath.   

Where casting many a sundry course at length,  
(Being by marridge mightily allied,  
And but too much presuming of my strength)  
Resolved for England, come what could be●ide;  
And in a ship that for the journey lay,  
Thither myself did suddenly convey.   

And safely landed on the wished shore.  
Unto the Court me secretly betook,  
Of which the King had notice long before,  
And for my coming every day did look,  
Wisely that plotted when I should arrive,  
All helpful means my safety to contrive.   

Which soon being known whilst yet their blood was hot,  
That to their strength now only were to trust,  
For what before was done prevailed not,  
And for my sake the King did prove unjust;  
Bringing thereby whilst trifling they did stand,  
Wrong to themselves, and danger to the land.   

Now when the time did generally distaste,  
Our lewd and inconsiderate neglect,  
when those in Court that our high favours placed,  
Give us just cause their dealings to suspect,  
And they that viewed us with the pleasedst eye,  
Yet at our actions sometimes look awric.   

Wherefore the King enforced to provide,  
A present Army trusting to his friends,  
Repaired to York until he were supplied,  
From whence for, aid he into Scotland sends,  
To warlike Balliol and to Wales, from whence  
He might get power to frustrate their pretence.   

But they his purpose wholly intercept,  
Not now to seek in any secret thing,  
The marches that so vigilantly kept,  
And yet renounce all malice to the King;  
Only to chastise my abhorred sin,  
Who had the cause of all this trouble been.   

Thus Like a ship dismembered of the sails,  
Forced by the wind against the streamefull tide,  
From place to place with every billow hales,  
And as it haps from shore to shore doth ride;  
As that poor vessel rests my brittle stay,  
Nearer the land, still nearest cast away.   

corsive of kingdoms home-begotten hate,  
which in no limits ever yet waste bounded,  
when didst thou seize even on the greatest state,  
By thee that was not utterly confounded?  
How many kingdom be there that do rue thee?  
Happy the world was till too well it knew thee.   

Thus of our succour instantly bereft,  
Having but now some little force at sea,  
Lastly to trust to, only us was left,  
On which our hope infortunately lay;  
Which he to hasten, speedily doth make,  
His former courses forced to forsake.   

The present danger managing it so,  
That did for aid importunately call,  
Wherefore in York as farthest from the foe,  
Leaves me unto the safeguard of the wall;  
Till his return me further help might give,  
Whom more and more he studied to relieve.   

From Bedford now the Army setting on,  
Th'appointed randy whore they gathered head,  
When they had notice that the King was gone,  
Upon their way more hastily them sped,  
(Me t'afflict as purposed they were,)  
Whose presence else might force them to forbear.   

To Skarborough immediately I post,  
With the small force my fortune then did lend me,  
A Fort best fitting standing on the coast,  
And of all other likest to defend me,  
And came the worst, resistless were their might.  
The sea should safely privilege my flight.   

But they the City lying round about,  
Keep every passage with a watchful spy,  
That gave them notice of my passing out,  
With their light horse pursue me by and by;  
Whereas upon me suddenly they came,  
ere I had time to fortify the same.   

Along the lands towards Oxford they convey me,  
Wondering my sight as birds do at the Owl,  
And by the way continually they bray me,  
As hungry wolves at passengers do howl;  
Each one exulting that I now was caught,  
That in the land such mischief ever wrought.   

And being brought to Dedington at last,  
Where the Ea●le of Pombrooke willed me to be stayed,  
To understand 〈◊〉 further that I passed,  
Things to my charge that secretly were laid;  
And to the King he speedily had sent.  
T'acquaint him with the general intent.   

But the Earl of Warwick (lying but too near)  
(The dog of Arden that I used to call,)  
That deadly hatred still to me did bear,  
And that I ever doubted most of all;  
Thither repairing with a powerful band,  
Ceased upon me with a violent hand.   

And unto Warwick carrying me along,  
Where he had long desired me to get,  
With friends and tenants absolutely strong,  
Whom all the puissant Barronry abet;  
Since now occasion offered them such hold,  
Hasten my death by all the means they could.   

North from the Town, a mile or very near,  
An easy hill in public view doth lie,  
Blacklow then called of those that dwelled there,  
Near to the ancient Hermitage of Guy;  
Thither with armed bands strongly they me led,  
Whereas I lastly forfa●ed my head.   

My sundry passions having thus expressed,  
In the sad tenor of my tragic Tale,  
Let me return unto the fields of rest,  
Thither transported by a prosperous gale;  
I leave the world my destiny to view,  
Bidding it thus for evermore a diew.   
FINIS.