ENGLAND'S Heroical Epistles.  
WRITTEN In Imitation of the Style and Manner OF OVID'S EPISTLES: WITH ANNOTATIONS OF The Chronicle History.  
By MICHAEL DRAYTON Esq  
Newly Corrected and Amended.  
Licenced according to Order.  
LONDON, Printed for S. Smethwick, in Dean's Court, and R. Gilford, without Bishopsgate.   

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, chief for my own discharge, lest being mistaken, I fall in hazard of a just and universal Reprehension: for, 
— Hae nugae seria ducent  
In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinister.  Two Points are especially therefore to be explained: first, why I entitle this Work, England's Heroical Epistles; secondly, why I have annexed Notes to every Epistles end. For the first, The Title (I hope) carrieth Reason in itself; for that the most and greatest Persons herein, were English; or else, that their Loves were obtained in England. And though (Heroical) be properly understood of Demigods, as of Hercules and Aeneas, whose Parents were said to be, the one Celestial, the other Mortal; yet is it also transferred to them, who for the greatness of Mind come near to Gods. For to be born of a Celestial Incubus, is nothing else, but to have a great and mighty Spirit, far above▪ Earthly weakness of Men; in which sense O●… (whose Imitator I partly profess to be) doth al●… use Heroical. For the second, because the W●… might in truth be judged Brainish, if nothing 〈◊〉 amorous Humour were handled therein, I have interwoven Matters Historical, which unexplained, might defraud the mind of much Content: as for Example; in Queen Margarites Epistle to William De La-Pool, My Daisy Flower, which once perfumed the Air▪ Margarite, in French, signifies a Daisy; which for the allusion to her Name, this Queen gave for her Device: and this, as others more, have seemed to me not unworthy the explaining. By this mark * in the beginning of every Line, thou art directed to the Annotations for an explanation of what is obscure.  
Now, though, no doubt, I had need to excuse other things beside, yet these most especially; the rest I over-pass, to eschew tedious recital. If they be as harmelesly taken, as I mean them I shall not lastly be afraid to believe and acknowledge thee a gentle Reader.  
M. DRAYTON.   

On the Author MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esq and his Heroic Epistles.  
SEe here Britannia's OVID, whose soft Pen  
Transplants the Grecian Loves to Englishmen;  
View his EPISTLES throughly, and behold  
Our native Oar, coined in a Roman Mould;  
Yet all is Standard, all Rose-noble Gold.  
See here Britannia's LUCAN, whose rich Vein  
In History, does ancient Times explain,  
In our fore-Father's out-of-Fashion Dress,  
He does a Noble Gallantry express,  
Equal to that of Rome, and much above  
The little Fopperies of modern Love.  
The English Hero's Soul is all divine,  
As is the Beauty of the Heroine:  
However they disagree in Clime or Name,  
The Lover and the Brave are still the same,  
The Muse's Treasure, and Delight of Fame.  
J. W.   

On the Ingenious AUTHOR, occasioned by the present Edition of his HEROICAL EPISTLES.  

HEre, Reader's One, who when vouchsafed to Write,  
Can both the Sexes of mankind delight:  
●n gentle Numbers and soft Lays he sings  
Th' alternate Loves of Subjects and of Kings:  
The Theme he writes of, and his Song agree,  
Unequal Notes make up the Harmony.   

Listen ye Wits, to that Orphean strain,  
Which charmed even Ovid's Soul to Life again;  
Tibullus, Gallus and Propertius too,  
All Caesar's Court in one sweet Poet view,  
His English Heroes, courteous and brave,  
Unblemished bear their Honours to the Grave:  
No light Incontinence their Glories slain,  
They fixed and constant in their Loves remain.  
Here no Penelope laments her Fate,  
In her once kind, but now inconstant Mate.  
No poor forsaken Sapph can complain  
Of her too cruel Phaon's cold disdain.  
Naso, 'tis true, was perfect at Address,  
But Drayton's Language only found success:  
So fraught with Love all his EPISTLES came,  
They warmed the Answers into equal Flame.   

Such was the Poet and his Wit so great,  
Penned up in Earth, it was released by Fate.  
Adorned with Fancy, Innocence, and Love,  
His Book discovers that he's blest above:  
Thus active Stars that shoot along the Sky,  
Leave glittering Tracts, to show which way they fly,   
B. C.   

A Dedication of These and the foregoing Verses to Mr. Drayton's Heroic Epistles.  

ETernal Book, to which our Muses fly,  
In hopes of gaining Immortality.  
Time has devoured the Younger Sons of Wit,  
Who lived when Chaucer, Spencer, Johnson writ:  
Those lofty Trees are of their Leaves bereft,  
And to a reverend Nakedness are left.  
But the chief Glory of Apollo's Grove,  
Drayton, who taught his Daphne how to Love;  
Drayton, that sacred Laurel seems to be,  
From which each Sprig that falls must grow a Tree.   

Our humble Lines, eternal Book, receive,  
And order Fate to let the Suppliants live:  
But if our Zeal no valued Merit brings,  
And what you inspire must die like common things▪  
Yet to attend the Triumphs of the Brave,  
Contents the Soul and fits it for the Grave.  
Besides near You an easy Fate we choose,  
When by Neglect we Want, our Being's lose:  
In such pure Air gross Muses take no Breath,  
Faint, and in gentle Trances meet their Death.  
Thus when in Honour of the Sun's return,  
Their imitating Lamps the Persians burn:  
Before his Beams the glimmering Lights expire,  
And Sacrifice themselves to the Celestial Fire.   
T. B.   

To the Stationer on this new and correct Impression of England's Heroical Epistles By MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esq  

GO on, industriously, and give  
(Whilst Wit and Poesy shall live)  
New Light to DRAYTON, whose unequalled Qu●…  
Disdains all vain Essays of modern skill.  
The Nine grown Housewives now do ne'er inspire  
Such double Portions of aetherial Fire;  
As once they did in those his days, but since  
In scantier measures do their warmth dispense.   

Forth then, thou Objects of the Critics Eye,  
Beyond th' Efforts of all our Poesy;  
Expose refined and various Delights,  
And glut the nicest Readers Appetites.  
Since the melodious Thracian Orpheus sung,  
No Harp was ever better Touched or Strung.  
His Angel-sounds, methinks the blood more warms  
Than all the Powers of  Matilda's Charms,  
Can th' Royal Lover's Breast; which, whilst he sings▪  
Some Magic moves the mind's internal Springs.   
Edwine Sadleyr, Baronet.   


ENGLAND'S Heroical Epistles. The Epistle of ROSAMOND TO King HENRY the Second.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Henry the Second of that Name, King of England, 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 with 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,  
Let me for Love's sake their acceptance crave,  
But that sweet Name (vile) I profaned have:  
The Innocent may write to Kings in Gold,  
But my Dispair I must in Black unfold;  
Punish my Fault, or pity mine estate;  
Read them for Love; if not for Love, for Hate.   

If with my Shame thine Eyes thou fain would'●… feed  
Here let them surfeit, of my Shame to read:  
This scribbled Paper which I send to thee,  
If noted rightly, doth resemble me:  
As this pure Ground, whereon these Letters stand  
So pure was I, e'er stained by thy Hand;  
E'er I was blotted with this foul Offence,  
So clear and spotless was mine Innocence:  
Now, like these Marks, which taint this hateful Scroul  
Such the black Sins which spot my Lep'rous Soul.   

What, by this Conquest, canst thou hope to win▪  
Where thy best Spoil, is but the Act of 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 is, our Fault's the more▪  
" Lights on the Ground, themselves do lessen far,  
" But in the Air, each Spark doth seem a Star.  
Why, on my Woman-frailty shouldst thou lay  
So strong a Plot, mine Honour to betray?  
Or thy unlawful Pleasure shouldst thou buy,  
With thine own Shame, and my black Infamy?  
'Twas not my Mind consented to this Ill,  
Then had I been transported by my Will;  
For, what my Body was enforced to do,  
(Heaven knows) my Soul yet ne'er consented to  
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 greater corrosive to our blooming Years,  
" Then the cold Badge of Winter-blasted Hairs.  
" Thy Royal power may well withstand thy Foes,  
" But cannot keep back Age, with Time it grows;  
" Though Honour our ambitious Sex doth please,  
" Yet in that Honour's 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 soft Magic I was charmed,  
And to this monstrous shape am thus transformed;  
That viprous Hag, the Foe to her own Kind,  
That devilish Spirit, to damn the weaker Mind;  
Our Frailtie's Plague, our Sex's only Curse,  
Hell's deep'st Damnation, the worst Evils worse.   

But Henry, how canst thou affect me thus,  
TO 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 then I fear the Air would me betray;  
Then do I strive to wash it out with Tears,  
But then the same more evident appears.  
Then do I covered with my guilty Hand,  
Which that Names witness doth against me stand:  
Once did I sin, which Memory doth cherish;  
Once I offended, but I ever perish.  
" What Grief can be, but Time doth make it less?  
" But Infamy, Time never can suppress.  
Sometimes, to pass the tedious irksome Hours,  
I climb the top of Woodstocks mounting Towrs;  
Where, in a Turret, secretly I lie,  
To view from far such as do travel by;  
Whither (methinks) 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 even to Death their Eyes would me pursue.  
The married Women curse my hateful Life,  
Wronging so fair a Queen, and virtuous Wife;  
The Maidens wish, I buried quick, may die,  
And from each place, near my abode, do fly.  
* Well knewest thou what a Monster I would be,  
When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me;  
* Whose strange Meanders turning every way,  
Be like the course wherein my Youth did stray;  
Only a Clue doth guide me out and in,  
But yet still walk I circular in sin.   

As in the Gallery this other day,  
I and my Woman past the time away,  
'Mongst many Pictures, which were hanging by,  
The silly Girl at length happed to espy  
Lucrece's Image, and desires to know,  
What she should be, herself that murdered so?  
Why, Girl (quoth I) this is that Roman Dame;  
Not able then to tell the rest for shame,  
My babbling Tongue doth mine own Gild betray;  
With that I sent the prattling Wench away,  
Lest when my lisping guilty Tongue should halt,  
My Looks might prove the Index to my Fault.  
As that Lifeblood, which from the Heart is sent,  
In Beauty's Field pitching her Crimson Tent,  
In lovely Sanguine suits the Lily Cheek,  
Whilst it but for a resting place doth seek;  
And changing oft its Station with Delight,  
Converts the White to Red, the Red to White;  
The Blush with Paleness for the place doth strive,  
The Paleness thence the Blush would gladly drive:  
Thus in my Breast a thousand Thoughts I carry,  
Which in my Passion diversely do vary.   

When as the Sun hales towards the Western shade,  
And the Trees shadows hath much taller made,  
Forth go I to a little Current near,  
Which like a wanton Trail creeps here and there,  
Where, with mine Angle casting in the 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 he,  
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 Clifford's take from me that Name of theirs,  
Which hath been famous for so many years:  
They blot my Birth with hateful Bastardy,  
That I sprang not from their Nobility;  
They my Alliance utterly refuse,  
Nor will a Strumpet should 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 hid 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 soever I fly.  
Touching the Grass, the Honey-dropping Dew,  
Which falls in Tears before my limber shoe,  
Upon my Foot consumes in weeping still,  
As it would say, Why wentest thou to this Ill?  
Thus, to no Place in safety can I go,  
But every thing doth give me cause of Woe.   

In that fair Casket, of such wondrous Cost,  
Thou sentest the Night before mine Honour lost,  
Amimone was wrought, a harmless Maid,  
By Neptune, that adulterous God, betrayed;  
She prostrate at his Feet, begging with Prayers,  
Wring her Hands, her Eyes swollen up with Tears:  
This was not an intrapping Bait from thee,  
But by thy Virtue gently warning me,  
And to declare for what intent it came,  
Lest I therein should ever keep my shame.  
And in this Casket (ill I see it now)  
That Jove's love Jo turned into a Cow;  
Yet was she kept with Argus hundred Eyes:  
So wakeful still be Juno's Jealousies:  
By this I well might have forewarned been,  
T' have cleared myself to thy suspecting Queen,  
Who with more hundred Eyes attendeth me,  
Then had poor Argus single Eyes to see.  
In this thou rightly imitatest Jove,  
Into a Beast thou hast transformed thy Love▪  
Nay, worse far (beyond their beastly kind)  
A Monster both in Body and in Mind.   

The Waxed Taper which I burn by Night,  
With the dull vap'ry dimness mocks my Sight,  
As though the Damp which hinders the clear Flame,  
Came f●om my Breath in that Night of my Shame;  
When as it looked with a dark lowering Eye,  
To see the loss of my Virginity.  
And if a Star but by the Glass appear,  
I strait entreat it, not to look in here;  
I am already hateful to the Light,  
And will it too betray me to the Night?   

Then since my Shame so much belongs to thee,  
Rid me of that, by only murdering me;  
And let it justly to my charge be laid,  
That I thy Person meant to 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.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  
Well knewest thou what a Monster I would be.  
When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me.  
IN the Cretean Labyrinth a Monster was enclosed, called a Minotaur, the History whereof is well known: but the Labyrinth was framed by Dedalus, with so many intricate Ways, that being entered, one could either hardly or never return, being in the manner of a Maze, save that it was larger, the Ways being walled in on every side, out of the which, Theseus, by Ariadne's help, (lending him a Clue of Thread) escaped. Some report, that it was a House, having one half beneath the ground, another above; the Chamber doors therein so deceitfully enwrapped, and made to open so many 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, than the Maze of Life, But it is affirmed by Antiquity, that there was indeed such a Building; though Dedalus being a name applied to the Workman's excellency, make it suspected: for Dedalus is nothing else but ingenious or Artificial. Hereupon it is used among the ancient Poets for any thing curicusly wrought.  
Rosamond's Labyrinth, whose Ruins, together with her Well, being paved with square Stone in the bottom, and also her Tower, from which the Labyrinth did run (are yet remaining) was altogether under ground, being Vaults Arched and Walled with Brick and Stone, almost inextricably wound one within another; by which, if at any time her Lodging were laid about by the Queen, she might easily avoid eminent Peril, and if need be, by secret Issues take the Air abroad, many Furlongs round about Woodstock in Oxfordshire, wherein it was situated. Thus much for Rosamond's Labyrinth.  Whose strange Meanders turning every way. 
Meander is a River in Lycia, a Province of Anatolia, or Asia minor, famous for the sinuosity and often turning thereof, rising from certain Hills in Meonia: Hereupon are intricate Turn, by a Transumptive and metonymical 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 Life hath made the same.  
It might be reported, how at Godstow, where this Rose of the World was sumptuously interred, a certain Bishop, in the Visitation of his Diocese, caused the Monument which had been erected to her Honour, utterly to be demolished: but let that severe Chastisement of Rosamond, then dead, at this time also be passed over, lest she should seem to be the Shame of the World.    

HENRY TO ROSAMOND.  

WHen the Express arrived at my sad Tent,  
And brought the Letters Rosamond had sent,  
Think from his Lips but what dear Comfort came,  
When in mine Ear he softly breathed thy name:  
Strait I enjoined 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, whilst I unripped the Seal.  
The more I read, still do I err the more,  
As though mistaking somewhat said before:  
Missing the Point, the doubtful Senceis broken,  
Speaking again what I before had spoken.   

Still in a Swoon, my Heart revives and faints,  
'Twixt Hopes, Despairs, 'twixt Smiles and deep Complaints.  
As these sad Accents sort in my Desires,  
Smooth Calms, rough Storms, sharp Frosts, & raging Fires,  
Put on with Boldness, and put back with Fears,  
For oft thy Troubles do extort my Tears.  
O, how my Heart at that black Line did tremble!  
That blotted Paper should Thyself resemble;  
Oh, were there Paper but near half so white!  
The Gods thereon their sacred Laws would write  
With Pens of Angels Wings; and for their Ink,  
That Heavenly Nectar, their immortal Drink.   

Majestic Courage strives to have suppressed  
This fearful Passion, stirred up in my Breast;  
But still in vain the same I go about,  
My Heart must break within, or Woes break out.  
* Am I at home pursued with private Hate,  
And War comes raging to my Palace Gate?  
Is meager Envy stabbing at my Throne,  
Treason attending when I walk alone?  
* And am I branded with the Curse of Rome,  
And stand condemned by a Councils Doom?  
* 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 yet to 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 Clients 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, unhelped, unpitttyed, unlamented!   

Yet let me be with Poverty oppressed,  
Of Earthly Blessings robbed and dispossessed,  
Let me be scorned rejected and reviled,  
And from my Kingdom let me live 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 his 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 put young Blood into old Aesons Veins,  
And in Groves, Mountain and the Moorish Fen,  
Sought out more Herbs than had been known to Men,  
And in the powerful Potion that she makes,  
Put Blood of Men, of Birds, of Beasts and 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 Philters, Exorcisms and Charms.  
Thy Presence hath repaired in one day,  
What many Years with Sorrows did decay,  
And made fresh Beauty in her flower to spring,  
Out of the wrinkles of Times ruining.  
Even as the hungry Winter-starved 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 same Flower, whose Root (at last) 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 Travel which on War attend,  
Ere the long Day brought to desired end;  
Nor yet pale Fear did, 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's 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 Prince's Will may merit,  
" Hath deep'st impression in the gentlest Spirit.   

If't be my Name that doth thee so offend,  
No more my self shall be mine own Names Friend;  
If it be that, which Thou dost only hate,  
That Name, in my Name, lastly hath his date;  
Say 'tis accursed and fatal, and dispraise it,  
If written, blot it, if engraven, raze it;  
Say, that of all Names 'tis a Name of Woe,  
Once a King's Name, but now it is not so:  
And when all this is done, I know 'twill grieve thee;  
And therefore (Sweet) why should I now believe thee?   

For shouldst thou think, those Eyes with Envy lower,  
Which passing by thee, gaze up to thy Tower  
But rather praise thine own, which be so clear,  
Which from the Turret like two Stars appear:  
Above, the Sun doth shine, beneath, thine Eye,  
Mocking the Heaven, to make another Sky.   

The little Stream which by thy Tower doth glide,  
Where oft thou spendest the weary Evening Tide,  
To view thee well, his Course would gladly stay,  
As loath from thee to part so soon away,  
And with Salutes thyself would gladly greet,  
And offer some small Drops up 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 for thy want, within the Channel weeps.  
And as thou dost into the Water look,  
The Fish which see thy shadow in the Brook,  
Forget to feed, and all amazed lie,  
So daunted with the lustre of thine Eye.   

And that sweet Name, which thou so much dost wrong  
In time shall be some famous Poet's Song;  
And with the very sweetness of that Name,  
Lions and Tigers Men shall learn to tame.  
The careful Mother, at her pensive Breast,  
With Rosamond shall bring her Babe to Rest;  
The little Birds (by men's continual sound)  
Shall learn to speak and prattle Rosamond:  
And when in April they begin to sing,  
With Rosamond shall welcome in the Spring;  
And she in whom all Rarities are found,  
Shall still be said to be a Rosamond.   

The little Flowers dropping their honeyed Dew,  
Which (as thou writ'st) do weep upon thy Shoe,  
Not for thy Fault (sweet Rosamond) do moan,  
Only lament, that thou so soon art gone;  
For if thy Foot touch Hemlock as it goes,  
That Hemlock's made much sweeter than the Rose.   

Of Jove or Neptune, how they did betray,  
Speak not; of Jo, 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 ne'er half so white as Thou.   

Long since thou knowst (my Dear) I've careful been  
To lodge thee safe free from my jealous Queen;  
The Labyrinths Conveyance guides thee so,  
(* Which only Vaughan, thou and I do know)  
Tho' she should watch thee with an hundred Eyes  
I'll antidote her furious Mercuries,  
And with an Argus Mind my Phoenix keep,  
With Eyes that ne'er were overcome by sleep.   

And those Stars which look in, but look to see,  
(Wondering) what Star here on the Earth should be  
As oft the Moon amidst the silent Night,  
Hath come to joy us with her friendly Light.  
And by the Curtain helped mine Eye to see  
What envious night and darkness hid from me;  
When I have wished that she might ever stay,  
And other Worlds might still enjoy the Day.   

What should I say? words, tears and sighs be spent  
And want of Time doth further Help prevent:  
My Camp resounds with fearful shocks of War,  
Yet in my Breast more dangerous 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,  
Be blest in her, in whom thy King is blest:  
For though in France a while my Body be,  
My Heart remains (dear Paradise) in thee.   

ANNOTATIONS 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 three thousand Flemings, and spoiled the Countries of Norfolk and Suffolk, being succoured by many of the King's private Enemies.  And am I branded with the Curse of Rome? 
King Henry the Second, the first Plantagenet, accused for the Death of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, slain in that 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 avoid the Curse and Interdiction of his Realm.  
And by the Pride of my rebellious Son,  
Rich Normandy with Armies overrun.  
Henry the young King, whom King Henry had caused to be Crowned in his Life (as he hoped) both for his own good, and the good of his Subjects, which indeed turned to his own Sorrow and the trouble of the Realm; for he rebelled against him, and raising a Power, by the means of Lewis King of France, and William King of Scots (who took part with him) and invaded Normandy.  Unkind my Children, most unkind Wife. 
Never King more unfortunate than King Henry, in the disobedience of his Children: First Henry, than Geoffrey, than Richard, than John, all at one time or other, first or last, unnaturally rebelled against him; then, the Jealousy of Elinor his Queen, who suspected his Love to Rosamond: Which grievous troubles, the Devout of those Times attributed to happen to him justly, for refusing 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.    
FINIS.   


KING JOHN TO MATILDA.  
The ARGUMENT.  
After King John had assayed by all means possible to win the fair and chaste Matilda to his unchaste and unlawful Bed, and by unjust Courses and false accusation, banished the Lord Robert Fitzwater, her Noble Father, and many other 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 the lascivious King, flies unto Dunmow in Essex, where she becomes a Nun, the King (still persisting in his Suit) solicits her by this Epistle; her Reply confirms her vowed and invincible Chastity, making known to the King her pure unspotted Thoughts.  

WHen these my Letters thy bright Eyes shall view,  
Think them not forced, or feigned, or strange, or new,  
Thou knowst no way, no means, no course exempted  
Left now unsought, unprov'd, on 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 & Minute, 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;  
You blushed, I blushed; your Cheek pale, pale was mine,  
My Red, thy Red, my Whiteness answered thine;  
You sighed, I sighed, we both one Passion prove,  
But thy sigh is for Hate, my sigh for Love:  
If a word passed, that insufficient were,  
To help that word, mine Eye let forth a Tear;  
And if that Tear did dull or senseless prove,  
My Heart would fetch a Throb, to make it move.   

Oft in thy Face, one Favour from the rest  
I singled forth, that pleased my Fancy best;  
This likes me most, another likes me more,  
A third, exceeding both those liked before:  
Then one, as Wonder were derived thence,  
Then that, whose rareness passeth excellence.  
Whilst I behold thy Globe-like rolling Eye,  
Thy lovely Cheek (me thinks) stands smiling by,  
And tells me, those are Shadows and Supposes,  
But 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 then thy dimpled Chin  
Again doth tell me newly I begin,  
And bids me yet to look upon thy Lip,  
Lest wondering least, the great'st Loverslip:  
My gazing Eye on this and this doth seize,  
Which surfeits, yet cannot Desire appease.  
Now like I Brown (O lovely Brown thy Hair)  
Only in Browness Beauty dwelleth there.  
Then love I Black, think Eyeball black as Jet,  
Which in a Globe, pure Crystalline is set:  
Then White; but Snow, nor Swan, nor Ivory please,  
Then are thy Teeth whiter by much than these;  
In Brown, in Black, in Pureness, and in White,  
All Love, all Sweets, all Rareness, all Delight:  
Thus my stolen Heart (sweet Thief) thou hence dost carry,  
And now thou fliest into a Sanctuary.   

Fie peevish Girl, ingrateful unto Nature;  
Was it for this she framed 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-tincted Feature is heavens Gold,  
Which all Men joy to touch, all to behold.  
It was enacted when the World begun,  
So rare a Beauty should not live a Nun;  
But if this Vow thou needs wilt undertake,  
Oh were mine Arms a Cloister for thy sake:  
Still may his Pains for ever be augmented,  
This Superstition idly that invented;  
Ill might he thrive, who brought this Custom hither  
That holy People might not live together.  
A happy Time, a good World was it then,  
When holy Women lived with holy Men.  
But Kings in this yet privileged may be,  
I'll be a Monk, so I may live with thee.  
Who would not rise to ring the Morning's Knell,  
When thy sweet Lips might be the sacring Bell?  
Or what is he, not willingly would fast,  
That on those Lips might feast his Lips at last?  
Who to his Matins early would not rise,  
Might he but read by th' Light of thy fair Eyes?  
On Worldly Pleasures who would ever look,  
That had thy Curls his Beads, thy Brows his Book?  
Wert Thou the Cross, to Thee who would not creep,  
And wish, the Cross still in his Arms to keep?  
Sweet Girl, I'll take this holy Habit on me,  
Of mere Devotion that is come upon me;  
Holy Matilda, Thou the Saint of mine,  
I'll be thy Servant, and my Bed thy Shrine.  
When I do offer, be thy Breast the Altar,  
And when I pray, thy Mouth shall be my Psalter.  
The Beads that we will bid, shall be sweet Kisses,  
Which we will number, if one Pleasure misses;  
And when an Ave comes, to say Amen,  
We will begin, and tell them over again:  
Now all good Fortune give me happy Thrift,  
As I should joy t' absolve thee after Shrift.   

But see, how much I do myself beguile,  
And do mistake thy meaning all this while:  
Thou took'st this Vow, to equal my Desire,  
Because thou wouldst have me to be a Friar,  
And that we two should comfort one another,  
A holy Sister, and a holy Brother,  
Thou as a Votaress to my Love 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 Example give,  
And in a Nun'ry 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 bear witness, that their Eyes offend;  
All Creatures have Desires, or else some lie,  
Let them think so that will, so will not I.   

Dost thou not think our Ancestors were wise,  
That these Religious Cells did first devise?  
As Hospitals were for the Sore and Sick,  
These for the Crooked, the Halt, the Stigmatick,  
Lest that their Seed, marked with Deformity,  
Should be a Blemish to Posterity.  
Would Heaven her Beauty should be hid from sight,  
Ne'er 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) ne'er glories in her Fruit,  
Till by the Sun clad in her Tinsel Suit;  
Nor doth she ever smile him in the Face,  
Till in his glorious Arms he her embrace:  
Which proves she hath a Soul, Sense, and Delight,  
Of Generations feeling Appetite.  
Well Hypocrite (in Faith) wouldst thou confess,  
What e'er 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 , because she is alone:  
But had our Mother Nature made them Two,  
They would have done as Doves and Sparrows do;  
And therefore made a Martyr in desire,  
To do her Penance lastly in the Fire:  
So may they all be roasted quick, that be  
Apostatas to Nature, as is She.   

Find me but one so young, so fair, so free,  
(Wooed, sued, & sought by him that now seeks thee)  
But of thy Mind, and here I undertake  
To build a Nun'ry for her only sake.   

Oh, hadst thou tasted of those rare Delights,  
Ordained each where to please great Princes sights!  
To have their Beauty and their Wits admired,  
(Which is by nature of your Sex desired)  
Attended by our Trains, our Pomp, our Port,  
Like Gods adored abroad, kneeled to in Court.  
To be saluted with the cheerful Cry  
Of Highness, Grace, and sovereign Majesty:  
" But unto them that know not Pleasures price,  
" All's one, a Prison, and a Paradise.  
If in a Dungeon closed up from the Light,  
There is no difference 'twixt the Day and Night;  
" Whole  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, yet let thy Heart relent,  
And call thy Father back from Banishment;  
And with those Princely Honours here invest him,  
Of which, fond 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 thy Dunmow, that accursed Cell,  
There let black Night and Melancholy dwell:  
Come to the Court, where all Joy s shall receive thee,  
And till that Hour, yet with my Grief I leave thee.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  
THis Epistle of King John to Matilda, is much more Poetical than Historical, making no mention at all 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 authentic Writers: whose nature and disposition is truly 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 be thinketh to be the last and greatest Means, and to have greatest power in her Sex▪ with promise of calling home her Friends, which be 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 bloudless veins doth fill,  
As though divining of some future ill:  
And in a shivering ecstasy I stood,  
A chilly Coldness ran through all my Blood;  
Opening the Packet, 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 been perished together:  
" But Oh (I see) our hoped Good deceives us,  
" But what we would forgo, that seldom leaves us▪   

Thy blameful Lines bespotted so with Sin,  
Mine Eyes would cleanse, e'er 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 encouragement grows bold,  
" And Hope of every little takes its hold.   

I set me down, at large to write my mind,  
But now nor Pen, nor Paper can I find;  
For still my Passion is so powerful o'er me,  
That I discern not things which lie before me:  
Finding the Pen, the Paper, and the Wax,  
These at command, and now Invention lacks;  
This Sentence serves, and That my hand out-strikes;  
That pleaseth well, and This as much mislikes,  
I writ, indite, I point, I raze, I quote,  
I interline, I blot, correct, I note,  
I hope, despair, take courage, faint, disdain,  
I make, allege, I imitate, I fain:  
Now thus it must be, and now thus, and thus,  
Bold, shamefaced, fearless, doubtful, timorous;  
My faint Hand writing, when my full Eye reads,  
From every word strange Passion still proceeds.  
" Oh, 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:  
The over watched weakness of the sick Conceit,  
Is that which makes small Beauty seem so great;  
Like things which hide in troubled Waters lie,  
Which crooked, seem strait, if strait, the 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 were not, 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 in the Chin, the Nose, the Brow, the Eye,  
The smallest Difference that you can descry,  
altars Proportion, altereth the Grace,  
Nay, oft destroys the Favour of the Face:  
And in the World, scarce Two so like there 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?  
Oh, what strange Madness so possesseth Men!  
Bereft of Sense, such senseless Wonders seeing,  
Without Form, Fashion, Certainty or Being?  
For which so many dye, 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 perished, if thou hast it:  
Which if thou gainest, thou ne'er the more hast won,  
I losing nothing, yet am quite undone;  
And yet of that, if that a King deprave me,  
No King restores, though he a Kingdom gave me.   

* Dost thou of Father and of Friends deprive me?  
And tak'st thou from me all that Heaven did give me?  
What Nature claims by Blood, Allies, or Nearness,  
Or Friendship challenge by regard or dearness?  
Ma'kst me an Orphan e'er 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 wholesome Things,  
So in the Rose, the poisoned Serpent stings;  
To lurk far off, yet lodge Destruction by,  
The Basilisk so poisons with the Eye;  
To call for Aid, and then to lie in wait,  
So the Hyena Murders by Deceit,  
By sweet Enticement, sudden Death to bring,  
So from the Rocks the alluring Mermaids sing:  
In greatest Wants t'inflict the greatest Woe,  
Is even the utmost Tyranny can do.  
But where (I see) the Tempest thus prevails,  
What use of Anchors, or what need of Sails?  
Above us, blust'ring Winds and dreadful Thunder,  
The Waters gape for our Destruction under;  
Here, on this side, the furious Billows fly,  
There Rocks, there Sands, and dangerous While-pools lie   

Is this the mean that Mightiness approves?  
And in this sort do Prince's woe their Loves?  
Mildness would better suit with Majesty,  
Then rash Revenge and rough Severity.  
Oh, 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?  
* Fled I first hither, hoping to have aid,  
Here thus to have mine Innocence betrayed?  
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 the instrument to Ill,  
And unrelieved, may wander where she will.   

Lascivious Poets, which abuse the Truth,  
Which oft teach Age to Sin, infecting Youth,  
For the unchaste, make Trees and Stones to mourn,  
Or as they please, to other shapes do turn:  
Cinyra's Daughter, whose incestuous Mind,  
Made her wrong Mature, and dishonour Kind,  
Long since by them is turned into a Myrrh,  
Whose dropping Liquor ever weeps for her;  
And in a Fountain, Biblis doth deplore  
Her Fault so vile and monstrous 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:  
Others to Flowers, to Odours and to Gum;  
At least, Jove's Leman is a Star become:  
And more they feign a thousand fond Excuses,  
To cloud their Scapes, and cover their Abuses;  
The Virgin only they obscure and hid,  
Whilst the Unchaste by them are Deified,  
And if by them a Virgin be expressed,  
She must be ranked ignobly with the rest.   

I am not now, as when thou saw'st me last,  
Time hath those Features utterly defaced,  
And all those Beauties which sat on my Brow,  
Thou wouldst not think such ever had been now;  
And glad I am that time with me is done,  
* Vowing myself religiously a Nun:  
My Vestal Habit me contenting more,  
Then all the Robes adorning me before.   

Had Rosamond (a Recluse of our sort)  
Taken our Cloister, left the wanton Court,  
Shadowing that Beauty with a holy Vale,  
Which she (alas) too loosely set to sale,  
She need not, like an ugly Minotaur,  
Have been locked up from jealous Elinor,  
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 Lusts do urge us to  
But what for Virtue's sake, 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 Towns spent in revengeful Fire:  
Yet never touched with Grief; so only I,  
Exempt from shame, might honourably die?  
And shall this Jewel, which so dearly cost,  
Be after all, by my Dishonour lost?  
No, no, each reverend Word each holy Tear  
Of his, in me too deep Impression bear,  
His latest Farewell, at his last depart,  
More deeply is ingraved in my Heart;  
Nor shall that Blot, by me, his Name shall have,  
Bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the Grave,  
Better his Tears to fall upon my Tomb,  
Than 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 Tear-shedding Eye,  
Myself will moan myself, so live, so die.   

ANNOTATIONS 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 Fitz-water, 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, Matilda with 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, & the lawless Exile of her Allies & Friends.  Dost thou of Father and of Friends deprive me? 
Then complaining of her Distress; that flying thither, thinking there to find Relief, she seethe herself most assailed, where 〈◊〉 hoped to have found most Safety.  
Fled I first hither, hoping to have aid,  
Here thus, etc.  
After again, standing upon the precise Points of Conscience, not to cast off this Habit she had taken.  Vowing myself religiously a Nun. 
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 Towns spent in revengeful 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.   


QUEEN ISABEL TO MORTIMER.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Queen Isabel, Wife to Edward the Second (called Edward Carnarvan) and Daughter of Philip de Beau, King of France, being in the glory of her Youth forsaken by the King her Husband, who delighted only in the Company of Pierce Gaveston, his Minion and Favourite, drew into her especial Favour Roger Mortimer Lord of Wigmore, a Man of an invincible Spirit; who rising in Arms against the King with Thomas Earl of Lancaster, and the Barons, was taken e'er he could gather his Power; and by the King committed to the Tower of London. During his Imprisonment, he ordained a Feast in honour of his Birthday, to which he invited Sir Stephen Segrave, Lieutenant of the Tower, and the rest of the Officers; where, by means of a Drink prepared by the Queen, he cast them all into a heavy sleep, and with Ladders of Cords, being ready prepared for the purpose, he escapeth and flieth into France, whilst she sendeth this Epistle, complaining of her own Misfortune, 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 (may it my Power approve,  
If Lines can bring) this shall supply with Love.  
Me thinks Affliction should not fright me so,  
Nor should resume those sundry shapes of Woe;  
But when I fain would find the cause of this,  
Thy absence shows me where my 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 alone, myself I please,  
Amidst my Grief, which sometimes gives me ease;  
Thus do extremest Ills a Joy possess,  
And one Woe makes another Woe seem less.   

That blessed Night that mild-aspected Hour,  
Wherein thou mad'st escape out of the Tower,  
Shall consecrated evermore remain;  
Some gentle Planet in that Hour did reign;  
And shall be happy in the Birth of Men,  
Which was chief Lord of the Ascendant then.  
* Oh how I feared, that sleepy Juice I sent,  
Might yet want power to further thine Intent!  
Or that some unseen Mystery might lurk,  
Which wanting order, kindly should not work:  
Oft did I wish those dreadful poisoned Lees,  
Which closed the everwaking Dragon's Eyes;  
Or I had had those Sense-bereaving Stalks,  
That grow in shady Proserpine's dark Walks;  
Or those black Weeds on Lethe Banks below,  
Or Lunary, that doth on Latmus' flow.  
Oft did I fear this moist and foggy Clime,  
Or that the Earth waxed barren now with time,  
Should not have Herbs to help me in this case,  
Such as do thrive on India's parched Face.   

That Morrow when the blessed Sun did rise,  
And shut the Lids of all heavens lesser Eyes,  
Forth from my Palace, by a secret Stair,  
* I stole to Thames as though to take the Air,  
And asked the gentle Flood, as it doth glide,  
If thou didst pass or perish by the Tide?  
If thou didst perish, I desire the Stream,  
To lay thee softly on his Silver Team,  
And bring thee to me, to the quiet Shoar,  
That with his Tears thou mightst have some Tears more.  
When suddenly doth rise a rougher Gale:  
With that (methinks) the troubled Waves look pale,  
And sighing with that little Gust that blows,  
With this remembrance seem to knit their Brows.  
Even as this sudden Passion doth affright me,  
The cheerful Sun breaks from a Cloud to light me:  
Then doth the Bottom evident appear,  
As it would show me, that thou wast not there;  
When as the Water flowing where I stand,  
Doth seem to tell me, thou art safe on Land.  
* Did Bulloin once a Festival prepare,  
For England Almain, Cicill and Navarre?  
When France those Buildings envied (only blest)  
Graced with the Orgies of my Bridal Feast,  
That English Edward should refuse my Bed,  
For that lascivious shameless Ganymede?  
* And in my place, upon his Regal Throne,  
To set that Girle-Boy, wanton Gavesion.  
Betwixt the Feature of my Face and his,  
My Glass assures me no such difference is,  
* That a foul Witches Bastard should thereby  
Be thought more worthy of his Love then I.  
What doth avail us to be Prince's Heirs,  
When we can boast, our Birth is only theirs?  
When base dissembling Flatterers shall deceive us  
Of all that our great Ancestors did leave us:  
* And of our Princely Jewels and our Dowres,  
Let us enjoy the least of what is ours;  
When Minions Heads must wear our Monarch's Crowns  
To raise up Dunghills with our famous Towns;  
Those Beggars-Brats, wrapped in our rich Perfumes,  
Their Buzzard-wings, imped with our eagle's Plumes;  
* And matched with the brave Issue of our Blood,  
Ally the Kingdom to their cravand Brood?   

Did Longshanks purchase with his conquering Hand  
* Albania, Gascoigne, Cambria, Ireland?  
That young Carnarvan (his unhappy Son)  
* Should give away all that his Father won,  
To back a Stranger, proudly bearing down  
The brave Allies and Branches of the Crown?  
* And did great Edward on his Deathbed give  
This Charge to them who afterwards should live,  
That, that proud Gascoigne banished the Land,  
No more should tread upon the English Sand?  
And have these great Lords in the Quarrel stood,  
And sealed his last Will with their dearest Blood;  
* That after all this fearful Massacre,  
The Fall of Beauchamp, Lacie, Lancaster,  
Another Faithless Favourite should arise,  
To cloud the Sun of our Nobilities?  
* And gloried I in Gaveston's great Fall,  
That now a Spenser should succeed in all?  
And that his Ashes should another breed,  
Which in his Place and Empire should succeed;  
That wanting One, a Kingdom's Wealth to spend,  
Of what that left, this now 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 of our Right, with Tyrants to debate,  
" Dareth them means to weaken our Estate.  
Whilst Parliaments must remedy their Wrongs,  
And we must wait for what to us belongs;  
Our Wealth but Fuel to their fond Excess,  
And all our Fasts must feast their Wantonness.   

Thinkest 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 Aquitain:  
And if not that, yet hath he broke the Truce;  
Thus all accurr to put back all excuse.  
The Sister's Wrong, joined with the Brother's Right,  
Methinks, might urge him in this cause to fight.  
Are all those People senseless of our Harms,  
Which for our Country oft have managed Arms?  
Is the brave Normans Courage quite forgot?  
Have the bold Britain's lost the use of Shot?  
The big-boned Almans, and stout Brabanders,  
Their Warlike Pikes, and sharp-edged Scymiters?  
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 beat them back?   

I do conjure Thee, by what is most dear,  
By that great Name of famous Mortimer,  
* By ancient Wigmore's honourable Crest,  
The Tombs where all thy famous Grandsire's rest;  
Or if then these, what more may Thee approve,  
Even by those Vows of thy unfeigned Love;  
In all thou canst to stir the Christian King,  
By foreign Arms some Comfort yet to bring,  
To curb the Power of Traitors that rebel,  
Against the Right of Princely Isabel.  
Vain witless Woman, why should I desire  
To add more heat to thy Immortal fire?  
To urge thee by the violence of Hate,  
To shake the Pillars of thine own Estate,  
When whatsoever we intent to do,  
Our most Misfortune ever sorteth too;  
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 she evermore shall weep.  
All see our Ruin on our Backs is thrown,  
And we too weak to bear it out, are grown.  
* Torlton, that should our Business direct,  
The general Foe doth vehemently suspect:  
" For dangerous Things get hardly to their End,  
" Whereon so many watchfully attend.  
What should I say? My Griefs do still renew,  
And but begin, when I should bid adieu,  
Few be my Words, but manifold my Woe,  
And still I stay, the more I strive to go.  
Then till fair Time some greater Good affords,  
Take my Loves-payment in these airy Words.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  
Oh, how I feared that sleepy Juice I sent.  
Might yet want power to further mine intent.  
Mortime being in the Tower, ordaining a Feast in honour of his Birthday, as he pretended, inviting thereunto Sir Stephen Seagrave, Constable of the Tower, with the rest of the Officers, belonging to the same, he gave them a sleepy Drink, provided by the Queen, by which means he made his Escape.  
I stole to Thames, as though to take the Air,  
And asked the gentle Flood as it doth glide.  
Mortimer being got out of the Tower, swum the River of Thames into Kent; whereof she having intelligence, doubteth of his strength to escape, by reason of his long Imprisonment, being almost the space of three years.  
Did Bulloyn once a Festival prepare  
For England, Almane, Cicill and Navarre?  
Edward Carnarvan the first Prince of Wales of the English Blood, married Isabel Daughter of Philip the Fair, a Bullion, in the presence of the Kings of Almain, Navarre and Cicill, with the chief Nobility of France and England. Which Marriage was there solemnised with exceeding Pomp and Magnificence.  
And in my place upon his Regal Throne,  
To set that Girl-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 Master.  That a foul Witches Bastard should thereby. 
It was urged by the Queen and the Nobility, in the disgrace of Pierce Gaveston, that his Mother was convicted of Witchcraft, and burned for the same, and that Pierce had bewitched the King.  
And of our Princely Jewels and our Dowres,  
Let us enjoy the least of what is ours.  
A Complaint of the Prodigality of King Edward, giving unto Gaveston 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 Queen of this famous Isle.  
And matched with the brave Issue of our Blood,  
Ally the Kingdom to their cravand Brood.  
Edward the Second gave to Pierce Gaveston in Marriage the Daughter of Gilbert Clare Earl of Gloucester; begot of the King's Sister, Joan of Acres, married to the said Earl of Gloucester.  Albania, Gascoign, 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.  
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 Bruce, to be aided against the Barons in the Quarrel of Pierce 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, who (for the misguiding of the Prince's Youth) was before banished by the whole Council of the Land.  
That after all that fearful Massacre,  
The Fall of Beauchamp, Lacie, Lancaster.  
Thomas Earl of Lancaster, Guy Earl of Warwick, and Henry Earl of Lincoln, who had taken their Oath 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 Gaveston's great Fall,  
That now a Spenser should succeed in all?  
The two Hugh Spensers, the Father and the Son, after the Death of Gaveston, became the great Favourites of the King, the Son being created by him Lord Chamberlain, and the Father Earl of Winchester.  
And if they were, yet Edward doth detain  
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne and Aquitain.  
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.  When still so long as Burrough bears that name. 
The Queen remembreth the great Overthrow given to the Barons by Andrew Herckley Earl of Carlisle, at Burrough Bridge, after the Battle at Burton.  Torlton, that should our Business direct. 
This was Adam Torlton, Bishop of Hereford, that great Politician, who so highly favoured the Faction of the Queen and Mortimer; whose evil counsel afterward wrought the destruction of the King.    

MORTIMER TO QUEEN ISABEL.  

AS thy Salutes my Sorrows do adjourn,  
So back to thee their interest I return;  
Though not in so great Bounty (I confess)  
As thy Heroic Princely Lines express:  
For how should Comfort issue from the Breath  
* Of one condemned, and long lodged up for Death?  
From Murders Rage thou didst me once repreive;  
My Hopes in Exile now thou dost revive:  
* Twice all was taken, twice thou all didst give,  
And thus twice dead, thou makest me twice to live:  
This double life of mine, your only due,  
You gave to me; I give it back to you.   

Ne'er my Escape had I adventured thus,  
As did the Skie-attempting Dedalus;  
And yet to give more safety to my flight,  
Did make 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 Gazers with much 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, which bore me through the Skies  
The heavens did seem the charge of me to take,  
And Sea and Land befriend me for thy sake;  
Thames stopped his Tide, to make me way to go,  
As thou hadst charged him that it should be so:  
The hollow murmuring 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 soft Gales, did chide me,  
As they would tell me, that they meant to hid me▪  
The pale-faced, Night beheld thy heavy cheer,  
And would not let one little Star appear,  
But over all, her smoky Mantle hurled,  
And in thick Vapours muffled up the World;  
And the sad Air became so calm and still,  
As it had been obedient to my will;  
And every thing disposed it to my Rest,  
As on the Seas when th' Haltion builds her Nest.  
When those rough Waves, which late with Fury rushed,  
Slide smoothly on, and suddenly are hushed  
Nor Neptune let his Surges out so long,  
As Nature is in bringing forth her Young.   

* Ne'er let the Spensers' glory in my Chance,  
In that I 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 can be to Mortimer.  
* My Grandsire was the first, since Arthur's reign,  
That the Round-Table rectified again:  
To whose great Court at Kenelworth did come,  
The peerless Knighthood of all Christendom;  
Whose Princely Order honoured England more,  
Than all the Conquests she achieved before.   

Never durst Scot set foot on English Ground,  
Nor on his Back did English bear a Wound,  
Whilst Wigmore flourished in our Princely Hopes,  
And whilst our Ensigns marched with Edward's Troops:  
* Whilst famous Longshanks Bones (in Fortune's scorn)  
As sacred Relics to the Field were born:  
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 Banocksbourn;  
Whilst with his Minions sporting in his Tent,  
Whole Days and Nights in Banqueting were spent,  
Until the Scots (which under safeguard stood)  
Made lavish Havoc of the English Blood:  
Whose battered Helms lay scattered on the Shore,  
Where they in Conquest had been born before,   

A thousand Kingdoms will we seek from far,  
As many Nations waste with Civil War,  
Where the dishevelled ghastly Sea-Nymph sings,  
Or will-rigged Ships shall stretch their swelling Wings,  
And drag their Anchors through the sandy Foam,  
About the World in every Clime to room,  
And those unchrist'ned Countries call our own:  
Where scarce the Name of England hath been known  
* And in the dead Sea sink our House's Fame,  
From whose vast Depth we first derived our Name:  
Before foul black-mouthed Infamy shall sing,  
That Mortimer e'er stooped unto a King.  
And we will turn stern-visaged Fury back,  
To seek his Spoil, who sought our utter Sack;  
And come to beard him in our Native Isle,  
E'er he march forth to follow our Exile:  
And after all these boisterous stormy Shocks,  
Yet will we grapple with the chalky Rocks.  
Nor will we steal like Pirates, or like Thiefs  
From Mountains, Forests, or Sea-bord'ring Cliffs;  
But fright the Air with Terror (when we come)  
Of the stern Trumpet, and the bellowing Drum:  
And in the Field advance our plumey Crest,  
And march upon fair England's flowery Breast.  
And Thames, which once we for our Life did swim,  
Shaking our dewy Tresses on his Brim,  
Shall bear my Navy, vaunting in her pride,  
Falling from Tanet with the powerful Tide:  
Which fertile Essex, and fair Kent shall see,  
Spreading her Flags along the pleasant Lee,  
When on her stemming Poop she proudly bears  
The famous Ensigns of the Belgic Peers.   

And for that hateful Sacrilegious Sin,  
Which by the Pope he stands accursed in,  
The Cannon Text shall have a common Gloss,  
Receipts in Parcels, shall be paid in Gross:  
This Doctrine preached, Who from the Church doth, take  
At least shall triple Restitution make.  
For which, Rome sends her Curses out from far,  
Through the stern Throat of Terror-breathing War,  
Till to th' unpeopled Shores she brings Supplies,  
* Of those industrious Roman Colonies.  
And for his Homage, by the which of old,  
Proud Edward Guyne and Aquitan 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 to forfeit France:  
And all those Towns great Longshanks left his Son,  
Now lost, which one he fortunately won,  
Within their strong Port-cullized Ports shall lie,  
And from their Walls his Sieges shall defy:  
And by that firm and undissolved Knot,  
Betwixt their neighbouring French and bordering Scot  
Bruce shall bring on his Red-shanks from the Seas,  
From th' Isled Orcads, and the Eubides,  
And to his Western Havens give free pass,  
To land the Kern and Irish Galiglass,  
Marching from Tweed to swelling Humber Sands,  
Wasting along the Northern Nether-Lands.  
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,  
Shall 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 Guardants of the British Pales,  
Defending England and preserving Wales.   

At first our Troubles easily recalled,  
But now grown headstrong, hardly to be ruled;  
" Deliberate counsel needs us to direct,  
" Where not (even) plainess frees us from suspect,  
By those Mishaps our Errors that attend,  
Let us our Faults ingenuously amend.  
Then (Dear) repress all peremptory Spleen,  
Be more than Woman, as you are a Queen:  
Smother those Sparks which quickly else would burn  
Till Time produce what now it doth adjourn.  
Till when, great Queen, I leave you (though a while)  
Live you in rest, nor pity my Exile.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  Of one condemned and long lodged up for Death. 
ROger Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore, had stood publicly condemned, for his Insurrection with Thomas Earl of Lancaster and Bohun Earl of Hereford, the space of three Months: and as report went, the day of his Execution was determined to have been shortly, 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, be escaped out of the Tower; which when the same were found fastened to the Walls, in such a desperate Attempt, they bred astonishment in the Beholders.  Ne'er let the Spencer's glory in my chance. 
The two Hugh Spencer's, the Father and the Son, then being so highly favoured of the King, knew that their greatest safety came by his Exile, whose high and turbulent Spirit could never brook any Corrival in Greatness.  
My Grandsire was the first since Arthur's Reign,  
That the Round Table rectified again.  
Roger Mortimer, called the great Lord Mortimer, Grandfather to this Roger, which was afterward the first Earl of March, erected again the Round Table at Kenelworth, after the ancient Order of King Arthur's Table, with the Retinue of an hundred Knights, and an hundred Ladies in his House, for the entertaining of such Adventurers as came thither from all parts of Christendom.  Whilst famous Longshank's 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 born to the Wars in Scotland, which he was persuaded unto by a Prophecy, which told, That the English should still be fortunate in Conquest, so long as his Bones were carried in the Field.  The English Blood that stained Banocksbourn. 
In the great Voyage Edward the Second made against the Scots, at the Battle at Striveling, near unto the River of Banocksbourn in Scotland, there was in the English Camp such Banqueting and Excess, such Riot and Disorder, 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 House's Fame.  
From whose, etc.  
Mortimer, so called of Mare Mortuum, and in French, Mortimer, in English, the Dead-Sea, which is said to be where Sodom and Gomorrha once were, before they were destroyed with fire from Heaven.  
And for that hateful Sacrilegious Sin,  
Which by the Pope he stands accursed in.  
Gaustellinus 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 the 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 prophesy 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,  
Cannonized among the English Saints.  
After the death of Thomas Earl of Lancaster at Pomfret, the People imagined great Miracles to be done by his Relics; as they did of the Body of Bohun, Earl of Hereford, slain at Burrough Bridge.    
FINIS.   


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 King's command sent over into Flanders, and there deceased e'er 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 desires; 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 for rashness do reprove,  
They'll say they came from that imperious Love.  
In every Line well may'st thou understand,  
Which Love hath signed and sealed with his hand,  
And where to farther process he refers,  
In Blots set down to thee for Characters,  
This cannot bl●sh, although you do refuse it,  
Nor will reply, however you shall use it;  
All's one to this, though you should bid Despair,  
This still entreats you, this still speaks you fair.   

Hast thou a living Soul, a humane Sense,  
To like, dislike, prove, order and dispense?  
The depth of Reason, sound to advise,  
To love things good, things hurtful to despise?  
The touch of Judgement, which should all things prove  
Hast thou all this, yet not allow'st my Love?  
Sound moveth a Sound, Voice doth beget a Voice,  
One Echo makes another to rejoice;  
One well-tuned String set truly to the 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 as to me, she likewise to thee lent,  
For every Sense a several Instrument:  
But every one, because it is thine own,  
Doth prise itself, unto itself alone.  
Thy dainty hand when it itself doth touch,  
That feeling tells it, that there is none such:  
When in thy Glass thine Eye itself doth see,  
That thinks there's none like to itself can be;  
And every one doth judge itself divine,  
Because that thou dost challenge it for thine:  
And each itself Narcissus-like doth smother,  
Loving itself, nor cares for any other.  
Fie, be not burned thus in thine own desire,  
'Tis needless Beauty should itself admire:  
" The Sun, by which all Creatures light'ned be,  
" And seethe 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 Circles first it doth arise,  
Then somewhat larger seeming in mine Eyes;  
And in this circling Compass as it goes,  
So more and more the same in Greatness grows;  
And as it yet at liberty is let,  
The Motion still doth other Forms beget;  
Until at length, look any way I could,  
Nothing there was but Beauty to behold.   

Art thou offended, that thou art beloved?  
Remove the cause, th' effect is soon removed;  
Indent with Beauty how far to extend,  
Set down Desire a Limit where to end;  
Then charm thine Eyes, that they no more may wound  
And limit Love to keep within a Bound.  
If this thou dost, then shalt thou do much 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, for Niggardize to sell.   

Our Warlike Fathers did these Forts devise,  
As surest Holds against our Enemies,  
Places wherein your Sex might safeliest rest.  
" Fear soon is settled in a Woman's Breast:  
Thy Breast is of another temper far,  
And then thy Castle fit 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 ah thy Breast keeps out both Friends and Foes!  
That may be battered, or be undermined,  
Or by strait Siege, for want of succour pined;  
But thy hard Heart's invincible to all,  
And more obdurate 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 reigned 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 showry 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, than any Iron Chain:  
Who might be given 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 whoever thou desir'st to kill;  
For that alone more deeply wounds men's Hearts,  
Than 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, her thou needest not fear,  
Who thinks of Want, when thou art present there?  
Thy only sight puts Spirit into the Blood,  
And comforts Life, without the taste of Food.  
And as thy Soldiers keep their Watch and Ward,  
Thy Chastity thy inward Breast doth guard:  
Thy modest Pulse serves as a Alarm Bell,  
Which watched by some wakeful Sentinel,  
Is stirring still with every little Fear,  
Warning, if any Enemy be near.  
Thy virtuous Thoughts, when all the others rest,  
Like careful Scouts pass up and down thy Breast,  
And still they round about that place do keep,  
Whilst all the blessed Garrison do sleep.   

But yet I fear, if that the truth were told,  
That thou hast robbed, and fliest into this Hold:  
I thought as much, and didst this Fort devise,  
That thou in safety here mightst tyrannise.  
Yes, thou hast robbed the Heaven and Earth of all,  
And they against thy lawless Theft do call.  
Thine Eyes, with mine that wage continual Wars,  
Borrow their brightness of the twinkling Stars:  
Thy Lips, from mine that in thy Mask be penned,  
Have filched the Blushing from the Orient:  
Thy Cheek, for which mine all this Penance proves,  
Steals the pure whiteness both from Swans & Doves:  
Thy Breath, for which, mine still in Sighs consumes,  
Hath robbed all Flowers, all Odours and Perfumes.  
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,  
Heaven's store will soon be hoarded in this Fort.   

When I arrived before that State of Love,  
And saw thee on that 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 what the bold Scot had done;  
No marvel that he would the Fort have won,  
Perceiving well, those envious Walls did hid  
More wealth than was in all the World beside:  
Against thy Foe, I came to lend thee aid,  
And thus to thee, myself I have 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 Lover's 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 touched with Treason;  
" Unlawful Means, doth make his lawful Gain,  
" He speaks most true, when he the most doth fain.  
Pardon the Faults that have escaped by Me,  
Against fair Virtue, Chastity and Thee:  
" If Gods can their own Excellence excel,  
" It is in pardoning Mortals, that rebel.  
When all thy Trials are enroled by Fame,  
And all thy Sex made glorious by thy Name,  
Then I a Captive shall be brought hereby,  
T' adorn the Triumph of thy Chastity.   

I sue not now thy Paramour to be,  
But as a Husband to be linked to thee:  
I'm 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, whate'er I did intent,  
In faithful Love all happily may end.  
Farewell, sweet Lady, so well may'st thou far,  
To equal Joy with measure of my Care:  
Thy Virtues more than mortal Tongue can tell;  
A thousand-thousand times, Farewell, Farewell.   

ANNOTATIONS on the Chronicle History.  Receive these Papers from thy woeful Lord. 
BAndello, by whom this History was made famous, being an Italian, as it is the People's custom in that Clime, rather to fail sometimes in the truth of Circumstance, then to forgo the grace of their Conceit: in like manner as the Grecians; of whom the Satirist, 
Et quicquid Graecia mendax  
Audet in Historia.   
Thinking it to be a greater Trial, that a Countess should be sued unto by a King, then by the son of a King; and consequently, that the honour of her Chastity should be the more, hath caused it to be generally taken so: but as by Polydore, 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. However, 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 Prince, not so much of his Complextion, 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 certain, that many Points now currant in the received Story, can never hold together with likelihood of such enforcement, had it not been shaded 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 that the Gem which that Closure is said to contain, is transparent: for otherwise, how could the Mind understand by the Eye? Should not the Images slide thorough the same, and replenish the Stage of the Fancy? But this belongs to Optics. The Latins call the Eyelid Cilium (I will not say of Celando) as the Eyebrow Supercilium, and the Hair on the Eyelids Palpebra, perhaps quòd Palpitet, all which have their distinct and necessary uses.    

ALICE Countess of SALISBURY TO THE BLACK PRINCE.  

AS One that fain would grant, yet fain 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 our plain words wrists to another sense.  
Think you not then, poor Women had not need  
Be well advised, to write what Men should read;  
When being silent, but to move away,  
Doth often bring us into obloquy?  
" Whilst in our Hearts our secret Thoughts abide,  
" Th' envenomed Tongue of Slander yet is tied;  
" But if once spoke, delivered up to Fame,  
" In her Report that often is to blame.   

About to write, but newly entering in,  
Methinks I end, e'er I can well begin:  
When I would end, than something makes me stay,  
For then methinks 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:  
And in thy Cause urge all that may effect,  
Then, what again mine Honour must respect.  
O Lord! what sundry Passions do I try,  
To set that right, which is so much awry?   

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 Test 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 unless that we be bend.  
" Who doth impute it as 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 Faults 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 our 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;  
Alike 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 lays the fault on John:  
" By these, we prove Men accessary still,  
" But Women only Principals of iii.  
" What Praise is ours, but what our Virtues get?  
" If they be lent, so much we be in debt;  
" Whilst our own Honours we ourselves defend,  
" All force too weak, whatever Men pretend:  
" If all the World else should subborn 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 forbidden; 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 trans-pierced 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 undestroy'd,  
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, who so loved you,  
That gentle Lord, that reverend Montague,  
Ne'er 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 to his most pleasing Tongue;  
My Lips have waited on your Praises worth,  
And snatched his words, e'er he could get them forth:  
When he had 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 woe,  
And yet to ease him, help to praise thee too.   

And must she now exclaim against the 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 quench 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, from prompting me to Sin,  
The Woe for me my Mother did abide,  
Whose suit (but you) there's none would have denied,  
Your lustful Rage, your Tyranny could stay,  
Mine Honour's Ruin further to delay.  
Have I not 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:)  
Besides the Ill of you that had been said,  
My Parent's Sin had to your charge been laid;  
* And I have gained my Liberty with shame,  
To save my Life, made Shipwreck of my Name.   

Did Roxborough once veil her towering Fanes?  
To thy brave Ensigns; on the Northern Plains?  
And to thy Trumpets, sounding from thy Tent,  
Mine oft again thee hearty Welcome sent,  
And did receive thee as my Sovereign Liege,  
Coming to aid me, thus me to besiege,  
To raise a Foe, that but for Treasure came,  
To plant a Foe, to take my honest Name;  
Under pretence to have romoved the Scot,  
And wouldst have won more than he could have got  
That did engird me, ready still to fly,  
But thou lay'dst Battery to my Chastity:  
O Modesty, didst thou me not restrain,  
How could I chide you in this angry vain!   

A Prince's Name (Heaven knows) I do not crave,  
To have those Honours Edward's Spouse should have,  
Nor by Ambitious Lures will I be brought,  
In my chaste Breast to harbour such a Thought,  
As to be worthy to be made a Bride,  
A Piece unfit for Princely 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, which I from you receive:  
* The rest unto your Princely Thoughts I leave.   

ANNOTATIONS 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 Batchelour-Prince, were Sir Thomas Holland Knight, and Sir William 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 Polydore would have her thought to be Jane, the Daughter to Edmund, Earl of Kent, Uncle to Edward the third, beheaded in the Protectorship of Mortimer, that dangerous Aspirer.  And I have gained my Liberty with shame. 
Roxborough is a Castle in the North, mistermed by Bandello, Salisbury Castle, because the King had given it to the Earl of Salisbury: in which, her Lord being absent, the Countess by the Scots was besieged; who, by the coming of the English Army, were removed. Here first the Prince saw her, whose Liberty had been gained by her shame, had she been drawn by dishonest Love to satisfy his Appetite: but by her most praiseworthy Constancy, she converted that humour in him to an honourable purpose, 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 Elips: but that being rejected, as a Name unknown among us, Froisard is rather believed, who calleth her Alice. Polydore contrariwise, 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 afterward, because within the degrees of Consangumity, prohibiting to marry: The truth whereof, I omit to discuss. Her Husband, the Lord Montague, being sent over into Flanders 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 rejoyceful Lady sends this loving Answer.    
FINIS.   


Queen ISABEL TO RICHARD the Second.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Queen Isabel (the Daughter of Charles King of France) being the second Wife of Richard the second Son of Edward the Black Prince,  Son of King Edward the third; after the said Richard her Husband was deposed by Henry Duke of Hereford, 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 into France without Dowry, at what time the deposed King her Husband was sent from the Tower of London (is a Prisoner) unto Pomfret Castle, this poor Lady bewailing her Husband's Misfortunes, writeeths this Epistle to him from France.  

AS doth the yearly Augur of the Spring,  
In depth of Woe, thus I my Sorrow sing;  
My Tunes with Sighs yet ever mixed 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, soon are both too slack.   

If fatal Pomfret hath in former time  
Nourished the Grief of that unnatural Clime,  
Thither I send my Sorrows to be fed;  
Than where first born, where sitter 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 bonds 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 unawares did look  
Upon that Traitor Henry Bullenbrook:  
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 to bestride his Back;  
He that since Nature her great work began,  
She only made 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 in her Cunning, broke the Mould,  
When she in him had done the best she could.   

Oh, let that Day be guilty of all Sin,  
That is to come, or heretofore hath been,  
* Wherein great Norfolk's forward Course was stayed,  
To prove the Treasons he to Harford 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 hid it;  
Yet on his Brow continually to bear it,  
That when it comes, all other Hours may fear it,  
And all ill-boding Planets, by consent,  
In it may hold their dreadful Parliament:  
Be it in heavens Decrees enroled thus,  
Black, dismal, fatal, inauspitious.  
Proud Harford then, in height of all his Pride,  
Under great Mowbray's valiant Hand had died,  
And never had from Banishment retired;  
The fatal Brand wherewith our Troy was fired.  
* Oh, why did Charles relieve his needy state!  
A Vagabond and straggling Runagate?  
And in his Court, with grace did entertain  
That vagrant Exile, that vile bloody Cain;  
Who with a thousand Mother's Curses went,  
Marked with the Brand of ten years' Banishment.   

* When thou to Ireland took'st thy last Farewell,  
Millions of Knees upon the Pavements fell,  
And every where th' applauding Echoes ring  
The joyful shouts that did salute a King.  
Thy parting hence, the Pomp that did adorn?  
Was vanished quite when as thou didst return?  
Who to my Lord one Look vouchsafed to lend?  
Then all too few on Harford to attend.  
" Princes (like Suns) be evermore in sight,  
" All see the Clouds, betwixt them and their Light:  
" Yet they which lighten all beneath their Skies,  
" See not the Clouds offending others Eyes,  
" And deem their Noon-tide is desired of all,  
" When all expect clear Changes by their Fall.   

What colour seems to shadow Harford's claim,  
When Law and Right his Father's Hope do 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 Bastard's Mark doth blot his conquering Shield:  
Never durst he attempt our hapless Shore,  
Nor set his foot on fatal Ravenspore;  
Nor durst his slugging Hulks approach the Strand,  
Nor stoop a Top as signal to the Land,  
Had not the Piercies promised aid to bring,  
Against their Oath unto their lawful King,  
* Against their Faith unto our Crown's true Heir,  
Their valiant Kinsman Edmund Mortimer.   

When I to England came, a World of Eyes,  
Like Stars attended on my fair Arise,  
Which now (alas) like angry Planets frown,  
And are all set, before my going down:  
The smooth-faced Air did on my coming smile,  
But I with Storms am driven to Exile:  
But Bullenbrook devised we thus should part,  
Fearing two Sorrows should possess one Heart;  
To add to our affliction, to 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 so to prove the utmost of his hate,  
To part us in this miserable state.  
* Oh, would Aumerl had sunk, when he betrayed  
The Plot, which once that noble Abbot laid;  
When he infringed the Oath which he first took,  
For thy Revenge on perjured Bullenbrook;  
And been the ransom of our Friends dear Blood,  
Untimely lost, and for the Earth too good,  
And we untimely do bewail their state,  
They gone too soon, and we remain too late.   

And though with Tears I from my Lord departed  
This Curse on Harford fall, to ease my Heart:  
If the foul breach of a chaste Nuptial Bed  
May bring a Curse, my Curse light on his Head;  
If Murders guilt with Blood may deeply slain,  
* Green, Scroop and Bushy die his fault in grain,  
If Perjury may heavens pure Gates debar,  
* Damned be the Oath he made at Doncaster;  
If the deposing of a lawful King,  
Thy Curse condemned him, if no other things;  
If this disjoined, for Vengeance cannot call,  
Let them united, strongly curse him all.  
And for the Piercies, Heaven may hear mp Prayer,  
That Bullenbrook, now placed in Richard's Chair,  
Such cause of Woe to their proud Wives may be,  
As those rebellious Lords have been to me.  
And that coy Dame, which now controlleth all,  
And in her Pomp triumpheth in my Fall,  
For her great Lord may water her sad Eyes  
With as salt Tears, as I have done for mine.  
* And mourn for Henry Hotspur, her dear Son,  
As I for my dear Mortimer have done;  
And as I am, so succourless be sent,  
Lastly, to taste perpetual Banishment.   

Then lose thy Care, when first thy Crown was lost,  
Sell it so dearly, for it dearly cost:  
And since it did of Liberty deprive thee.  
Burying thy Hope, let nothing else 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 some Fears were rid away;  
Something there is, that danger still doth show,  
But what it is that Heaven alone 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 Richard thus I wish thee happy Rest.   

ANNOTATIONS 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 Bullenbrook returned to London from the West, bringing Richard a Prisoner with him; the Queen, who little knew of her Husbands hard Success, stayed to behold his coming in, little thinking to have seen her Husband thus led in Triumph by his Foe: and now seeming to hate her Eyes, that so much had graced her mortal Enemy.  Wherein great Norfolk's forward Course was stayed. 
She remembreth the meeting of the two Dukes of Harford and Norfolk at Coventry, urging the justness of Mowbray's Quarrel against the Duke of Harford, and the faithful assurance of his Victory.  
Oh, why did Charles relieve his needy state?  
A Vagabond, etc.  
Charles the French King her Father, received the Duke of Harford, and relieved him in France, being so nearly allied 〈◊〉 Cousin German to King Richard, his Son in Law; which he did simply, little thinking that he should after return to 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 Mackmur, who rebelled: at what time, Henry entered here at home, and rob him of all Kingly Dignity.  
Affirmed by Churchmen (which should bear no Hate)  
That John of Gaunt was illegitimate.  
William Wickham, in the great Quarrel betwixt John of Gaunt and the Clergy, of mere Spite and Malice (as it should seem) reported, That the Queen confessed to him on her Deathbed, being then her Confessor, That John of Gaunt was the Son of a Fleming, and that she was brought to Bed of a Woman-Child at Gaunt, which was smothered in the Cradle by mischance, and that she obtained this Child of a poor Woman, making the King believe it was her own, greatly fearing his displeasure. Fox. ex Chron. Alban.  No Bastards Mark doth blot his 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 valiant 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 ●hird; which Edmund (King Richard going into Ireland) was proclaimed Heir apparent to the Crown; whose Aunt, called Elinor, this Lord Piercy had married.  
Oh, would Aumerl had sunk when he betrayed  
The Plot, which once that Noble 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 Aumerl, Montacute Earl of Salisbury, Spencer Earl of Gloucester, 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 Aumerl.  Scroop, Green and Bushy die his Fault in grain. 
Henry going towards the Castle of Flint, where King Richard was, caused Scroop, Green and Bushy to be executed at Bristol, as vile Persons, which had seduced the 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 Cro●… 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 〈◊〉 right with the Curse of Queen Isabel, was slain by Henry the Battle at Shrewsbury.   
FINIS.   

RICHARD the Second TO Queen ISABEL.  

WHat can my Queen but hope for from this Hand,  
That it should write, which never could command?  
A Kingdom's Greatness think how he should sway,  
That wholesome Counsel never could obey:  
Ill this rude Hand did guide a Sceptre then,  
Worse now (I fear me) it will rule 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  
Makes thee a Widow, being yet a Wife:  
Nor from a King; that Title I have lost,  
Now of that Name, proud Bullenbrook may boast:  
What I have been, doth but this comfort bring,  
No words so woeful, as, I was a King.  
This lawless Life, which first procured my Hate,  
* This Tongue, which then renounced my Regal State,  
This abject Soul of mine consenting to it,  
This Hand, that was the Instrument to do it;  
All these be witness, that I now deny  
All Princely Types, all Kingly Sovereignty.   

Didst thou for my sake leave thy Father's Court,  
Thy famous Country, and thy Princely Port,  
And undertook'st to travel dangerous Ways,  
Driven by awkward Winds and boisterous Seas?  
* And left'st 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 Down-fall, and my Fortune's wrack,  
Thus to thy Country to convey thee back?   

When quiet Sleep (the heavey Heart's Relief)  
Hath rested Sorrow, somewhat less'ned Grief,  
My passed Greatness into 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 with drawn a while,  
And my Attendants in some Chamber by,  
As in the height of my Prosperity.  
Calling a loud, 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, Noon-tide, and a Set,  
Each Day a Year, with Miseries complete;  
A Winter, Springtime, Summer and a Fall,  
All Seasons varying, but unseasoned all:  
In endless Woe my thread of Life thus wears,  
In Minutes, Hours, Days, by Months, to 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-starved-Winter doth inhabit here;  
A place wherein Despair may fitly dwell,  
Sorrow best suiting with a cloudy Cell.  
* When Harford 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.  
* That I was forced t'abridg his banished Years,  
When they be dewed his Footsteps with their Tears;  
Yet by example could not learn to know,  
To what his Greatness by their Love might grow:  
* But Henry boasts of our Achievements done,  
Bearing the Trophies our great Fathers won,  
And all the story of our famous War,  
Must 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 bare:  
But I his Graft, of every Weed overgrown,  
And from our kind, as Refuse forth am thrown.  
* We from our Grandsire stood in one Degree,  
But after Edward, John the youngest of three.  
Might Princely Wales beget a Son so base,  
(That to Gaunt's Issue should give Sovereign place)  
* He that from France brought John his Prisoner home,  
As those great Caesars did 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 from the base World fled,  
(Or here in me is it extinguished?)  
Who for his Virtue, and his Conquests sake,  
Posterity a Demigod shall make;  
And judge, this vile and abject Spirit of mine,  
Can not proceed from temper so divine.   

What Earthly Humour, or what vulgar Eye  
Can look so low, as on our Misery?  
When Bullenbrook 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 desgrades, 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 Bullenbrook to raise,  
My Looseness mocked, and hateful by his praise,  
Outlive mine Honour, bury my Estate,  
And leave myself nought, but my 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 Bier:  
Since now Misfortune humbleth us so long,  
Till Heaven be grown unmindful of our Wrong;  
Yet it forbidden my Wrongs should 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 Wound's too great for Pity now to heal;  
Age stealeth on, whilst thou complainest thus,  
My Grief be mortal and infectious:  
Yet better Fortunes thy fair Youth may try,  
That follow thee, which still from me doth fly.   

ANNOTATIONS on the Chronicle History.  This Tongue, which then denounced my Regal State 
RIchard the Second, at the Resignation of the Crown to the Duke of Harford, 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 Isabel 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 Harford had his Judgement of Exile. 
When the Combat should have been at Coventry, betwixt Henry Duke of Harford, and Thomas Duke of Norfolk (where Harford was adjudged to Banishment for ten years) the Commons exceedingly lamented; so greatly was be 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 Harford, repealed four years of his Banishment.  But Henry boasts of our Achievements done. 
Henry, the eldest son of John, Duke of Lancaster, at the first, Earl of Derby, then created Duke of Harford; after the death of Duke John, his father, was Duke of Lancaster and Hartford, Earl of Derby Liecester, and Lincoln: and after he had obtained the Crown, was called by the name of Bullenbrook, which is a Town in Lincolnshire; as usually all the Kings of England bore the name of the place where they were born.  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, Dukes of Gloucester, the sixth; William of Windsor, the seventh.  Edward the top-branch of that golden Tree. 
As disabling Henry Bullenbrook, being but Son of the fourth Brother; William and Lionel being both before John of Gaunt.  He that from France brought John his Prisoner home. 
Edward the Black-Prince taking John, King of France, Prisoner, at the Battle of Poitiers, 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 Battles he fought; as is showed before, in the Gloss upon the Epistle of Edward to the Countess of Salisbury.  And proves our Acts of Parliament unjust. 
In the next Parliament, after Richard's Resignation of the Crown, Henry caused to be annihilated all the Laws made in the Parliament, called the Wicked Parliament, held in the twentieth year of King Richard's Reign.    
FINIS.   


Queen KATHERINE TO OWEN TUDOR.  
The ARGUMENT.  
After the Death of Henry the fifth, Queen Katherine Dowager of England and France, Daughter to Charles the French King, holding her Estate with Henry her Son (then Sixth of that name) falleth in Love with Owen Tudor a Welshman, a brave and gallant Gentleman of the Wardrobe to the young King her Son, yet fearing if her Love should be discov'red, the Nobility would cross her purposed Marriage; or if her Princely promise should not assure his good success, the high and great Attempt might (perhaps) daunt the forwardness of this modest and shameful Youth; She therefore writes to him this following Epistle.  

JUdge not a Prince's worth impeached hereby,  
That Love thus triumphs over Majesty;  
Nor think less Virtue in this Royal Hand,  
That it entreats, and wont to command:  
For in this sort, tho' humbly now it woe,  
The day hath been, thou wouldst have kneeled unto.  
Nor think, that this submission of my State  
Proceeds from Frailty (rather judge it Fate.)   

Alcides ne'er more fit for Wars stern Shock,  
Then when with Women spinning at the Rock;  
Never less Clouds did Phoebus' glory dim,  
Then in a Clown's shape when he covered him,  
Jove's great Command was never more obeyed,  
Then when a Satyrs Antic parts he played.  
He was thy King, who sued for love to me,  
And she his Queen, who sues for love to thee.  
When Henry was, my love was only his,  
But by his death, it Owen tudor's is;  
My love to Owen, him my Henry giveth,  
My love to Henry, in my Owen liveth:  
Henry wooed me, whilst Wars did yet increase,  
I woe my Tudor, in sweet calms of Peace;  
To force Affection, he did Conquest prove,  
I come with gentle Arguments of Love.   

* Encamped at Melans, in Wars hot Alarms;  
First saw I Henry, clad in Princely Arms;  
At pleasant Windsor, First these Eyes of mine  
My Tudor judged, for wit and shape divine;  
Henry abroad, with Puissance and with Force,  
Tudor at home, with Courtship and Discourse:  
He then, thou now, I hardly can judge whether  
Did like me best, Plantagenet, or Tether;  
A March, a Measure, Battle, or a Dance,  
A Courtly Rapier, or a conquering Lance.  
His Princely Bed hath strengthened my Renown,  
* And on my Temples set a double Crown;  
Which glorious Wreath (as Henrys 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 hid Treasure, but not hid 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 Grandfire, Father, Husband, Son and Brother,  
More thou alone to me then all these other.  
* Nor fear, my Tudor, that this love of mine  
Should wrong the Gaunt-born, great Lancastrian Line,  
* Or make the English Blood, the Sun and Moon,  
Repine at Lorain, Burdon, Alencon;  
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 O'ff-spring only they,  
And we the Brats of woeful Niobe.  
Our famous Grandsires (as their own) bestrid  
That Horse of Fame, that God-begotten Steed,  
Whose bounding Hoof ploughed that Boetian Spring,  
Where those sweet Maids of Memory do sing.  
I claim not all from Henry, but as well  
To be the Child of Charles and Isabel  
Nor can I think from whence their Grief should grow,  
That by this Match they be disparaged so;  
* When John and Longshanks Issue were 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 Pentecosts;  
To have precedence in Pendragon's Race,  
At Arthur's Table challenging the 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 Towns to sack,  
Twice entering Wales, yet twice was beaten back;  
When famous Cambria washed her in the Flood,  
Made by th' effusion of the English Blood;  
* And oft returned with glorious Victory,  
From Worcester, Her'ford Chester, Shrewsbury;  
Whose Power in every Conquest so prevails,  
As once expulsed the English out of Wales.   

Although my Beauty made my Country's Peace,  
And at my Bridal former Broils did cease;  
More than his Power, had not his Person been,  
I had not come to England as a Queen.  
Nor took I Henry to supply my want,  
Because in France that time my choice was scant,  
When it had robbed all Christendom of Men,  
And England's Flower remained amongst us then:  
Gluoster, 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 Nevil's haughty Race;  
Great Salisbury, 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 Princess born,  
The best of these, my equal need not scorn:  
But Henry's rare Perfections, and his parts,  
As conquering Kingdoms, so he conquered Hearts.  
As chaste was I to him, as Queen might be,  
But freed from him, my chaste love vowed to thee;  
Beauty doth fetch all Favour from thy Face,  
All perfect Courtship resteth in thy Grace;  
If thou discourse, my 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 the sweet Notes do of a well-set Song,  
And runs as smoothly from those Lips of thine,  
As the pure Tuscan from the Florentine;  
Leaving such seas'ned sweetness in the Ear,  
That the Voice past, the sound abides still there,  
In Nisus Tower, as when Apollo lay,  
And on his golden Viol 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, which think 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 pevish Worldlings prate of Right and Wrong,  
Leave Plaints and Pleas, to whom they do belong,  
Let old Men speak of Chances and Events,  
And Laywers talk of Titles and Descents,  
Leave fond Reports to such as Stories tell,  
And Covenants, to those that buy and sell:  
Love, my sweet Tudor, that becomes thee best;  
And to our good success refer the rest.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  
Encamped at Melans, in Wars hot Alarms,  
First, etc.  
NEar unto Melans, upon the River of Seyne, was the appointed place of Parley between the two Kings of England and France; to which place, Isabel, the Queen of France, and the Duke of Rurgoyne, 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 & 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 fift, Henry the fixth, 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 fift married the Princess Katherine, in the presence of the chief Nobility of the Realms of England and France.  
Nor these great Titles vainly will I bring,  
Wife, Daughter, Mother, etc.  
Few Queens of England, or France, were ever more Princely allied then this Queen, as it hath been noted by Historiographers.  
Nor fear, my Tudor, that this love of mine.  
Should wrong the Gaunt-born, 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 born.  
Or make the English Blood, the Sun and Moon,  
Repine, etc.  
Alluding the Greatness of the English Line, to Phoebus and Phoebe, feigned to be the Children of Latona, whose Heavenly kind might scorn to be joined with any Earthly Progeny: yet withal, boasting the Blood of France, as not inferior to theirs. And with this Allusion; followeth on the History of the strife betwixt Juno and the Race of Cadmus, whose Issue was afflicted by the Wrath of Heaven. The Children of Niobe slain; for which the woeful Mother became a Rock, gushing forth continually a Fountain of Tears.  When John and Longshanks Issue were affied. 
Lewellin, or Leolin ap Jorwith, Married Joan, daughter to King John, a most beautiful Lady. Some Authors affirm, that she was base born. Lewellinap Gryfith Married Elinor, daughter to Simon Monfort, Earl of Leicester, and Cousin to Edward Longshanks; both which Lewellins were Princes of Wales.  
Of Camelot, and all her Pentecosts,  
To have precedence, etc.  
Camelot the Ancient Palace of King Arthur; to which place, all the Knights of that famous Order yearly repaired at Pentecost, according to the Law of the Table: and most of the famous home born Knights were of that Country; as to this day is perceived by their ancient Monuments.  When bloody Rufus sought your utter sack. 
Noting the ill success which William Rufus had in two Voyages he made into Wales; in which, a number of his chief Nobility were slain.  And oft returned with glorious Victory. 
Noting the divers sundry Incursions that the Welshmen made into England, in the time Rufus, John, Henry the second, and Longshanks.    

OWEN TUDOR TO Queen KATHERINE.  

WHen first mine Eyes beheld your Princely Name,  
And found from whence this friendly Letter came;  
As in excess of Joy, I had forgot,  
Whether I saw it, or I saw it not:  
My panting Heart doth bid mine Eyes proceed,  
My dazzled Eyes invite my Tongue to read;  
Which wanting their direction, dully missed it:  
My Lips, which should have spoke, were dumb, and kissed it,  
And left the Paper in my trembling Hand,  
When all my Senses did amazed stand;  
Even as a Mother coming to her Child,  
Which from her presence hath been long exiled,  
With gentle Arms his tender Neck doth strain,  
Now kissing it, now clipping it 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 some what left to be extreme,  
My longing Eyes with their fair Object meet,  
Where every Letter's pleasing, every Word is sweet.   

It was not Henry's Conquest, 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 Achievement first had won my Youth:  
This brave Adventure did my Valour prove;  
Before I e'er knew what it was to love.  
Nor came I hither by some poor event,  
But by th' Eternal Destiny's consent;  
Whose uncomprised Wisdom did foresee,  
That you in Marriage should be linked to me.  
By our great Merlin was it not foretell,  
(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-de-luce be dressed;  
As that the Leek (our Countries chief Renown)  
Should grow with Roses in the English Crown.  
As Charles his Daughter, you the Lily were,  
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 cast no future Doubts, nor fear no Hate,  
When it so long hath been foretell by Fate;  
And by the all-disposing doom of Heaven,  
Before our Births, we to one Bed were given.  
No Pallas here, nor Juno is at all,  
When I to Venus yield the golden Ball;  
Nor when the Grecians Wonder I enjoy,  
None in revenge to kindle fire in Troy:   

And have not strange events divined to us,  
That in our love we should be prosperous?  
* When in thy presence I was called to dance,  
In lofty Tricks whilst I myself advance,  
And in a Turn, my footing failed by hap,  
Was't not my chance to light into your Lap?  
Who would not judge it Fortunes greatest grace,  
Since 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 fire-brreathing Steeds;  
Nor do I boast my Godmade Grandfires Scars,  
Nor Giants Trophies in the Titan's Wars;  
Nor fain 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 that famous be,  
Our learned Bards do sing my Pedigree;  
* And boast my Birth from great Cadwallader,  
* From old Caer-Septon, in Mount Pallador;  
* And from Eneons Line, the South-Wales King,  
By Theodor, the tudor's Name do bring.  
My Royal Mother's Princely Stock began,  
* From her great Grandam, fair Gwenellian;  
By true descent from Leoline 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 impartial Eyes,  
Shall look from whence our Name at first did rise,  
Shall find, that Fortune is to us in debt;  
And why not Tudor, as Plantagenet?   

* Nor that term Croggen, Nickname of disgrace,  
Used as a byword now in every place,  
Shall blot our Blood, or wrong a Welch-man'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,  
Buckling besides in many dangerous Fights,  
With Norways, Sweethens 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 ever could the Saxons Swords provoke  
Our Britain Necks to bear their servile Yoke:  
Where Cambria's pleasant Countries bounded be  
With swelling Severn and the holy De;  
And since great Brutus first arrived, have stood,  
The only remnant of the Trojan Blood.  
To every Man is not allotted Chance,  
To boast with Henry, to have conquered France:  
Yet if my Fortunes be thus raised by thee,  
This may presage a further good to me;  
And our Saint David, in the Britain's Right,  
May join with George, the Sainted English Knight;  
* And old Caermarden, 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,  
Many there be, that after you inquire;  
Till now your Beauty in Night's Bosom slept,  
What Eye durst stir, where awful Henry kept?  
Who durst attempt to sail but near the Bay,  
Where that all-conquering great Alcides lay?  
Your Beauty now is set a Royal Prize,  
And Kings repair to cheapen Merchandise.  
If you 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 makes me fear the flame;  
If in the Sun, then sad Suspicion dreams  
Phoebus should spread Lycothoe in his Beams;  
If in a Fountain you do cool your Blood,  
Neptune I fear, which once came in a Flood;  
If with your Maids, I dread Apollo's Rape,  
Who cous'ned Chion in an old Wife's shape;  
If you do banquet, Bacchus makes me dread,  
Who in a Grape Erigone did feed;  
And if myself your 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,  
Shows, that 'tis touched with a celestial fire;  
If I'm in 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 be 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.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  And that the Helm, the tudor's ancient Crest. 
THE Arms of Tudor, was three Helmets; whereof he speaketh, as a thing prophetically foretold of Merlin.  When in thy presence I was called to dance. 
Owen Tudor being a courtly and active Gentleman, commanded once to dance before the Queen, in a Turn (not being able to recover himself) fell into her Lap, as she sat upon a little Stool, with many of her Ladies about her.  
And yet with them in Wales that famous be,  
Our learned Bards, etc.  
This Berdh, as they call it in the British Tongue, or as we more properly say, Bard, or Bardus, be their Poets, which keep the Records of Pedigrees and Descents, and sung in Odes and Measures to their Harps, after the old manner of the Lyric 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.  From old Caer-Septon, in Mount Palador. 
Caer-Septon, now called Shaftsbury; at whose Building it was said, an Eagle prophesied (or rather one named Aquila) of the fame of that Place, and of the recovery of the Isle by the Britain's, bringing back with them the Bones of Cadwallader from Rome.  
And from Encons' Line, the South-Wales King,  
From Theodor, etc.  
This Encon was slain by the Rebels of Gwentland; he was a notable 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 Gwenellian. 
Gwenellian, the daughter of Rees ap Grisseth ap Theodor Prince of South-Wales, married Ednivet Vaughan, Ancestor to Owen Tudor.  By true descent from Leolin the Great. 
This is the Lowhelin, called Leolinus Magnus, Prince of North-Wales.  Nor that word Croggen, Nickname of disgrace. 
In the Voyage that Henry the Second made against the Welshmen, as his Soldiers passed Offas' Ditch at Croggen Castle, they were overthrown by the Welshmen: which word Croggen hath since been used to the Welshman's Disgrace, which was at first begun with their Honour.  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.  And old Caer-Marden, Merlin's famous Town. 
Caer-Marden, or Merlin's Town, so called, of Merlin's being found there. This was Ambrose Merlin's, whose Prophecies we have. There was another of that Name, called Merlin Sylvestris, born in Scotland, surnamed Calidonius, of the Forest Calydon, where he prophesied.    
FINIS.   


ELINOR COBHAM TO Duke HUMPHREY.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Elinor, 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 Bullingbrook) This noble Duke for his great wisdom and justice called the good, was by King Henry the fifth (Brother to the 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 Bullingbrook a Great Magician, Hun a Priest, and Jourdan 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 to the Isle of Man, from whence she writes this Epistle.  

MEthinks, not knowing who these Lines should send,  
Thou strait turn'st over to the latter end  
Where, thou my Name no sooner hast espied,  
But in disdain my Letter casts aside:  
Why, if thou wilt, I will myself deny,  
Nay, I'll affirm and swear, I am not I;  
Or if in that thy shame thou dost perceive,  
For thy dear sake, lo I my Name will leave.  
And yet, methinks, amazed thou shouldst not stand,  
Nor seem so much appalled at my Hand;  
For my Misfortunes have inur'd 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, no Magic Charm;  
If she that sent it, love Duke Humphrey so,  
Is't possible her Name should be his Foe?  
Yes, I am Elinor, I am very she,  
Who brought for Dower a Virgin's Bed to thee;  
* Though envious Beauford slandered me before,  
To be Duke Humphry's 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 Philters, and bewitching Drink:  
Nor on thy Person did I ever prove  
Those wicked Potions, so procuring Love.   

I cannot boast, to be rich Holland's Heir,  
Nor of the Blood and Greatness of Baveire;  
* Yet Elinor brought no foreign Armies in,  
To fetch her back; as did thy Jacomin;  
Nor clamorous Husband 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 Belgia's Pomp, defaced with Belgia's Fire,  
The just reward of her unjust desire:  
* Nor Bedford's Spouse, your noble Sister Ann,  
That Princely-issued great Burgonian,  
Need stand with me, to move a Woman's strife,  
To yield the place to the Protector's 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,  
That danced my Barge, in launching from the stair?  
The anch'ring Ships, which when I passed the Road,  
Were wont to hang their chequ'red Tops abroad?  
How could it be, those that were wont to stand,  
To see my Pomp, so Goddess-like to Land,  
Should after see me mayled 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 Beadle's Wand;  
That little Babes, not having use of Tongue,  
Stood pointing at me, as I came along.   

Where then was Humphrey, where was his Command  
Wast thou not Lord Protector of the Land?  
Or for thy Justice, who could thee deny  
The Title of the good Duke Humphrey?  
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 the Line of Lancaster?  
But Rayner's Daughter must from France be set,  
And with a vengeance on our Throne be set;  
Mauns, Main and Anjou, on that Beggar cast,  
To bring her home to England in such haste:  
And what for Henry thou hadst laboured there,  
To join the King with Arminack's rich Heir,  
Must all be dashed, as no such thing had been.  
Pool needs must have his Darling made a Queen,  
How should he with our Princes else be placed,  
To have his Earlship with a Dukedom graced;  
And raise the Offspring of his Blood so high,  
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 Bedford to his glory kept,  
Is given back to Rayner all in post;  
And by this means, rich Normandy is lost.  
Those which have come as Mistresses of ours,  
Have into England brought their goodly Dow'rs,  
Which to our Coffers yearly Tribute brings,  
The Life of Subjects, and the strength of Kings;  
The means whereby fair England ever might  
Raise Power in France, to back her ancient Right,  
But she brings Ruin here to make abode,  
And cancels all our lawful Claim abroad,  
And she must recapitulate my Shame,  
And give a thousand bywords to my Name,  
And call me, Beldame, Gib, Witch, Nightmare, Trot,  
With all despite that may a Woman spot.   

Oh, that I were a Witch but for her sake!  
Faith than her Queenship little Rest should take;  
I'd scratch that Face, that may not feel the Air,  
And knit whole Ropes of Witch-knots in her Hair:  
O how I'd 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 Aconite,  
I would send such a Fume into her Brow,  
Should make her mad, as mad as I am now.   

* They say, the Druids once lived in this Isle,  
This fatal Man, the place of my Exile,  
Whose powerful Charms such dreadful Wonders wrought,  
Which in the Goatish Island Tongue were taught;  
Oh, that their Spells to me they had resigned,  
Wherewith they raised and calmed both Sea and 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 fore-speak whole Flocks, as they did feed;  
To nurse a damned Spirit with humane Blood,  
To carry them through Earth, Air, Fire and Flood:  
Had I this skill, that Time hath almost lost,  
How like a Goblin I would haunt her ghost?  
O pardon, pardon my misgoverned Tongue,  
A Woman's strength cannot endure my Wrong.   

* Did not the heavens her coming in withstand,  
As though affrighted, when she came to Land?  
The Earth did quake, her coming to abide,  
The goodly Thames did twice keep back his Tide,  
Paul's shaken with Tempests, & 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,  
Then 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 than with a Clap-dish in my hand;  
A simple Mantle covering me withal,  
The veriest 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-Cliffs, in the dampy Caves,  
In Charnel-Houses, fit to dwell in Graves.   

Saw'st thou those Eyes, in whose sweet cheerful Look  
Duke Humphrey once such joy and pleasure took,  
Sorrow hath so despoiled them all of grace,  
Thou couldst not say, this was my El'nors' face:  
Like a foul Gorgon, whose dishevelled Hair  
With every blast flies glaring in the Air;  
Some standing up like Horns upon my Head,  
Even like Those Women that in Coos are bred:  
My lank Breasts hang like Bladders left unblown,  
My Skin with loathsome Jaundize overgrown;  
So pined away, that if thou longest to see  
Ruins true Picture, only look on me.  
Sometime, in thinking of what I have had,  
I from a sudden Ecstasy grow mad:  
Then, like a Bedlam, forth thy El'nor runs  
Like one of Bacchus raging frantic Nuns;  
Or like a Tartar, when in strange disguise,  
Prepared unto a dismal Sacrifice.   

That Prelate Beaufort, a foul ill befall him:  
Prelate said I! nay, Devil I should call him:  
Ah God forgive me, if I think amiss,  
His very Name, me thinks, my Poison is:  
Ah that vile Judas, our professed Foe,  
My Curse pursue him, wheresoe'er he go;  
That to my Judgement, when I did appear,  
Laid to my charge those things that never were:  
That I should know of Bullenbrooks' 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,  
Which 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,  
Yet to 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;  
Whom 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 Pool, and he,  
As it please them, even so must all things be;  
England's no place for any one beside;  
All is too little to maitain their pride.   

situation might remain an assured Monument of his Wisdom, if there were no other memory of the same.  They say the Druids once lived in this Isle. 
It should 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 Agricola's 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 pewer 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 a sort of fictious Demigods: But it shall not need to speak any farther of the Druidae, then that which Lucan doth: 

Et vos barbaricos ritus, moremque sinistrum  
Sacrorum, Druidae positis repetistis ab armis.   

Did not the Heavens her coming in withstand.    
Noting the prodigious and fearful signs that were seen England, a little before her coming in: which Elinor expresseth in this Epistle, as afore-shewing the Dangers which should ensue upon this unlucky Marriage.  The hallowing of the Magic Instruments. 
The Instruments which Bullenbrook used in his Conjurations, according to the devilish Ceremonies and Customs of these unlawful Arts, were dedicated at a Mass in the Lodge in Harnsey Park, by Southwel Priest of Westminster.  Having procured by hope of golden gain. 
This was one of the Articles that Duke Humphrey urged against Cardinal Beauford, That he 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 into Passion, urged by thy distress:  
No El'nor, no, thy Woes, thy Grief, thy Wrong,  
Have in my breast been resident too long.   

Oh, when Report in every place had spread,  
My El'nor was to Sanctuary fled,  
With cursed Oneley, and the Witch of Eye.  
As guilty of their vile Conspiracy;  
The dreadful Spirits when they did invocate,  
For the Succession, and the Realm's Estate;  
When Henry's Image they in Wax had wrought,  
By which he should have to his death been 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 inflict me still;  
But that before hath taken too sure hold:  
Forget it, said I? would to God I could.  
Of any Woe, if thou hast but one part,  
I have the whole remaining in my heart;  
I have no need, of others Cares to borrow,  
For all I have, is nothing else but Sorrow.  
No, my sweet Nell, thou took'st not all away,  
Though thou wentest hence, here still thy Woes do stay;  
Though from thy Husband thou wert forced to go,  
Those still remain, they will not leave him so:  
No eye bewails my Ill, moans thy distress,  
Our Grief's the more, but yet our debt the less;  
We own 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 patienee 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 thinkest thou, I unkindly did forbear  
To bandy Woe for Woe, and Tear for Tear?  
Did I forget, or carelessly neglect  
Those shows of Love, that Ladies so respect?  
In mounful black was I not seen to go,  
By outward signs t'express my inward Woe?  
Did I thy loss not publicly lament,  
Nor by my Looks 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, they must still be there;  
And if thou knowst, they many were before,  
By time increasing they must needs be more,   

England to me can challenge nothing lent,  
Let her cast up what is received, what spent;  
If I her own, can she from blame me free,  
If she but prove a stepmother to me  
That if I should with that proud Bastard strive,  
To plead for Birthright my Prerogative,  
Be that allowed, I should not need to fear it,  
For then my true Nobility should bear it:  
If Counsel aid, that France will tell (I know)  
Whose Towns lie waste before the English Foe,  
When thrice we gave the conquered French the foil  
* At Agincourt, at Cravant, and Vernoyle:  
If Faith avail, these Arms did Henry hold,  
To claim his Crown, yet scarcely nine 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 Humphry's Name.  
If Toil at home, French Treason, English Hate,  
Shall tell my skill in managing the State,  
If foreign Travel my success may try,  
* Then Flanders, Almain, Boheme, Burgundy.  
That Robe of Rome proud Beauford 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, Dispensations draws,  
Which are of power to abrogate our Laws;  
And for those Sums the wealthy Church should pay,  
Upon the needy Comm'nalty to lay:  
His ghostly Counsels only do advise,  
* The means how Langley's 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 falsely to deprive,  
Which they from Clarence feignedly derive;  
Knowing the will old Cambridge ever bore,  
To catch the Wreath that famous Henry wore:  
With Grace and Scroop when first he laid the Plot,  
From us and ours, the Garland to have got;  
As from the March-born 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 will restore,  
To stir the fire that kindled was before;  
Against the Yorkists that shall their Claim advance,  
To steel the point of Norfolk's sturdy Lance.  
Upon the Breast of Harford's issue bend,  
In just revenge of ancient Banishment.  
He doth advise to let our Prisoner go,  
And doth enlarge the faithless Scotish Foe,  
* Giving our Heirs in Marriage, that their Dow'rs  
May bring invasion upon us and ours.  
Ambitious Suffolk so the Helm doth guide,  
With Beauford's damned Policies suppled;  
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,  
Which hath the most, how hard to be decided?  
Or thou, or that, to censure I am loath,  
So near are you, so dear unto me both;  
'Twixt that and thee, for equal love I find,  
England ingrateful, and my El'nor kind.  
But though my Country justly I reprove,  
Yet I for that, neglected have my love;  
Nevertheless, thy Humphries to the now,  
As when fresh Beauty triumphed on thy Brow;  
As when thy Graces I admired most,  
Or of thy Favours might the frankly'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 patiented, gentle Heart, in thy distress.  
Thou art a Princess, not a whit the less.  
Whilst in these Breasts we bear about this Life,  
I am thy Husband, and thou art my Wife.  
Cast not thine eye on such as mounted be,  
But look on those cast down as low as we;  
For some of them which proudly perch so high,  
Ere long shall come as low as thou or I.  
They weep for joy, and let us laugh in Woe,  
We shall exchange when Heaven will have it so  
We mourn, and they in aftertime may mourn,  
Woe past, may once laugh present Woe to scorn:  
And worse then hath been, we can never taste,  
Worse cannot come, then is already past:  
" In all extreams the only depth of ill,  
" Is that which comforts the afflicted still.   

Ah would to God thou couldst thy Griefs deny,  
And on my back let all the Burden lie!  
Or if thou canst resign, make them mine own,  
Both in one Carriage to be undergone,  
Till we again our former hopes recover,  
And prosperous Times blow these Misfortunes over;  
For in the thought of those forepassed 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.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  At Agincourt, at Cravant 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, and William Stuart, Constable of Scotland: Vernoyle, fought by John Duke of Bedford, against the Duke of Alencon. and with him most of the Nobility of France; Duke Humphrey an especial Counsellor in all these Expeditions.  Then Flanders, Almain, Boheme, Burgundy. 
Here remembering the ancient Amity which in his Embassies he had 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 at 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 Beauford Cardinal of Winchester, that proud and haughty Prelate, received the 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 Robe and Calling.  The means how Langley's Progeny may rise. 
As willing to show, the House of Cambridge to be descended of Edmund Langley, Earl 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. 
Noting the ancient Grudge between the House of Lancaster and Norfolk, ever since Mowbray Duke of Norfolk was banished, for the Accusation of Henry Duke of Harford (after that, King of England, Father to Duke Humphrey:) Which Accusation, he came as a Combatant, to have made good in the Lists at Coventry.  Giving our Heirs in Marriage that their Dow'rs. 
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 afterward a great Enemy to England.    
FINIS.   


WILLIAM DELAPOOLE Duke of SUFFOLK TO Queen MARGARET.  
The ARGUMENT.  
William De-La-Pool 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 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 Main into the Duke's hands, which shortly after proved the loss of all Aquitain, they ever after bore a continued hatred to the Duke, and (by means of the Commons) banished him at the Parliament at Bury, where after he had judgement of his Exile, being then ready to departed, he writes back to the Queen this Epistle.  

IN my disgrace (dear Queen) rest thy Content,  
And Margaret's health from Suffolk's Banishment:  
Five years' exile were not an hour to me,  
But that so soon I must departed from thee,  
Where thou 'rt 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 Noon-stead ever make abode,  
And force the poor Antipodes to mourn,  
Fearing lest he would never more return.  
Were't not for thee, it were my great'st exile,  
To live within this Sea-invironed Isle.   

Pool's Courage brooks not limiting in Bands,  
But that (great Queen) thy Sovereignty commands:  
* Our Falcon's kind cannot the Cage endure,  
Nor Buzzard-like doth stoop to every Lure;  
Their mounting Brood in open Air do rove,  
Nor will with Crows be couped within a Grove.   

We all do breathe upon this Earthly Ball,  
Likewise one Heaven incompasseth thus 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 Arm's.  
* This was the mean proud Warwick did invent,  
To my disgrace, at Leicester Parliament.  
* That only I, by yielding up of Main,  
* Should cause the loss of fertile Aquitain,  
* With the base vulgar sort to win him fame,  
To be the Heir of good Duke Humphry's Name;  
And so by Treason spotting my pure Blood,  
Make this a mean to raise the Nevil's Brood.  
* With Salisbury, his vile ambitious Sire,  
* In York's stern Breast kindling long hidden fire;  
* By Clarence Title working to supplant  
* The Eagle Airy of great John of Gaunt:  
And to this end did my Exile conclude,  
Thereby to please the Rascal Multitude;  
* Urged by these envious Lords to spend their breath,  
Crying revenge for the Protectors death,  
That since the old decrepit Duke is dead,  
By me, of force, he must be murdered.   

* If they would know who robbed him of his Life,  
* Let them call home Dame Elinor 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 foul Hag Jordan, Hun, and Bullenbrook,  
* 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, as hardly conquered then?  
* And have I seen Vernoyla's batful Fields,  
Strewed with ten thousand Helms, ten thousand Shields,  
Where famous Bedford did our Fortune try,  
Or France, or England, for the Victory?  
The sad investing of so many Towns,  
Scored on my Breast in honourable Wounds;  
When Montacute, and Talbot of much Name,  
Under my Ensign both first won their Fame:  
In Heat and Cold all these have I endured.  
To rouse the French, within their Walls immured;  
Through all my Life, these perils have I passed,  
And now to fear a Banishment at last?   

Thou knowst how I (thy beauty to advance)  
For thee, refused the Infanta of France,  
Broke the Contract Duke Humphrey first did make  
'Twixt Henry and the Princess Arminack:  
Only that here thy presence I might gain,  
I gave Duke Rayner, Anjou, Mauns and Main;  
Thy Peerless Beauty for a Dower to bring,  
As of itself sufficient for a King:  
* And from Aumerle withdrew my Warlike Powers,  
* And came myself in person first to Tours,  
* Th'ambasssadors for truce to entertain,  
* From Belgia, Denmark, Hungary and Spain:  
And to the King relating of thy story,  
My Tongue flowed with such plenteous Oratory,  
As the report by speaking did indite,  
Begetting still more ravishing delight.  
And when my Speech did cease (as telling all)  
My Look 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 Music's numbers my Voice risen and fell;  
And when I came to paint thy glorious stile,  
My speech in greater Cadences to file,  
* By true descent to wear the Diadem  
* Of Naples, Sicily and Jerusalem,  
As from the Gods thou didst derive thy Birth,  
If those of Heaven could mix with these of Earth;  
Gracing each Title that I did recite,  
With some mellifluous pleasing Epithet:  
Nor left him not, till he for love was sick,  
Beholding thee in my sweet Rhetoric.   

A Fifteen Tax in France I freely spent,  
In Triumphs, at thy Nuptial Tournament;  
And solemnised thy Marriage in a Gown,  
Valued at more than was thy Father's Crown;  
And only striving how to honour thee,  
Gave to my King what thy love gave to me.  
Judge if his kindness have not power to move,  
Who for his love's sake gave away his love.   

Had he, which once the Prize to Greece did bring,  
(Of whom, th'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, enving one another:  
When the proud Bark, for Joy thy steps to feel,  
Scorned that the Brack 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 rushing 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, Phenicia's 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 recours is free?  
To view the Plains, where I have seen so oft  
England's victorious Engines raised aloft;  
When this shall be a comfort in my way,  
To see the place, where I may boldly say,  
Here mighty Bedford forth the Vanguard led,  
Here Talbot charged, and here the Frenchmen fled,  
Here with our Archers valiant Scales did lie,  
Here stood the Tents of famous Willoughby,  
Here Montacute ranged his unconquered Band,  
Here marched we out, and here we made a stand.   

What should we sit to mourn and grieve all day  
For that which Time doth easily take away?  
What Fortune hurts, let Sufferance only heal,  
" No wisdom with Extremities to deal.  
To know ourselves to come of humane Birth,  
These sad Afflictions cross us here on Earth.  
A punishment from the eternal Law,  
To make us still of Heaven to stand in awe.  
" In vain we prise that at so dear a rate,  
" Whose longest assurance bear's a Minute's date.  
" Why should we idly talk of our Intent,  
" When heavens Decree no Counsel can prevent?  
" When our foresight not possibly can shun  
" That which the Fates determine shall be done.  
Henry hath Power, and may my life depose,  
Mine Honour's mine, that none hath power to lose.   

Then be as cheerful beauteous (Royal Queen)  
As in the Court of France we oft have been;  
* As when arrived in Porcesters' 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.   

ANNOTATIONS on the Chronicle History.  Our Faulkons kind cannot the Cage endure. 
HE alludes, in these Verses, to the Falcon, which was the ancient Device of the Pools, 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 Main,  
Should be the loss of fertile Aquitain.  
The Duke of Suffolk being sent into France, to conclude a Peace, chose Duke Rayners Daughter, the Lady Margaret, whom he espoused for Henry the sixth; delivering for her, to her Father, the Countries of Anjou and Main, and the City of Mauns. Whereupon the Earl of Arminack (whose Daughter was before promised to the King) seeing himself to be deluded, caused all the Englishmen to be expulsed Aquitain, Gascoigne and Guyne.  
With the base vulgar sort to win him fame,  
To be the Heir of good Duke Humphry's 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 York's 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 Nevil, 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 Ann his Mother, Wife to Richard Earl of Cambridge, Son to Edmund of Langley, Duke of York: Which Ann was Daughter to Roger Mortimer, Earl of March; which Roger was Son and Heir to Edmund Mortimer, that married the Lady Philip, Daughter and Heir to Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third Son of King Edward: to whom the Crown, after King Richard the Seconds Death, lineally descended, he dying without Issue; and not to the Heir 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 Glouster, and Lord Protector, in the five and twentieth year of Henry the Sixth, by means of the Queen and the Duke of Suffolk, was arrested by the Lord Beaumond, at the Parliament holden at Bury, and the same Night after murdered in his Bed.  
If they would know who robbed him, &c, To this Verse,  
To know how Humphrey died, and who shall reign.  
In these Verses he jests at the Protectors Wife, (who being accused and convicted of Treason, because with John Hun, a Priest, Roger Bullenbrook, a Necromancer, and Margery Jordan, called the Witch of Eye, she had consulted by Sorcery to kill the King) was adjudged to perpetual Imprisonment in the Isle 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, who 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 be being a most valiant Captain, was a continual Enemy to the Englishmen, daily infesting them with divers Incursions.  And have I seen Vernoyla's batful Fields. 
Vernoyle is that noted place in France, where the great Battle was fought in the beginning of Henry the Sixth his Reign, where 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 four and twenty great Assaults given unto it.  
And came myself in person first to Tours,  
Th'ambasssadors for Truce to entertain,  
From Belgia, Denmark, Hungary and Spain.  
Tours is a City in France, built by Brutus, as he came into Britain: where in the one and twentieth year of the Reign of Henry the Sixth, was appointed a great Diet to be kept; whither came Ambassadors of the Empire, Spain, Hungary and Denmark, to entreat for a perpetual Peace to be made between the two Kings of England and France.  
By true descent to wear the Diadem  
Of Naples, Sicily and Jerusalem.  
Rayner, Duke of Anjou, Father to Queen Margaret, called himself King of Naples, Sicily and Jerusalem, having the Title alone of the King of those Countries.  A fifteenth Tax in France I freely spent. 
The Duke of Suffolk, after the Marriage concluded between King Henry and Margaret, Daughter to 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 at Porchesters' fair Road. 
Porchester, a Haven Town in the South-West part of England, where the King tarried, expecting the Queen's arrival; whom from thence be conveyed to Southampton.    

Queen MARGARET TO WILLIAM DELAPOOLE Duke of SUFFOLK.  

WHat news (sweet Pool) look'st thou my Lines should tell,  
But like the tolling of the doleful Bell,  
Bidding the Deathsman to prepare the Grave?  
Expect from me no other news to have.  
My Breast, which once was Mirths imperial Throne,  
A vast and desert Wilderness is grown:  
Like that cold Region, from the World remote,  
On whose breem Seas the Icy Mountains float;  
Where those poor Creatures, banished from the Light,  
Do live imprisoned in continual Night.   

No Object greets my Souls internal Eyes,  
But Divinations 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 to the cold Wat'ry 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 then lying on the Mossy Root,  
And there a silly chiripping doth keep,  
As though she fain would sing, yet fain would weep,  
Praising fair Summer, that too soon is gone,  
Or sad for Winter, too fast coming on:  
In this strange plight I mourn for thy depart,  
Because that Weeping cannot ease my Heart.   

Now to our aid, who stirs the neighbouring Kings?  
Or who from France a powerful Army brings?  
Who moves the Norman to abet our War?  
* Or brings in Burgoine 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 Griefs impart,  
Whose Breast shall be the Closet of my Heart?  
The ancient Heroe's Fame thou dost revive:  
As from all them thyself thou didst 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 thee Perfections depth had sought.  
Well knew King Henry what he pleaded for,  
When he chose thee to be his Orator;  
Whose Angel-eye, by powerful influence,  
Doth utter more than human Eloquence:  
That if again Jove would his Sports have tried,  
He in thy shape himself would only hid;  
Which in his love might be of greater power,  
Than was his Nymph, his Flame, his Swan, his Shower.   

* To that allegiance York was bound by Oath,  
* To Henry's Heirs, for 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 here of late his Title hath set down,  
By which he makes his Claim unto our Crown.  
And now I hear his hateful Duchess chars,  
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 Stigmatick,  
* That like a Carcase stolen out of a Tomb,  
* Came the wrong way out of his Mother's Womb  
* With Teeth in's Head, his passage to have torn,  
* As though begot an Age ere he was born.   

Who now will curb proud York, when he shall rise?  
Or arm our Right against his Enterprise,  
To crop that Bastard Weed, which daily grows,  
* To over-shadowd our Vermilon Rose?  
* Or who will muzzel 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 Shurbs sit underneath his Shrowds,  
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 whither gone  
Should sympathize 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 daisy flower, which once perfumed the Air,  
Which for my favour Princes deigned to wear.  
Now in the dust lies trodden on the ground,  
And with York's Garland every one is crowned:  
When now his Rising waits on our Decline,  
And in our Setting, he gins 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 Yorkist's Faction then will lay on load;  
And when it comes once to our Western Coast,  
O, how that ●ag, Dame Elinor, will boast!  
And labour strait, by all the means she can,  
To be called home out of the Isle of Man:  
To which I know great Warwick will consent,  
To have it done by Act of Parliament,  
That to my Teeth my Birth she may defy,  
* slandering Duke Reyner with base Beggary;  
The only way she could devise to grieve me,  
Wanting sweet Suffolk, which should most relieve me.   

And from that Stock doth sprout another Bloom  
* A Kentish Rebel, a base upstart Groom;  
* And this is he the White-Rose must prefer,  
* By Clarence Daughter, matched with Mortimer.  
Thus by Yorks means, this rascal Peasant, Cade,  
Must in all haste Plantagenet be made:  
For that ambitious Duke sets all on work,  
To sound what Friends affect the Claim of York,  
Whilst he abroad doth practice to command,  
* And makes us weak by strengthening Ireland;  
More his own power still seeking to increase,  
Than for King Henry's good, or England's peace  
* Great Winchester untimely is deceased,  
That more and more my Woes should be increased.  
Beauford, 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 Soldier's loss;  
Thus all goes backward, cross comes after cross:  
And now of late, Duke Humphry's old Allies,  
With banished El'nors base Accomplices,  
Attending their Revenge, grow wound'rous Crouse,  
And threaten Death and Vengeance to our House;  
And I alone the last poor remnant am,  
* ' Tindure 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 foretell, by Water thou shouldst die,  
(Ah! foul befall that foul Tongues Prophesy)  
Yet I by Night am troubled in my Dreams,  
That I do see thee tossed in dangerous Streams;  
And ofttimes Shipwrecked, cast upon the Land,  
And lying breathless on the queachy Sand;  
And oft in Visions see thee in the Night,  
Where thou at Sea maintain'st a dangerous Fight,  
And with thy proved Target and thy Sword,  
Beatest back the Pirate which would come aboard.  
Yet be not angry, that I warn thee thus,  
" The truest love is most suspicious.  
Sorrow doth utter what it still doth grieve:  
But Hope forbids us, Sorrow to believe;  
And in my Counsel yet this comfort is,  
It cannot hurt, although I think amiss:  
Then live in hope, in Triumph to return,  
When clearer Days shall leave in Clouds to mourn.  
But so hath Sorrow girt my Soul about,  
That that word Hope (me thinks) comes slowly out,  
The reason is, I know it here would rest,  
Where it might still behold thee in my Breast.  
Farewell, sweet Pool, fain more I would indite,  
But that my Tears do blot what I do write.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  Or brings in Burgoin to aid Lancaster. 
PHilip, Duke of Burgoine 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 Sixth, 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, for 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 sail, 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 Gloucester, who was (after he had murdered his Brother's Sons) King, by the Name of Richard the Third.  
He that's so like his Dam, her youngest Dick,  
That foul ill-favoured crook-backed Stigmatick, etc.  
Till this Verse, As though begot an age, etc.  
This Richard (whom ironically she calls Dick) that by Treason, after the murder of his Nephews, obtained the Crown, was a Man low of stature, crook-backed, 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 born Toothed, and with his Feet forward, contrary to the course of Nature.  To overshaddow 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 once perfumed the Air,  
Which for my favour Princes dayn'd to wear,  
Now in the dust lies, etc.  
The Daisy in French is called Margarite, which was Queen Margaret's Badge; wherewithal the Nobility and Chivalry of the Land, at her first arrival, were so delighted, that they wore it in their Hats in token of Honour.  And who be Stars, but Warwick's bearded Staves? 
The ragged and bearded Staff was a part of the Arms belonging to the Earldom of Warwick.  Sland'ring Duke Rayner with base Beggary. 
Rayner, Duke of Anjou, called himself King of Naples, Cicile, and Jerusalem, who had neither Inheritance, nor received any Tribute from those Parts; and was not able, at the Marriage of the Queen, at his own Charge, to send her into England, though be gave no Dower with her: Which, by the Duchess of Gloucester, was often, in disgrace, cast in her Teeth.  A Kentish Rebel, a base upstart Groom. 
This was Jack Cade, which caused the Kentish Men to rebel, in the eight and twentieth year of King Henry the Sixth.  
And this is he the White Rose must prefer,  
By Clarence Daughter matched to Mortimer.  
This Jack Cade, instructed by the Duke of York, pretended to be descended from Mortimer, which married Lady Philip Daughter to the Duke of Clarence.  And makes us weak, by strengthening Ireland. 
The Duke of York being made Deputy of Ireland, first there began to practise his long pretended purpose, and strengthening himself by all means possible, that he might, at his return into England, by open War, claim that which so long before he had privily gone about to obtain.  Great Winchester untimely is deceased. 
Henry Beauford Bishop and Cardinal Wincester, 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 Treasures, in hope to have been Pope, as himself on his deah-bed confessed.  With France t'upbraid the valiant Somerset. 
Edmund Duke of Somerset, in the four and twentieth year of Henry the Sixth, was made Regent of France, and sent into Normandy, to defend the English Territories against the French Invasions: but in short time he lost all that King Henry the Fifth won; for which cause, the Nobles and Commons ever after hated him.  T'indure 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 foretold, 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 forewarns him of, as remembering the Witches Prophesy; which afterwards came to pass.    
FINIS.   


EDWARD the Fourth TO Mistress SHORE.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Edward the Fourth, Son to Richard Duke of York, after he had obtained quiet possession of the Crown, by deposing Henry the Sixth (which Henry was after murdered in the Tower by Crook'd-back Richard) hearing by report of many, the rare and wonderful Beauty of Mrs. Jane Shore (so called of her Husband a Goldsmith in Lombard-Sreet) cometh himself disguised to London to see her; where after he had once beheld her, he was so surprised with her admirable Beauty, that not long after he rob her Husband of his dearest Jewel, but he first, by this Epistle writeth to his beauteous Paramour.  

TO thee the fairest that ever breathed this Air,  
* From English Edward, to thee 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!  
Oh! 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 hear in Court,  
Mine Ears repulsed it as a light Report:  
But when mine Eyes saw what mine Ear had heard,  
They thought Report too niggardly had spared;  
And strucken dumb with wonder, did but mutter,  
Conceiving more than it had words to utter.  
Then think of what thy Husband is possessed,  
When I malign the Wealth wherewith he's blest;  
" When much abundance makes the needy mad,  
" Who having all, yet knows not what is had;  
" Into Fool's Bosoms this good fortune creeps,  
" And Sums come in, whilst the base Miser sleeps.  
If now thy Beauty be of such esteem,  
Which all of so rare excellency deem;  
What would it be, and prized at what rate,  
Were it adorned with a Kingly State?  
Which being now but in so mean a Bed,  
Is like an un-cut Diamond in Lead,  
Ere it be set in some high-prized Ring,  
Or garnished with rich enamelling;  
We see the beauty of the Stone is spilt,  
Wanting the gracious Ornament of Gilt.   

* When first attracted by thy heavenly Eyes,  
I came to see thee in a strange Disguise,  
Passing thy Shop, thy Husband called me back,  
Demanding what rare Jewel I did lack,  
I want (thought I) One that I dare not crave,  
And One, I fear, thou wilt not let me have,  
He calls for Caskets forth, and shows me store;  
But yet I knew he had one Jewel more,  
And deadly cursed him, that he did deny it,  
That I might not for Love or Money buy it.  
O, might I come a Diamond to buy,  
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 Saphir, but so azur'd as thy veins;  
My Kingly Sceptre only should redeem it,  
At such a price if judgement could esteem it.   

How fond and senseless be those Strangers then  
Who bring in Toys, to please the English men?  
I smile to think, how fond th' Italians are,  
To judge their artificial Gardens rare;  
When London in thy Cheeks can show them here  
Roses and Lilies growing all the year:  
The Portugal, that only hopes to win,  
By bringing Stones from farthest India in;  
When happy Shore can bring them forth a Girl,  
Whose Lips be Rubies, and her Teeth be Pearl.  
* How silly is the Polander and Dane,  
* To bring us Crystal from the frozen Main?  
When thy clear Skins transparence doth surpass  
Their Crystal, as the Diamond doth Glass.  
The foolish French, which bring in Trash and Toys,  
To turn our Women Men, our Girls to Boys,  
When with what Tyre thou dost thyself adorn,  
That for a Fashion only shall be worn;  
Which though it were a Garment but of Hair,  
More rich than Robe, that ever Empress ware.   

Me thinks thy Husband takes his mark awry,  
To set his Plate to sale, when thou art by;  
When they which do thy Angel-looks behold,  
As the base Dross, do but respect his Gold,  
And wish one Hair, before that massy Heap,  
And but one Look, before the Wealth of Cheap:  
And for no cause else hold we Gold so dear,  
But that it is so like unto thy Hair.  
And sure I think, Shore cannot choose but flout  
Such as would find the great Elixir out,  
And laugh to see the Alchemists, that choke  
Themselves with Fumes, and waste their Wealth in Smoke;  
When if thy Hand but touched the grossest Mould,  
It is converted to refined Gold:  
When their's  bartered at an easy rate,  
Well known to all, to be adulterate;  
And is no more, when it by thine is set,  
Than 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 every Sense with sweet repast,  
To hear, to see, to feel, to smell, to taste;  
Like a rich Ship, whose very refuse Ware,  
Aromaticks, and precious Odours are.   

If thou but please to walk into the Pawn,  
To buy thee Cambric, calico and 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 handsome 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 dangerous Broils,  
With Beauty yet content to share his Spoils;  
The buisy 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,  
That Prince and Peasant equally doth call;  
Nor ever yet did any Man despise it,  
Except too dear, and that he could not prise it.   

Unlearned is Learning, Artless be all Arts,  
If not employed to praise thy several Parts:  
Poor plodding Schoolmen they are far too low,  
Which by Probations, Rules and Axioms go;  
He must be still familiar with the Skies,  
Which notes the Revolutions of thine Eyes:  
And by that skill which measure 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 Arithmeticks strong ground,  
Numbering the Virtues that in thee are found:  
And when these all have done what they can do,  
For thy Perfections, all too little too.   

When from the East the Dawn hath gotten out,  
And gone to seek thee all the World about,  
Within thy Chamber hath she fixed her Light,  
Where, but that place, the World hath all been Night:  
Then is it fit, that every vulgar Eye  
Should see Love banquet in her Majesty?  
" We deem those things our Sight do most frequent,  
" To be but mean, although most excellent;  
" For strangers, still the streets are swept and strowed,  
" Few look on such as daily come abroad;  
" Things much restrained, do make us much desire them,  
" And Beauties seldom seen, makes us admire them.  
Nor is it fit, a City-shop should hid  
The World's Delight, and Nature's only Pride;  
But in a Prince's sumptuous Gallery,  
Hung all with Tissue, floor'd with Tapestry;  
Where thou shalt sit, and from thy State shalt see  
The Tilts and Triumphs that are done for thee.  
Then know the difference (if thou list to prove)  
Betwixt a Vulgar and a Kingly Love;  
And when thou findest, as now thou doubtest, the truth,  
Be thou thyself impartial Judge of both.   

Where Hearts be knit, what helps, if not enjoy?  
Delay breeds doubts, no Cunning to be coy;  
Whilst lazy Time his turn by tarriance serves,  
Love still grows sickly, and Hope daily starves:  
Mean while, receive that Warrant by these Lines,  
Which Princely Rule and Sovereignty resigns;  
Till when, these Papers, by their Lords command,  
By me shall kiss thy sweet and lovely Hand.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  
THis Epistle of Edward to Mistress Shore, 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, than a Kingly Courtier. Notwithstanding, it shall not be amiss to annex a Line, or two.  From English Edward to the fairest fair. 
Edward the Fourth was by nature very Chivalrous, and very Amorous, applying his sweet and aimable Aspect to attain his wanton Appetite the rather: which was so well known to Lewis the French King, who at their interview invited him to Paris, that as Comineus reports, being taken at his word, he notwithstanding broke off the matter, fearing the Parisian Dames, with their witty conversation, would detain him longer than should be for his benefit: by which means, Edward was disappointed of his Journey. And albeit Princes, whilst they live, have nothing in them but what is admirable; yet we need not mistrust the flattery of the Court in those times: For certain it is, that his share was excellent; his Hair drew near to a black, making the favour of his Face 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 Beucanan (that imperious Scot) chargeth him, and other Princes of those Times, with affection of Tyranny; as Richard the third manifestly did.  When first attracted by thy heavenly Eyes. 
Edward's intemperate desires, with which he was wholly overcome, how tragically they in his Offspring were punished, is universally known. A Mirror, representing their Oversight, that rather leave their Children what to 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 those 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 Northern Region a yellow Jelly is taken up out of the Sea at low Tides, which he called Succinum, we, Amber; so likewise, out of the Ligustic Deep, a part of the Mediterranean Sea, a greenish Stalk is gathered, which hardened in the Air, comes 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, Phaetontide condita gutta,  
Ut videatur apis nectare clausa suo.  
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit ille laborum;  
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.   
To behold a Bee enclosed in Electrum, is not so rare, as that a Boys Throat should be cut with the fall of an Ice-sicle, the which Epigram is excellent, the 18. li. 4. He calls it Phaetontis Gutta, 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 oftentimes tralucently imprisoned.    

THE EPISTLE OF Mistress SHORE 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 Master's curious listening Ear;  
Whose trembling Hand, at every strain bewrays,  
In what doubt he his new-set Lesson plays:  
As this poor Child, so sit I to indite,  
At every word still quaking as I writ.  
* Would I had led an humble Shepherd's 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.  
Here, like 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 common Men do seldom wonder at,  
Makes me to think Affection flatters Sight,  
Or in the Object something exquisite.   

" To housed Beauty seldom stoop's Report,  
" Fame must attend on that, which lives in Court.  
What Swan of bright Apollo's Brood doth sing,  
To vulgar Love, in Courtly Sonneting?  
Or what immortal Poets sacred 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;  
That who t'account their Multitudes, would wish,  
* Might number Rumney's 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 had 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 the true Promethian fire,  
That after-Ages should his Lines admire;  
Gathering the Honey from the choicest Flowers,  
Scorning the withered Weeds in Country Bow'rs.  
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 foul-mouthed Mantuan,  
To all the World to lay out our defects,  
And have just cause to rail upon our Sex;  
To prank old Wrinkles up in new Attire,  
To alter Nature's course, prove time a Liar,  
To abuse 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;  
With Waste, nor Curl, Body nor Brow adorn,  
That is in Florence or in Genoa born.   

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 the strongest Battery never could prevail?  
Be like you think, that I repulsed the rest,  
To leave a King the Conquest of my Breast,  
And have thus long preserved my life from all,  
To have a Monarch glory in my fall;  
Yet rather let me die the vilest death,  
Than live to draw that sin-polluted breath.  
But our kind Hearts, men's Tears cannot abide,  
And we least angry oft, when most we chide.  
Too well know Men what our Creation made us,  
And Nature too well taught them to invade us:  
They but too well, know how, what, when, and where,  
To write, to speak, to sue, and to forbear,  
By signs, by sighs, by motions, and by tears,  
When Vows should serve, when Oaths, when Smiles, when Prayers.  
What one Delight our Humours most doth move,  
Only in that you make us nourish Love.  
If any natural blemish blot our Face,  
You do protest, it gives our Beauty grace;  
And what Attire we most are used to wear,  
That, of all other, excellentest, you swear:  
And if we walk, or sit, or stand, or lie,  
It must resemble some one Deity;  
And what you know we take delight to hear,  
That are you ever sounding in our ear;  
And yet so shameless, when you tempt us thus,  
To lay the fault on Beauty and on us.  
Rome's wanton Ovid did those Rules impart,  
O, that your Nature should be helped with Att!   

Who would have thought, a King that cares to reign,  
Enforced by Love, so Poet-like should feign?  
To say that Beauty, Times stern rage to shun,  
In my Cheeks (Lilies) hide her from the Sun;  
And when she meant to triumph in her May,  
Made that her East, and here she broke her Day:  
And that fair 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 Sunburnt base Egyptian.   

But yet I know more than I mean to tell,  
(O would to God you knew it not too well!)  
That Women oft their most admirers raise,  
Though publicly not flattering their own praise.  
Our churlish Husbands, which our Youth enjoyed,  
Who with our Dainties have their stomaches cloyed,  
Do loath, our smooth Hands with their Lips to feel,  
T'enrich our Favours, by our Beds to kneel,  
At our Command to wait, to send, to go,  
As every Hour our amorous servants do;  
Which makes, a stolen Kiss often we bestow,  
In earnest of a greater good we owe.  
When he all day torments us with a Frown,  
Yet sports with Venus in a Bed of Down:  
Whose rude embracement but too ill beseems  
Her span-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 lose Liberty?  
If with exception still they us debarr  
* The Circuit of the public Theatre;  
To hear the Poet in a Comic strain,  
Able t'infect with his lascivious Scene;  
And the young wanton Wits, when they applaud  
The sly persuasion of some subtle Bawd;  
Or passionate Tragedian, in his rage  
Acting a Love sick Passion on the Stage:  
When though abroad restraining us to room,  
They very hardly keep us safe at home;  
And oft are touched with fear and inward grief,  
Knowing rich Prizes soon tempt a Thief.   

What Sports have we, whereon our minds to set?  
Our Dog, our Parat, or our Marmuzet;  
Or once a week to walk into the field;  
Small is the pleasure that these Toys do yield,  
But to this grief a medicine you apply,  
To cure restraint with that sweet Liberty;  
And Sovereignty (O that bewitching thing)  
Yet made more great, by promise of a King;  
And more, that Honour which doth most entice  
The holi'st 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 makest me love even in the midst of hate.   

ANNOTATIONS on the Chronicle History.  
Would I had led an humble Shepherd's life.  
Not 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 her for beauty, she being alive in his time, though poor and aged. Her Stature was mean, her Hair of a dark yellow, her Face round and full, her Eye grey, delicate harmony being betwixt each parts proportion, and 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 risen cut-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 born, is not certainly known: But Shore, a young man of right goodly person, wealth, and behaviour abandoned her Bed, after the King had made her his Concubine. Richard the Third causing her to do 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 Treasons 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 Perambulation, do make mention. And Marshes are commonly called those low Grounds which about upon the Sea, and from the Latin word are so denominated. Isis is here used for Thamesis by a Synecdockical 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 than 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 throw, 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 Eclogues bitterly inveyeth against Womankind; some of the which, by way of an Appendix, 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 Seneca's inflexible Hippolytus.  The Circuit of the public Theatre: 
Ovid, a most fit Author for so dissolute a Sectary, calls that place, Chastities Shipwreck; for though Shore's Wife wantonly pleads for Liberty, which is the true humour of a Citizen; yet much more is the praise of Modesty, than 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 does.  
When though abroad restraining us to room,  
They very hardly keep us safe at home.    
FINIS.   


Marry the French Queen TO Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Marry, the Daughter of that Renowned Prince King Henry the Seventh, being very young at her Father's death, was after by her Brother King Henry the Eight, given in marriage to Lewis King of France, being a man old and decrepit; This fair and beautiful Lady, long before had placed her Affections on Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, a brave and courageous young Gentleman, and an especial Favourite of the King her Brother, and a Man raised by him. King Lewis the Husband of the beautiful Queen died not long after he was married, and Charles Brandon having Commission from the King to bring her back to England, but being delayed by some sinister means, the French Queen writeth this Epistle to hasten the Duke forward on his intended voyage to France.  

SUch health from Heaven myself may wish to me,  
Such health from France Queen Mary sends to thee.  
Brandon, how long makest thou excuse to stay,  
And knowst how ill we Women brook delay?  
If one poor Channel thus can part us two,  
Tell me (unkind) what would an Ocean do?  
Leander had an Hellespont to swim,  
Yet this from Hero could not hinder him;  
His Bark (poor Soul) his Breast; his Arms his Oars,  
But thou a Ship to land thee on our Shores:  
And opposite to famous Kent, doth lie  
The pleasant Fields of flowery Picardy,  
Where our fair Calais, walled in her Sands,  
In kenning of the Cliffy Dover stands.   

Here is no Bedlam Nurse, to pout nor lour,  
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 ah thy Breasts becalmed, thy Sighs be slack,  
And mine too stiff, and blow thy broad Sails back.  
Perhaps thou'lt say, that I should blame the Flood,  
Because the Wind so full against thee stood:  
Nay blame it not, that it did roughly blow,  
For it did chide thee that thou wast so slow;  
Think not it came to keep thee in the Bay,  
'Twas sent from me, to bid thee come away:  
But that thou vainly lettest occasion slide,  
Thou mightst have wasted hither with the Tide.  
If when thou comest, I knit mine angry Brow,  
Blame me not, Brandon, thou hast broke thy Vow;  
Yet if I meant to frown, I might be dumb,  
For this may make thee stand in doubt to come:  
Nay come, sweet Charles, have care thy Ship to guide,  
Come, my sweet Heart, in Faith I will not chide.   

When as my Brother and his lovely Queen,  
In sad Attire for my depart were seen,  
* The utmost date expired of my stay,  
* When I from Dover did departed away;  
Thou knowst what Woe I suffered for thy sake,  
How oft I feigned, of thee my leave to take;  
God and thou knowst, with what an heavy heart  
I took my farewell, when I should departed;  
And being shipped gave signal with my Hand  
Up to the Cliff, where I did see thee stand;  
Nor could refrain, in all the people's view,  
But cried to thee, Sweet Charles, adieu, adieu.  
Look how a little Infant, that hath lost  
The thing wherewith it was delighted most,  
Weary with seeking, to some corner creeps,  
And there (poor Soul) it sits it down and weeps;  
And when the Nurse would fain content the mind,  
Yet still it mourns, for that it cannot find:  
Thus in my careful  did I lie,  
When as the Ship out of the Road did fly.   

* Thinkest thou my Love was faithful then to thee,  
When young Castle 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 imbroid'red Canopy,  
* Entered proud Tournay, which did trembling stand,  
To beg for mercy at his conquering hand;  
To hear of his endearments, 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,  
* Savoy's proud Duchess, knowing how long she  
* All means had tried 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  your sight,  
And then in Masks you passed away the night.  
But thou wilt say, 'tis proper unto us,  
That we by nature all are jealous:  
" I must confess 'tis oft found in our Sex,  
" But who not love, not any thing suspects:  
" True love doth look with pale suspicious eye,  
" Take away love, if you take jealousy.   

Turwin and Turney when King Henry took,  
For this great change who then did ever look?  
* When Maximilian to those wars addressed,  
* Wore England's Cross 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 Wolseys wit was wrought.  
To his advice the King gave free consent;  
That will I, nill I, I must be content.  
My Virgin's right, thy state could not advance,  
But now enriched with the Dower of France;  
Then, but poor Suffolk's Duchess had I been,  
Now, the great Dowager, the most Christian Queen.  
But I perceive where all thy grief doth lie,  
Lewis 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 heatless fire.  
" When all the strength is only in desire.  
And I could tell (if Modesty might tell)  
There's somewhat else that pleaseth Lovers well;  
To rest his Cheek, upon my softer Cheek,  
Was all he had, and more he did not seek;  
So might the little Baby clip the Nurse,  
And it content, she never a whit the worse:  
Then think this, Brandon, if that make thee frown,  
He on my Head, for Maidenhead, set a Crown.  
Who would not change, a Kingdom for a Kiss?  
Hard were the Heart that would not yield him this;  
And time yet half so swiftly doth not pass,  
Nor yet full five Months elder than I was.   

When thou to France conducted waste by Fame,  
With many Knights which from all Countries came,  
To see me at Saint Dennis on my Throne,  
Where Lewes held my Coronation;  
* Where the proud Dolphin, for thy valour sake,  
* Chose thee at Tilt his Princely part to take;  
When as the Staves upon thy Cask did light,  
Grieved therewith, I turned away my sight,  
And spoke aloud, when I myself forgot,  
'Tis my sweet Charles, my Brandon, hurt him not:  
But when I feared the King perceived this,  
Good silly Man, I pleased him with a Kiss,  
And to extol his valiant Son began,  
That Europe never bred a braver Man;  
And when (poor King) he simply praised thee  
Of all the rest I asked which thou shouldst be?  
Thus I with him dissembled for thy sake,  
Open confession now amends must make,  
Whilst this old King upon a  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 gentle air breathes on 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 try,  
My Love condemns my too too partial Eye.  
The precious stone, most beautiful and rare,  
When with itself we only it 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,  
Having a Boyl whereon to show its light.  
Alanson, a fine timb'red Man, and tall,  
Yet wants the shape thou art adorned withal;  
Vandome good Carriage, and a pleasing Eye,  
Yet hath not Suffolk's Princely Majesty;  
Courageous Bourbon, a sweet Manly Face,  
Yet in his Looks lacks Brandon's Courtly Grace.  
Proud Longavile supposed to have no Peer,  
A man scarce made was thought, whilst thou wast here.  
The Count Saint-Paul, our best at Arms in France,  
Would yield himself a Squire, to bear thy Lauce.  
* Galleas and Bounarm, matchless for their might;  
Under thy towering Blade have couched 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 mind 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 should gladly smile.   

When last of me, his leave my Brandon took,  
He swore an Oath (and made my Lips the Book)  
He would make haste which now thou dost deny;  
Thou art forsworn: O wilful Perjury!  
Sooner would I with greater sins dispense,  
Than by entreaty pardon this Offence.  
But then 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.  
I, that is all that thou shalt fear to taste;  
I pray thee Brandon come, sweet Charles make haste.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  
The utmost date expired of my stay,  
When I for Dover did departed away.  
KIng Henry the Eight, with the Queen and Nobles, in the sixth year of his Reign, in the Month of September, brought this Lady to Dover, where she took shipping for France.  
Thinkest thou my love was faithful unto thee,  
When young Castille to England sued for me.  
It was agreed and concluded 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 afterwards in the eight year of Henry the Eight, annihilated.  
When he, in triumph of his Victory,  
Under a rich imbroyd'red Canopy,  
Entered proud Turney, which did trembling stand, etc.  
Henry the Eight, after the long Siege of Turney, which was delivered to him upon composition, entered the City in Triumph, under a Canopy of Cloth of Gold, born by four of the Chief and most Noble Citizens; the King himself mounted upon a gallant Courser barbed with the Arms of England, France and Ireland.  
When Charles of Castille there to banquet came,  
With him, his Sister, that ambitious Dame,  
Savoy's proud Duchess.  
The King being at Turney, there came to him the Prince of Castille, and the Lady Margaret, Duchess of Savoy, his Sister, to whom King Henry gave great entertainment.  
Savoy's proud Duchess, knowing how long she  
All means had tried to win my love from me.  
At this time there was speech of a Marriage to be concluded, between Charles Brandon, than Lord Lisle, and the Duchess of Savoy; the Lord Lisle being highly favoured, and exceedingly beloved of the Duchess.  When in King Henry's Tent of Cloth of Gold. 
The King caused a rich Tent of Cloth of Gold to be erected, where he feasted the Prince of Castille, and the Duchess, and entertained them with sumptuous Masks and Banquets, during their abode.  
When Maximilian to those Wars addressed,  
Wore England's Cross on his Imperial Breast.  
Maximilian the Emperor, with all his Soldiers, which served under King Henry, wore the Cross of Saint George, with the Rose on their Breasts.  And in our Army let his Eagle fly. 
The black Eagle is the Badge Imperial, which here is used for the displaying of his Ensign, or Standard.  That viewed our Ensigns with a wondering Eye. 
Henry the Eighth, at his Wars in France, retained the Emperor and all his Soldiers in Wages, which served under him during those Wars.  But this alone by 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 this Lady Mary was married to the old French King, with whom the French had dealt underhand, to befriend him in that Match.  
Where 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 be chose the Duke of Suffolk and the Marquis of Dorset for his aids, at all Martial Exercises.  Galeas and Bounarme, matchless for their might. 
This Count 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 be showed his wondrous force and strength. This Bounarm, 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 my Faith commands me to forbear;  
The fault's your own, if I impatient were;  
Were my dispatch such as should be my speed,  
I should want time your loving Lines to read.  
Here in the Court, Chameleon-like I far,  
And as that Creature only feed on Air;  
All Day I wait, and all the Night I watch,  
And starve mine Ears, to hear of my dispatch.   

If Dover were th' Abydos of my Rest,  
Or pleasant Calais were my Maries Cest,  
You should not need, bright Queen, to blame me so,  
Did not the Distance, to Desire say no:  
No tedious Night from Travel should be free,  
Till through the Seas, with swimming still to thee,  
A snowy Path I made unto thy Bay,  
So bright as is that Nectar-stained Way.  
The restless Sun by travelling doth wear,  
Passing his Course, to finish up the Year;  
But Paris locks my Love, within the Main,  
And London yet thy Brandon doth detain.   

Of thy firm love thou puttest me still in mind,  
But of my Faith, not one word can I find.  
* When Longavile to Mary was affied,  
And thou by him waste made King Lewis' Bride,  
How oft I wished, that thou a Prize mightst be,  
That I in Arms might combat him for thee!  
And in the madness of my love distraught,  
A thousand times his Murder have forethought:  
" But that th' allseeing Powers, which sit above,  
" Regard not Madman's Oaths, nor faults in Love,  
" And have confirmed it by the grant of Heaven,  
" That Lovers sins on Earth should be forgiven;  
" For never Man is half so much distressed,  
" As he that loves to see his Love possessed.   

Coming to Richmond after thy depart,  
(Richmond, where first thou stolest away my heart)  
Me thought it looked not as it did of late,  
But wanting thee, forlorn and desolate,  
In whose fair walks, thou often hast been seen,  
To sport with Cath'rine, Henry's beauteous Queen,  
Astonishing sad Winter with thy sight,  
So that for thee the day hath put back night;  
And the small Birds, as in the pleasant Spring,  
Forgot themselves, and have begun to sing.   

So oft as I by Thames go and return,  
Me thinks for thee the River yet doth mourn,  
Whom I have seen to let his Stream at large,  
Which like an Handmaid waited on thy Barge;  
And if thou hap'st against the Flood to row,  
Which way it ebbed, it presently would flow,  
Weeping in Drops upon the labouring Oars,  
For joy that it had got thee from the Shores.  
The Swans with music that the Rowers make,  
Ruffing their plumes, came gliding on the Lake,  
As the swift Dolphins by Arion's strings,  
Were brought to Land with Siren's ravish;  
The flocks and herds that pasture near the Flood,  
To gaze on thee, have oft forborn their food,  
And sat down sadly mourning by the brim,  
That they by Nature were not made to swim.   

When as the Post to England's Royal Court,  
Of thy hard passage brought the true report,  
* How in a storm thy well-rigged Ships were tossed,  
And thou thyself in danger to be lost:  
I knew 'twas Venus' loathed that aged Bed,  
Where Beauty so should be dishonoured;  
Or feared the Sea-Nymphs haunting of the Lake,  
If thou but seen, their Goddess should forsake.  
And whirling round her Dove-drawn Coach about,  
To view the Navy then 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 ran thy Ships on Bullins harbouring strand.   

How should I joy of thy arrive to hear?  
But as a poor Seafaring passenger,  
After long travail, tempest torn and wracked,  
By some unpitty'ng Pirate that is sacked;  
Hears the false Robber that hath stolen his wealth,  
Landed in some safe Harbour, and in health,  
Enriched with the invaluable store,  
For which he long had traveled before.   

* When thou to Abvile held'st th' appointed day,  
We heard how Lewis 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 leddest the Team of that great Waggoner.  
What could thy Thought be, but as I did think,  
When thine Eyes tasted what mine Ears did drink?  
* A cripple King, laid bedrid long before,  
Yet at thy coming, crept out of the door:  
'Twas well he rid, he had no legs to go,  
But this thy Beauty forced his Body to;  
For whom a Cullis had more fit been,  
Than in a golden Bed, a gallant Queen.  
To use thy Beauty, as the Miser Gold,  
Which hoards it up but only to behold;  
Sill looking on it with a jealous Eye,  
Fearing to lend, yet loving Usury:  
O Sacrilege (if Beauty be divine)  
The profane Hand to touch the hallowed Shrine!  
To surfeit sickness on the sound man's Diet,  
To rob content, yet still to live unquiet.  
And having all, to be of all beguiled,  
And yet still longing like a little Child.   

* When Marquis Dorset, and the valiant Grays  
To purchase Fame, first crossed the narrow Seas,  
With all the Knights that my Associates went,  
In honour of thy Nuptial Tournament;  
Thinkest thou I joyed not in thy Beauty's pride,   

* When thou in Triumph didst through Paris ride?  
Where all the Streets, as thou didst place along,  
With Arras, Biss, and Tapestry were hung;  
Ten thousand gallant Citizens prepared,  
In rich Attire thy Princely self to guard:  
Next them, three thousand choice Religious Men,  
In golden Vestments followed on again;  
And in Procession as they came along,  
With Hymen sweetly sang thy Marriage Song,  
* Next these, five Dukes, as did their places fall,  
With each of them a Princely Cardinal;  
Then thou, on thy Imperial Chariot set,  
Crowned with a rich impearled Coronet;  
Whilst the Parisian Dames, as thy Train past,  
Their precious incense in abundance cast.  
As Cynthia, from her wave-embatteled Shrowds,  
Opening the West, comes streaming through the Clouds,  
With shining Troops of Silver-tressed Stars,  
Attending on her, as her Torchbearers;  
And all the lesser Lights about her Throne,  
With admiration stand as lookers on;  
Whilst she alone, in height of all her pride,  
The Queen of Light along her Sphere doth glide.   

When on the Tilt my Horse like Thunder came,  
No other Signal had I, but thy Name;  
Thy Voice my Trumpet, and my Guide thine Eyes,  
And but thy Beauty, I esteemed no prize.  
* That large limned Almain of the Giant's Race,  
Which bare strength on his Breast, fear in his Face,  
Whose sinewed Arms, with his steel-tempered 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 saw'st thy Brandon beat him on his Knee,  
Offering his Shield a conquered Spoil to thee,  
But thou wilt say, perhaps, I vainly boast,  
And tell thee that which thou already knowst.  
No sacred Queen, my Valour I deny,  
It was thy Beauty, not my Chivalry:   

One of thy tressed Curls there falling down,  
As loath to be imprisoned in thy Crown,  
I saw the soft Air sportively to take it,  
And into strange and sundry forms to make it;  
Now parting it to four, to three, to twain,  
Now twisting it, than it untwist again;  
Then make the threads to dally with thine Eye,  
A Sunny Candle for a golden Fly.  
At length from thence one little tear it got,  
Which falling down as though a Star had shot,  
My up-turned Eye pursued it with my Sight,  
The which again redoubled all my Might.   

'Tis but in vain, of my Descent to boast;  
When heavens Lamp shines, all other Lights be lost;  
Falcons seem poor, the Eagle sitting by,  
Whose Brood surveys the Sun with open Eye:  
* Else might my blood find Issue from his force,  
* Who beat the Tyrant Richard from his Horse  
On Bosworth Plain, whom Richmond chose to wield  
His glorious Ensign in that conquering Field;  
And with his Sword, in his dear Sov'reigns' sight,  
To his last breath stood fast in Henry's Right.   

Then, beauteous Empress, think this safe delay,  
Shall be the Even to a joyful Day:  
" Foresight doth still on all advantage lie,  
" Wisemen give place forced by 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 Hazzard on an aftergame;  
With patience then let us our Hopes attend,  
And till I come, receive these Lines I send.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  When Longavile to Mary was affied. 
THe Duke of Longavile, who was Prisoner in England, upon the Peace to be concluded between England and France, was delivered, and married to the Princess Mary, for Lewis the French King, his Master.  
How in a storm thy well-ried 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 driven into the Haven at Bullen, with very great danger.  When thou to Abvile held'st th'appointed day. 
King Lewis met her by Abvile, near to the Forest of Arders, and brought her into Abvile with great Solemnity.  Appeard'st unto him like the Queen of Light. 
Expressing the sumptuous Attye of the Queen and her Train, attended by the chief of the Nobility of England, with six and thirty Ladies, all in Cloth of Silver, their Horses trapped with Crimson Velvet.  A cripple King, laid Bedrid long before. 
King Lewis was a man of great years troubled much with the Gout, so that he had long time before little use of his Legs.  When Marquis Dorset, and the valiant Gray's. 
The Duke of Suffolk, when the Proclamation came into England, of Justs to be holden in France at Paris; be, for the Queen's sake, his Mistress, obtained of the King to go thither: With whom, went the Marquis Dorset, and his four Brothers, the Lord Clinton, Sir Edward Nevil, Sir Giles Capel, Thomas Cheyney, which went all over with the Duke, as his Assistants.  When thou in Triumph didst through Paris ride. 
A true description of the Queens entering into Paris, after her Coronation performed at St. Denis.  Then five great Dukes, as did their Places fall. 
The Dukes of Alencon, Bourbon, Vandom, Longavile, Suffolk, with five Cardinals.  That larg-limed Almain, of the Giants Race. 
Francis Valois, the Dolphin of France, envying the glory that the English Men had obtained at the Tilt, brought in an Almain secretly, a Man thought almost of incomparable strength, which inccuntred Charles Brandon at the Barriers: but the Duke grappling with him, so beat him about the Head with the Pummel of his Sword, that the blood came out of the sight if his Cask.  
Else might my Blood find issue from his force,  
Who beat etc.  
Sir William Brandon, Standard bearer to the Earl of Richmond, (after Henry the Seventh) 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.   


Henry Howard Earl of Surrey TO THE Lady GERALDINE.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Henry Howard that truly noble Earl of Surrey, and excellent Poet, falling in love with Geraldine descended of the Noble Family of the Fitzs-Gerarlds of Ireland, a fair and modest Lady and one of the honourable Maids to Queen Catharine Dowager, eternizeth her praises in many excellent Poems of rare and sundry inventions, and after some few years being determined to see Italy, that famous Source and Helicon of all excellent Arts, first visiteth the renowned City of Floreoe, from whence the gerald's challenge their descent from the anctient Family of the Geraldi: there in honour of his Mistress he advanceth her Picture, and challengeth to maintain her Beauty by deeds of Arms against all that durst appear in the Lifts, where after the proof of his incomparable valour, whose Arms 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, that kind Nurse of mine,  
Thy Surrey sends to heavenly Geraldine:  
Yet let not Tuscan think I do it 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 itself adorned thereby,  
That England reads the praise of Italy.  
Though to the Tuscans I the smoothness grant,  
Our Dialect no Majesty doth want,  
To set thy praises in as high a Key,  
As France, or Spain, or Germany or they,   

That day I quit the Fore-land of fair Kent,  
And that my Ship her course for Flanders bent,  
With what regret and how heavy a look,  
My leave of England and of thee I took,  
I 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 sat wondering how the rough Seas stirred,  
I might far off perceive a little Bird,  
Which as she fain from Shore to Shore would fly,  
Had lost herself in the broad vasty Sky,  
Her feeble Wing beginning to deceive her,  
The Seas, of life, still gaping to bereave her;  
Unto the Ship she makes, which she discovers,  
And there (poor fool) a while for refuge hovers;  
And when at lengeh her flagging Opinion fails,  
Painting she hangs upon the rattling Sails,  
And being forced to lose her hold with pain,  
Yet beaten off, she straight lights on again,  
And tossed with flaws, with storms, with wind, with weather,  
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;  
Me thinks these Storms should be my sad depart;  
The silly helpless Bird is my poor heart,  
The Ship, to which for succour it repairs,  
That is yourself, regardless of my cares.  
Of every Surge doth fall, or Waves doth rise,  
To some one thing I fit and moralise.  
When for thy love, I left the Belgic Shore,  
Divine Erasmus, and our famous More,  
Whose happy presence gave me such delght,  
As made a minute of a Winter's night;  
With whom a while I stayed at Rotterdam.  
Now so renowned by Erasmus name.  
Yet every hour did seem an Age of time,  
Till I had seen that sole-reviving Clime,  
And though the foggy Netherlands unfit,  
A watery Soil to clog a fiery wit;  
And as that wealthy Germany I passed,  
Coming unto the Emperor's Court at last,  
* Great learned Agrippa, so profound in Art,  
Who the infernal secrets doth impart,  
When of thy health I did desire to know,  
Me in a Glass my Geraldine did show,  
Sick in thy Bed, thy Eyes had banished sleep,  
By a Wax Taper set the Light to keep,  
I do remember thou didst read that Ode,  
Sent back whilst I in Thanet made abode,  
Where when thou cam'st unto that 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 dimn, to see thine Eye so bright;  
Thine Eye again supplied the Tapers turn,  
And with his Beams more brightly made it burn,  
The shrugging Air about thy Temples hurls,  
And wrapped thy Breath in little clouded curls,  
And as it did ascend, it straight did seize it,  
And as it sunk, it presently did raise it;  
Canst thou by sickness banish Beauty so?  
Which if put from thee, knows not where to go,  
To make her shift, and for her succour seek,  
To every riveled Face, each bankrupt Cheek.  
" If health preserved, thou Beauty still dost cherish,  
" If that neglected, Beauty soon doth perish.  
Care draws on Care, Woe comforts Woe again,  
Sorrow breeds Sorrow, one Grief brings forth twain:  
If live or die, as thou dost, so do I,  
If live, I live, and if thou die, I die,  
One Heart, one Love, one Joy, one Grief, one Troth,  
One Good, one Ill, one Life, one Death to both.   

If howard's blood thou hold'st as but too vile,  
Or not esteemest of Norfolk's Princely Style,  
If Scotland's Coat no mark of Fame can lend,  
* That Lion placed in our bright Silver bend.  
Which as a Trophy beautifies our Shield,  
* Since Scotish Blood discoloured Floden field;  
When the Proud Cheviot our brave Ensign bare,  
As a rich Jewel in a Lady's Hair,  
And did fair Bramstons' neighbouring Valleys choke  
With Clouds of Canons, fire disgorged Smoke,  
Or Surrey's Earldom insufficient be,  
And not a Dower so well contenting thee;  
Yet am I one of great Apollo's Heirs,  
The sacred Muses challenge me for theirs,  
By Princes my immortal lines are sung,  
My flowing Verses graced with every Tongue;  
The little Children when they learn to go,  
By painful Mothers daded to and fro,  
Are taught my gentle Numbers to rehearse,  
And have their sweet Lips seasoned with my Verse,   

When Heaven would strive to do the best it can,  
And put an Angel's Spirit into a Man,  
The utmost power it hath, it than doth spend,  
When to the World a Poet it doth intent.  
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;  
T'eternal Life when they dissolve their breath,  
We likewise share a second Power by Death.   

When Time shall turn those Amber Locks to Grace,  
My Verse again shall gild and make them gay,  
And trick them up in knotted Curls anew,  
And to thy 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,  
Nor thy crazed Mirror can discern thine Eye;  
My Verse, to tell th'one what the other was,  
Shall represent them both, thine Eye and Glass:  
Where both thy Mirror and thine Eye shall see,  
What once thou saw'st in that, that saw in thee;  
And to them both shall tell the simple truth,  
What that in pureness was, what thou in youth.   

If Florence once should lose her old renown,  
As famous 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, from 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 up to the Brink;  
And sweet-tongued Bryan (whom the Muses kept  
And in his Cradle rocked him whilst he slept)  
In sacred Verses (most divinely penned)  
Upon thy praises ever shall attend.   

What time I came into this famous Town,  
And made the cause of my Arrival known,  
Great Medici's a List (for Triumphs) built;  
Within the which, upon a Tree of Gilt,  
(Which was with 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  
Held up 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,  
I sacrificed, as Incense to thy Fame:  
Where, as the Phoenix from her spiced fume  
Renews herself, in that she doth consume;  
So from these sacred Ashes live we both,  
Even as that one Arabian Wonder doth.   

When to my Chamber I myself retire,  
Burnt with the Sparks that kindled all this fire,  
Thinking of England, which my Hope contains,  
The happy Isle where Geraldine remains;  
* Of Hunsdon, where those sweet celestial Eyes  
At first did pierce this tender Breast of mine;  
* Of Hampton Court, and Windsor, where abound  
All pleasures that in Paradise were found;  
Near that fair Castle is a little Grove,  
With hanging Rocks all covered from above,  
Which on the Bank of goodly Thames doth stand,  
Clipped by the Water from the other Land,  
Whose bushy top doth bid the Sun forbear,  
Checks those proud Beams, attempt to 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 lightfoot 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 Geraldine.  
Oh, let this Grove in happy times to come,  
Be called, The Lovers blessed Elysium;  
Wither my Mistress wont to resort,  
In Summer's heat, in those sweet 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 Boughs a Canopy be made.  
To keep the Sun from gazing on my Fair;  
And when thy spreading branched Arms be sunk,  
And thou no Sap nor Pith shalt more retain,  
Even from the dust of thy unwieldy Trunk,  
I will renew thee Phoenixlike again,  
And from thy dry decayed Root will bring  
A newborn Stem, another Aesons Spring.   

I find no cause, nor judge I reason why,  
My Country should give place to Lombary;  
* As goodly Flowers on Thame's rich Bank do grow,  
As beautify the Banks of wanton Po;  
As many Nymphs as haunt rich Arnus strand,  
By silver Severn tripping hand in hand:  
Our shad's as sweet, though not to us so dear,  
Because the Sun hath greater power there:  
This distant place doth give 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 to steal on Winter's Cold,  
Or Winter's Blasts so soon make Summer old?  
Love did us both with one-self Arrow strike,  
Our Wound's 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 absence being proved,  
It sticks too fast, it cannot be removed.   

Adieu, Adieu, from Florence when I go,  
By my next Letters Geraldine shall know,  
Which if good fortune shall by 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.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  From learned Florence, long time rich in Fame. 
FLorence, a City of Tuscan, standing upon the River Arnus (celebrated by Dante, Petrarch, and other the most Noble Wits of Italy) was the original of the Family, out of which, this Geraldine did spring, as Ireland the place of her Birth, which is intimated by these Verses of the Earl of Surrey.  

From Tuscan came my Ladies worthy race,  
Fair Florence was sometimes her ancient seat,  
The Western Isle, 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 Fitchy a bend Argent, to which afterwards was added by achievement, In the Canton point of the Bend, an Escutcheon, or within the Scotish tressure, a Demi-lion-rampant Gules, etc. as Master Camden, now Clerenceaux, from authority noteth. Never shall Time or 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 Buchanan, 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 insolence, 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 Scotish Blood discoloured Floden Field. 
The Battle was fought at Bramston, 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 Eighth (then in France before Turwin) for the defence of this 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 allegorise 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 a 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 Corpse did rest.   

Of Hunsdon, where those sweet celestial Eyes.    
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 Eyes.  
Which Sonnet being altogether a description of his Love, I do allege in divers places of this Gloss, as proof of what I writ.  
Of Hampton Court, and Windsor, where abound,  
All Pleasures, etc.  
That be 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 taught to wish her first for mine,  
Windsor (alas) doth chase me from her sight.   
And in another Sonnet following: 
When Windsor Walls sustained my wearied Arm,  
My Hand, my Chin, to ease my restless Head.   
And that his delight might draw him to compare Windsor to Paradise, an Elegy may prove; where he remembreth his passed Pleasures in that place.  
With a King's Son my Childish years I passed,  
In greater Feasts 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 on Thamesi's rich Bank 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: as it seems to me, was compiled at the Authors being in Spain.  
Tagus, farewel, which Westward with thy Streams  
Turnest up the grains of Gold, already tried,  
For I with Spur and Sail go seek the Thames,  
Against the Sun that shows his 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.    

The Lady GERALDINE TO Henry Howard Earl of Surrey.  

SUCH greeting as the Noble Surrey sends,  
The like 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 oft we practice in our Looks,  
Nor ever did suspicious 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 in Faith, or if my Fault you hid,  
My Tongue will teach myself, myself to chide.  
Nay, Noble Surrey, blot it if thou wilt,  
Then too much boldness should return my Gild:  
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,  
(Me thinks) should marvel at my strange demand:  
For till he blushed, I did not yet espy  
The nakedness of my Immodesty,  
Which in my Face he greater might have seen,  
But that my Fan I quickly put between;  
Yet scarcely that my inward Gild could hid,  
" Fear seeing all, fears it of all is spied.  
Like to a Taper lately burning bright,  
But 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 dawn, it back again return:  
Then clear, then dim, then spreadeth, and 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 sundry passions showed,  
Now ashy pale, and now again it glowed.   

If in your Verse there be a power to move,  
It's you alone, who are the cause I love;  
It's you bewitch my Bosom, by mine Ear;  
Unto that end I did not place you there:  
Airs to assuage the bloody Soldier's 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 Hony-steeped Gall,  
We oft are said to bait our Loves withal,  
That in one Eye we carry strong desire,  
In th'other, drops, which quickly quench that fire.  
Ah, what so false can Envy speak of us,  
But it shall find some 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 disasterly possess,  
By any doubt to make my love the less.   

My House from Florence I do not pretend,  
Nor from those gerald's claim I to descend;  
Nor hold those Honour's insufficient are,  
That I receive from Desmond or Kildare:  
Nor add I greater worth unto my Blood,  
Than Irish Milk to give me Infant-food;  
Nor better Air will ever boast to breath,  
Than that of Lemster, Munster, or of Meath;  
Nor crave I other foreign far Allies,  
* Than Windsor's, or Fitz-Gerald's Families:  
It is enough to leave unto my Heirs,  
If they but please t'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:  
None-such, the Name imports (me thinks) so much,  
None such as it, 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 Trophies stand  
Reared by the power of thy victorious Hand;  
Whitehalls triumphing Galleries are yet  
Adorned with rich Devices of thy Wit;  
In Greenwich still, as in a Glass, I view,  
Where last thou badst thy Geraldine adieu:   

With every little perling breath that blows,  
How are my Thoughts confused with Joys and Woes;  
As through a Gate, so through my longing Ears  
Pass to my Heart whole multitudes of Fears.  
Oh, in a Map that I might see thee show  
The place where now in danger thou dost go!  
Whilst we discourse, to travel with our Eye  
Romania, Tuscan, and fair Lombary;  
Or with thy pen exactly to set down  
The Model of that Temple, or that Town;  
And to relate at large where thou hast been.  
As there, and there, and what thou there hast seen:  
Expressing in a Figure, by thy Hand,  
How Naples lies, how Florence fair doth 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 moted round about;  
Then adding more, to counterfeit a Sea,  
And draw the Front of stately Genova.  
These from thy Lips were like harmonious Tones,  
Which now do sound like Mandrakes dreadful Groans.   

Some travel hence t'enrich their Minds with Skill,  
Leave here their Good, and bring home others Ill;  
Which seem to like all Countries but their own,  
Affecting most, where they the least are known;  
Their Leg, their Thigh, their Back, their Neck, their Head,  
As they had been in several Countries bred;  
In their Attire, their Gesture, and their Gate,  
Found in each one, in all Italianate;  
So well in all deformity in fashion,  
Borrowing a Limb of every several Nation;  
And nothing more than England hold in scorn,  
So live as Strangers whereas they were born:  
But thy return in this I do not read,  
Thou art a perfect Gentleman indeed;  
O God forbidden that Howards Noble line,  
From ancient Virtue should so far decline;  
The Muse's train (whereof yourself are chief)  
Only to 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  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 stand?  
* To raise the mount where Surrey's Towers must  
Or Who the groundsil of that work doth lay,  
Whilst like a wanderer thou abroad dost stray,  
Clipped in the Arms of some lascivious Dame,  
When thou shouldst rear an Ilium to thy Name?   

When shall the Muses by fair Norwich dwell,  
To be the City of the learned Well?  
Or Phoebus' Altars there with Incense heaped,  
As once in Cyrrha, or in Thebes kept?  
Or when shall that fair hoof-plowed Spring distil  
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 what things have been,  
Our Lutes unstrung 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 Courtly Sport, when we ourselves were young,  
In pretty Riddles to bewray our Loves,  
In question's purpose, or in drawing Gloves.  
The Noblest Spirits, to Virtue most inclined,  
These here in Court thy greatest want do find;  
Others there be, on which we feed our Eye,  
* Like Arras-work, or such like Image'ry:  
Many of us desire Queen Katherine's state,  
But very few her Virtues imitate.  
Then, as Ulysses' Wife, writ I to thee,  
Make no reply, but come thyself to me.   

ANNOTATIONS on the Chronicle History.  Then Windsor's, or Fitz-Geralds Families. 
THe cost of many Kings, which from time to time have adorned the Castle at Windsor with their Princely Magnificence, hath made it more Noble, than that it need to be spoken of now, as though obscure; and I hold it more meet, to refer you to your vulgar Monuments for the Founders and Finishers thereof, than to meddle with matter nothing to the purpose. As for the Family of the Fitz-Geralds, of whence this excellent Lady was lineally descended, the original was English, though the Branches did spread themselves into distant Places, and Names nothing consonant, as in former times it was usual to denominate themselves of their Manors or Forenames: as may partly appear in that which ensueth; the light whereof proceeded from my learned and very worthy Friend, Master Francis Thin. Walter of Windsor the Son of Oterus, had to Issue William, of whom, Henry, now Lord Windsor is descended, and Robert of Windsor, of whom Robert, the now Earl of Essex and Gerald of Windsor, his third Son, who married the Daughter of Rees the great Prince of Wales, of whom came Nesta, Paramour to Henry the First: Which Gerald had Issue, Maurice Fitz-Gerald, 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 Desmond.  To raise the Mount where Surrey's towers must stand. 
Alluding 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, in King Edward the Sixth's time was much defaced by that impure Rabble. Betwixt the Hill and the City, as Alexander Nevil describes it, the River of Yarmouth r●…s, having West and South thereof a Wood, and a little Village called Thorp, and on the North, the pastures of Mousholl, which contain about six miles in length and breadth. So that besides the stately greatness of Mount Surrey which was the Houses name, the Prospect and Sight thereof was passing pleasant and commodious; and no where else did that increasing evil of the Norfolk Fury enkennel itself then, but there, as it were for a manifest token of their intent, to debase all high things, and to profane all holy.  Like Arras-work, or rather Imagery. 
Such was he whom Juvenal taxeth in this manner: 
— Truncoque similimus Herme  
Nullo quip alio vincis discrimine, quam quod  
Illi marmorcum caput est, tua vivit Imago.   
Seeming to be born for nothing else but Apparel, and the outward appearance, entitled, Compliment: with whom, the ridiculous Fable of the Ape in Aesop sorteth fitly; who coming into a Carver's 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.   


The Lady Jane Grace TO THE Lord GILFORD DUDLEY.  
The ARGUMENT.  
After the death of that virtuous Prince King Edward the Sixth, the Son of that famous King Henry the Eighth, 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 aforesaid Duke of Northumberland; which Match was concluded by their ambitious Father, who went about by this means to bring the Crown unto their Children, and to dispossess the Princess Mary, eldest Daughter of King Henry the Eighth, 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 becomes their Prison: where being severed in sundry prisons, they writ these Epistles one to another.  
MIne own dear Lord, since thou art locked from me,  
In this disguise my love must steal to thee,  
Since to renew all Loves, all kindness past,  
This refuge scarcely left, yet this the last.  
My Keeper coming, I of thee inquire,  
Who with thy greeting, answers my desire;  
Which my tongue willing to return again,  
Grief stops my words, and I but strive in vain,  
Wherewith amazed, away in hast he goes,  
When through my Lips, my Heart thrusts forth my Woes;  
But then the doors that make a doleful sound,  
Drive back my words, that in the noise are drowned;  
Which somewhat hushed, the Echo doth record,  
And twice or thrice reiterates my word,  
When like an adverse wind in Isis' course,  
Against the Tide bending his boisterous force;  
But when the flood hath wrought itself about,  
He following on, doth headlong thrust it out:  
Thus strive my sighs, with tears ere they begin,  
And breaking out, again sighs drive them in.  
A thousand forms present my troubled thought,  
Yet prove abortive ere 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,  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?  
Since none are so, but in their own esteem;  
" Who in distress from resolution flies,  
" Is rightly said to yield to miseries;  
* They which begot us, dld 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 born, 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 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 whatsoever is thine;  
And when we lived untouched with these disgraces,  
When as our Kingdom was our sweet embraces;  
At Durham Palace, where sweet Hymen sang,  
Whose buildings with our Nuptial Music rang?  
When Prothalamions praised that happy day,  
Wherein great Dudley matched with noble Grace,  
When they devised to link by Wedlock's band,  
The House of Suffolk to Northumberland;  
Our fatal Dukedom to your Dukedom bound,  
To frame this building on so weak a ground.  
For what avails a lawless Usurpation?  
Which gives a Sceptre, but not rules a Nation,  
Only the surfeit of a vain opinion;  
" What gives content, gives what exceeds Dominion.  
* When first my ears were pierced with the same  
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 true bred Eagle strongly stems the wind,  
And not each Bird resembling their brave kind;  
He, 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, and 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.  
" To gain a Kingdom, who spares their next blood,  
" Nearness contemned, if Sovereignty withstood;  
" A Diadem, once dazzling the Eye,  
" The day's too dark to see Affinity;  
" And where the Arm is stretched to reach a Crown,  
" Friendship is broke, the dearest things thrown down  
* For what great Henry most strove t' 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,  
But death assuring what by life is theirs,  
The lawful claim of Henry's lawful Heirs.  
By mortal Laws, the bond may be divorced,  
But heavens decree, by no means can be forced,  
They rule 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 Skies in their continual Course,  
That yields to Fate, that doth not yield to force.  
" Man's Wit doth build for Time but to devour,  
" Virtue's free from Time, and Fortune's power;  
Then my kind Lord, sweet Gilford, be not grieved,  
The Soul is Heavenly, and from Heaven relieved;  
And as we once have plighted troth together,  
Now let us make exchange of minds to either;  
To thy fair breast take my resolved mind,  
Armed against black Despair, and all her kind,  
Into my bosom breath that Soul of thine,  
There to be made as perfect as is mine;  
So shall our Faiths as firmly be approved,  
As I of thee, or thou of me beloved.  
This life, no life, wert thou not dear to me,  
Nor this no death, were I not woe for thee;  
Thou my dear Husband, and my Lord before.  
But truly learn to die, thou shalt be more.  
Now live by prayer, on Heaven fix all thy thought,  
And surely find, what ere by zeal is sought;  
For each good motion that the Soul awakes,  
A Heavenly figure sees, from whence it takes  
That sweet resemblance, which by power of kind,  
Forms (like itself) an Image in the mind,  
And in our Faith the operations be  
Of that 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,  
So our Souls prisons verily are those;  
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 up to 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 stayed,  
You need in peril not to be dismayed,  
Which still shall keep you, that you shall not fall,  
For any peril that can you appall.  
The Key of Heaven thus with you, you shall bear,  
And Grace, you guiding, get you entrance there;  
And if you these 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 Idolatry and Sin;  
Not suffering us to see that wicked Age  
When Persecution vehemently shall rage's,  
When Tyranny, new Torture shall invent,  
Inflicting vengeance on the Innocent.  
Yet Heaven forbids, that Mary's Womb should 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 Temple having placed the Crown,  
Root out the Dregs Idolatry hath sown;  
And Sion's Glory shall again restore,  
Laid ruin, waist, and desolate before:  
And from Cinders, and rude heap 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.  

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  They which begot us, did beget this sin. 
Showing the ambition of the two Dukes their Fathers, whose pride was the cause of the utter overthrow of their Children.  
At Durham Palace, where sweet Hymen sang,  
The buildings, etc.  
The Lord Gilford Dudley fourth Son to John Dudley Duke of Northumberland, married the Lady Jane Grace, Daughter to the Duke of Suffolk at Durham house in the Strand.  
When first mine ears were pierced with the same,  
Of Jane proclaimed by a Princess name.  
Presently upon the death of King Edward, the Lady Jane was taken as Queen, conveyed by Water to the Tower of London for her safety, and after proclaimed in divers places of the Realm, as so ordained by King Edward's Letters-Patents and his Will.  
My Grandsire, Brandon, did our House advance,  
By Princely Mary Dowager of France.  
Henry Grace Duke of Suffolk, married Frances the eldest Daughter of Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, by the French Queen, by which Frances 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 Noble Families of Lancaster and York.  For what great Henry most strove to avoid. 
Noting the distrust that King Henry the Eighth ever had in the Princess Mary his Daughter fearing she should alter the state of the Religion in the Land, by matching with a Stranger, confessing the right that King Henry's Issue had to the Crown.  * But 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.    

The Lord Gilford Dudley TO The Lady JANE GREY.  

AS the Swan singing at his dying hour,  
So I reply from my imprisoning Tower:  
Oh could there be that power in my Verse,  
T' express the grief which my sad Heart doth pierce!  
The very Walls that straight 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 loan,  
I will repay you frankly two for one.   

Perhaps you'll think (your sorrows to appease)  
That words of Comfort fit were than these:  
True, and in you when such perfection liveth  
As in most grief me now most comfort giveth.  
But 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 Soul.  
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 most unto my Woe,  
Not that I loathe what most did me delight,  
But that so long deprived I'm of thy sight:  
For when I speak, complaining of my wrong,  
Straightways thy name possesseth all my Tongue.  
As thou before me evermore didst lie,  
The present Object to my longing Eye;   

No ominous Star 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 Husbands 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 lest the peril seemeth to appall.   

I boast not of Northumberland's 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 spread his glory on the Eastern Shores.  
* Nor of my Brothers, from whose natural grace  
Virtue may spring to beautify our Race,  
* Nor of Gray's match, my Children born by thee,  
Of the great blood undoubtedly to be,  
But of thy Virtue only do I boast,  
That wherein I may justly glory most,  
I craved no Kingdoms, though I thee did crave.  
It me sufficed thy only self to have:  
Yet let me say, however it befell,  
Methinks 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,  
Than all that else might ever come by thee:  
So chaste thy love, so innocent thy life,  
As being a Virgin when thou wast 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 care disturbed our quiet state,  
Ere trouble did in every place abound,  
And angry War our former Peace did wound,  
But to know this, Ambition us affords,  
" One Crown is guarded with a thousand swords,  
" To mean Estates, mean sorrows are but shown,  
" But Crowns have cares, whose workings be unknown.  
* When Dudley led his Armies to the East,  
Of our whole Forces generally possessed,  
What then was thought his enterprise could let,  
* Whom a grave Council 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 Parliaments avail,  
Where Mary's Right must Edward's Acts repeal?  
* 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, we wish it would departed,  
And indiscreetly follow that so fast,  
Which overtaken, punisheth our haste.   

If any one do pity our offence,  
Let him be sure that he 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 born.  
Mother's that should their woeful Children rue,  
Fathers in death, so kindly bid adieu,  
Friends their dear farewell lovingly to take,  
The faithful Servant weeping for our sake,  
Brothers and Sisters waiting on our Bier,  
Mourners to tell what we were living here:  
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 the height of our ambitious state,  
Lie to repent our arrogance too late.  
To thy persuasion thus I then rely,  
Hold on thy course resolved still to die,  
And when we shall so happily begun,  
Leave it to Heaven to give the rightful Throne,  
And with that Health, I thee regret again,  
Which I of late did gladly entertain.   

ANNOTATIONS of the Chronicle History.  Nor of Ket conquered adding to our fame. 
JOhn 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 born by thee. 
Noting in this place the Alliance of the Lady Jane Grace, by her Mother, which was Frances the Daughter of Charles Brandon, by Mary the French Queen, Daughter to Henry the Seventh, and Sister to Henry the Eighth.  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 Tongues one reporteth by this Epigram.  
Miraris Janam Graio sermone valere,  
Quo primum nata est tempore Graia fuit,  
When Dudley led his Army to the East.  
The Duke of Northumberland prepared his power at London for his expedition against the Rebels in Norfolk, and making hast away, appointed the rest of his forces to meet him at New-Market-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 spend his blood in the quarrel.  
When Suffolk's power doth Suffolk's hopes withstand,  
Northumberland doth leave Northumberland.  
The Suffolk men were the first, that ever resorted to Queen Mary in her distress, repairing to her succours, whilst she remained both at Keningal and at Fermingham Castle still increasing her Aids, until the Duke of Northumberland, was left forsaken at Cambridge.    
FINIS.