THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.  
FOUGHT BY HENRY THE fifth of that name, King of England, against the whole power of the French: under the Reign of their CHARLES the sixth, Anno Dom. 1415.  
The Miseries of Queen MARGARITE, the infortunate Wife, of that most infortunate King HENRY the sixth.  
NIMPHIDIA, the Court of Fairy.  
The Quest of CYNTHIA.  
The Shepherds SIRENA.  
The Mooncalf.  
Elegies upon sundry occasions.  
By MICHAEL DRAYTON, Esquire.  
LONDON, Printed by A. M. for WILLIAM LEE, and are to be sold at the Turks Head in Fleetstreet, next to the Mitre and Phoenix. 1631.   

TO you those Noblest of Gentlemen of these Renowned Kingdoms of Great Britain: who in these declining times, have yet in your brave bosoms the sparks of that sprightly fire, of your courageous Ancestors; and to this hour retain the seeds of their magnanimity and Greatness, who out of the virtue of your minds, love and cherish neglected Poesy, the delight of Blessed souls, And the language of Angels. To you are these my Poems dedicated.  
By your truly affectioned Servant, MICHAEL DRAYTON.   

THE VISION OF BEN. JOHNSON, ON THE MUSES OF HIS FRIEND M. DRAITON.  

IT hath been questioned MICHAEL, if I be  
A Friend at all; or, if at all, to thee:  
Because, who make the question, have not seen  
Those ambling visits, pass in verse, between  
Thy Muse, and mine, as they expect. 'Tis true:  
You have not writ to me, nor I to you;  
And, though I now begin, 'tis not to rub  
Haunch against Haunch, or raise a rhyming Club  
About the town: this reckoning I will pay,  
Without conferring symbols. This's my day▪  
It was no Dream! I was awake and saw!  
Lend me thy voice, O FAME, that I may draw  
Wonder to truth! and have my vision ho●rld,  
Hot from thy trumpet, round about the world▪  
I saw a Beauty from the Sea to rise,  
That all Earth looked on; & that earth, all Eyes!  
It cast a beam as when the cheerful Sun  
Is fair got up, and day some hours begun!  
And filled an Orb as circular as heaven!  
The Orb was cut forth into Regions sea●●●  
And those so sweet, & well proportioned parts,  
As it had been the circle of the Arts!  
When, by thy bright Ideas standing by,  
I found it pure, and perfect Poesy,  
There read I, straight, thy learned Legends three,  
Herd the soft airs, between our swains & thee,  
Which made me think, the old Theocritus,  
Our Rural Virgil come, to pipe to us!  
But then, thy▪ epistolar Heroic Songs,  
Their loves, their quarrels, jealousies & wrongs  
Did all so strike me, as I cried, who can  
With us be called, the Naso, but this man?  
And looking up I saw Minerva's fowl,  
Parched over head, the wise Athenian Owl:  
I thought thee them our Orpheus, that wouldst try  
Like him, to make the air, one volary:  
And I had styled thee Orpheus, but before  
My lips could form the voice, I heard that roar,  
And rouse, the marching of a mighty force,  
Drums against drums, theneighing of the horse,  
The fights, the cries, & wondering at the jars  
I saw, and read, it was thy Baron's Wars!  
O, how in those, dost thou instruct these times,  
That Rebels actions, are but valiant crimes!  
And carried, though with shout, & noise confess  
A wild and an authorised wickedness!  
Sayst thou so, Lucan? But thou seornst to stay  
Under one title. Thou hast made thy way  
And flight about the I'll, well near, by this  
In thy admired Periegesis,  
Or universal circumduction  
Of all that read thy Poly-Olbyon.  
That read it? that are ravished! such was I  
With every song, I swear, and so would dye:  
But that I hear, again thy Drum to beat  
A better cause, and strike the bravest heat  
That ever yet did fire the English blood!  
Our right in France! if rightly understood.  
There, thou art Homer! Pray thee, use the style  
Thou hast deserved: And let me read the while  
Thy Catalogue of Ships, exceeding his,  
Thy list of aids, and force, for so it is:  
The Poet's act! and for his Country's sake  
Brave are the Musters, that the Muse will make.  
And when he ships then where to use their Arms  
How do his trumpets breath! What loud alarms!  
Look, how we read the Spartans' were inflamed  
With bold Tyrtaeus verse, when thou art named  
So shall our English Youth urge on, and cry  
An Agin-court, an Agin-court, or dye.  
This book! it is a Catechism to fight,  
And will be bought of every ●ord and Knight,  
That can but read; who cannot, may in prose  
Get broken pieces, and fight well by those.  
The miseries of Margaret the Queen  
Of tender eyes will more be wept, then seen:  
I feel it by mine own, that overflow,  
And stop my sight, in every line I go.  
But then refreshed by thy Fairy Court,  
I look on Cynthia, and Syrenas sport,  
As on two flowery Carpets, that did rise,  
And with their grassy green restored mine eyes  
Yet give me leave, to wonder at the birth  
Of thy strange Moon-Calfe, both thy strain of mirth  
And Gossip-got acquaintance, as to us,  
Thou hadst brought Lapland or old Cobalus,  
Empusa, Lamia, or some Monster more  
Than Africa knew, or the full Grecian store!  
I gratulate it to thee, and thy Ends,  
To all thy virtuous and well chosen Friends,  
Only my loss is, that I am not there:  
And till I worthy am to wish I were,  
I call the world, that envies me, to see  
If I can be a Friend, and Friend to thee▪    

UPON THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT, WRITTEN BY HIS DEAR FRIEND MICHAEL DRAYTON Esquire.  

HAd Henry's name been only met in Prose,  
Recorded by the humble wit of those  
Who write of less than Kings: who Victory,  
As calmly mention, as a Pedigree,  
The French alike with us, might view his name  
His actions too, and not confess a shame:  
Nay, grow at length, so boldly troublesome,  
As to dispute if they were overcome.  
But thou hast waked their fears: thy fiercer hand  
Hath made their shame as lasting, as their land.  
By thee again they are compelled to know  
How much of Fate is in an English foe.  
They bleed afresh by thee, and think the harm  
Such; they could rather wish, 'twere Henry's arm,  
Who thanks thy painful quill; and holds it more  
To be thy Subject now, then King before.  
By thee he conquers yet; when every wora  
Yields him a fuller honour, than his sword.  
Strengthens his actions against time: by thee,  
He Victory, and France, doth hold in fee,  
So well observed he is, that every thing,  
Speaks him not only English, but a King.  
And France, in this, may boast her fortunate,  
That she was worthy of so brave a hate.  
Her suffering is her gayve. How well we see  
The Battle laboured worthy him, and thee,  
Where we may Death discover with delight,  
And entertain a pleasure from a fight.  
Where we may see how well it doth become  
The brau'ry of a Prince to over come.  
What Power is a Poet: that can add  
A life to Kings, more glorious, than they had  
For what of Henry, is unsung by thee,  
Henry doth want of his Eternity.   
I. Vaughan.   

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND Mr. MICHAEL DRAYTON upon his Poems.  

SONNET.  
What lofly Trophies of eternal Fame,  
England may vaunt thou dost erect to her,  
Yet forced to confess, (yea blush for shame,)  
That she no honour doth on thee confer  
Howed would become her, would she learn to know  
Once to requite thy Heaven-borne Art and zeal,  
Or at the least herself but thankful show  
Her ancient Glories that dost still reveal:  
Sing thou of Love, thy strains (like powerful charms)  
Enrage the bosom with an amorous fire,  
And when again thou lik'st to sing of Arms  
The Coward thou with courage dost inspire:  
But when thou comest to touch our Sinful Times,  
Then Heaven far more than Earth speaks in thy (Rhymes.)   
john Reynolds.   

THE BATTLE OF AGJN COURT.  

Ceased was the Thunder of those Drums view,  
which waked,  
Th'affrighted French their miseries to  
At Edward's name, which to that hour  
still quaked,  
Their 
* The law Salic was, that women should no● i● herite; wh● law Edward the third ● his right to ● the Crown by his mot● canceled w● his sword: so much as at that ti● made way his clarme, though in France th● law be inviolable.  Salic Tables to the ground that threw,  
Yet were the English courages not slacked,  
But the same Bows, and the same Blade● they drew,  
With the same Arms those weapons to advance,  
Which lately lopped the Flower de liz of France.   

Henry the fifth, that man made out of fire,  
Th'imperial Wreath placed on his Princely brow;  
His Lion's courage stands not to inquire  
Which way old Henry came by it; or how  
At Pomfret Castle Richard should expire:  
What's that to him? he hath the Garland now;  
Let 
* Henry th● so named ● Town in L● colne Shi● where he borne.  Bullenbrooke beware how he it won,  
For 
* Henry the fifth borne Munmou● in W●●●●.  Munmouth means to keep it if he can.   

That glorious day, which his great Father got, 
Dowglas in that battle ●ew three in the King's ●oat A●mo●●   
Upon the Percies; calling to their aid  
The Valiant Dowglas, that Herculean Scot,  
When for his Crown at Shrewsbury they played,  
Had quite disheartened every other plot,  
And all those Tempests quietly had laid,  
That not a cloud did to this Prince appear,  
No former King had seen a sky so clear.   

Yet the rich Clergy felt a fearful Rent,  
In the full bosom of their Church (whilst she  
A Monarchesse, immeasurably spent,  
Less than she was, and thought she might not be:) 
Wickliff a learned Divine, and the greatest Propestant of those times.   
By Wickliff and his followers; to prevent  
The growth of whose opinions, and to free  
That foul Aspersion, which on her they laid,  
She her strongest wits must stir up to her aid.   

When presently a Parliament is called  
To set things steady, that stood not so right,  
But that thereby the poor might be enthralled,  
Should they be urged by those that were of might,  
That in his Empire, equity enstauled,  
It should continue in that perfect plight;  
Wherefore to Leicester, he t● ' Assembly draws, 
A Parliament at Leicester.   
There to Enact those necessary Laws.   

In which one Bill ('mongst many) there was red,  
Against the general, and superfluous waste  
Of temporal Lands▪ (the Laity that had fed)  
Upon the Houses of Religion cast,  
Which for defence might stand the Realm in stead▪  
Where it most needed, were it rightly placed;  
Which made those Churchmen generally to fear,  
For all this calm, some tempest might be near.   

And being right skilful, quickly they foresaw,  
No shallow brains this business went about:  
Therefore with cunning they must cure this flaw;  
For of the King they greatly stood in doubt,  
Lest him to them, their opposites should draw;  
Something must be thrust in, to thrust that out:  
And to this end they wisely must provide,  
One, this great Engine, Clearkly that could guide.   

Chichley, that sat on Canterbury's See, 
Henry Chichly succeeding Arund●ll (late deceased) in that See.   
A man well spoken, gravely stout, and wise,  
The most select (then thought of that could be,)  
To act what all the Prelacy device;  
(For well they knew, that in this business, he  
Would to the utmost strain his faculties;)  
Him lift they up, their main strength, to prove  
By some clean slight this 
* So they termed it as unworthy of a better title.  libel to remove.   

His brain in labour, gladly forth would bring  
Somewhat, that at this needful time might fit,  
The sprightly humour of this youthful King,  
If his invention could but light of it;  
His working soul pro●●cteth many a thing,  
Until at length out of the strength of wit,  
He found a war with France must be the way  
To dash this Bill, else threatening their decay.   

Whilst vacant minds sat in their breasts at ea●  
And the remembrance of their Conquests past,  
Upon their fancies doth so strongly seize,  
As in their teeth their Cowardice is cast,  
Rehearsing to them those victorious days▪  
The deeds of which, beyond their names should la●  
That after ages, reading what was thei●s,  
Shall hardly think, those men had any Heirs.   

And to this point, premeditating well,  
A speech, (which chanced, the very point to cleave  
Aimed, whatsoever the success befell  
That it no roomth should for a second leave,  
More of this Tittle then in hand to tell,  
If so his skill him did not much deceive,  
And ' gaiust the King in public should appeare●  
Thus frames his speech to the Assembly there.   

Pardon my boldness, my Liege Sovereign L● 
The Archbishop of Canterbury's Oration, to t●● King●●nd Parliament at Lecester● in the 〈…〉 following Stanza's.   
Nor your Dread presence let my speech offer  
Your mild attention, favourably afford,  
Which, such clear vigour to my spirit shall lend,  
That▪ it shall set an edge upon your Sword,  
To my demand▪ and make you to attend,  
Ask you, why▪ men trained to Arms you ●●  
Your right in France yet suffering still to sleep●   

Can such a Prince be in an Island penned,  
An● poorly thus shut up within a Sea.  
When as your right includes that large extent,  
To 〈…〉 Alpes your Empire forth to lay,  
Can he be English borne▪ and is not bend  
To follow you, appoint you but the way,  
We'●e wade if we want ships, the waves to climme,  
In one hand hold ou● swords, with th'other swim.   

What time controls your brave great grandsires claim 
The Cr●●●● of France descended upon Edward the third, from Isabella ●u Mother, Daughtar and su●●●●●ing heir, to King Philip of France named the fair.   
To th'realm of France, from Philip named the fair  
Which to King Edward by his mother came,  
Queen Isaebel; that Philip's only heir,  
Which this short intermission doth not maim,  
But if it did, as he, so yours repair;  
That where his blood in right prevailed not,  
In spite of hell, yet by his Sword he got.   

What set the Conqueror, by their Salic Laws,  
Those poor decrees their Parliaments could make,  
He entered on in justness of his Cause,  
To make good, what he dared to undertake,  
And once in Action he stood not to pause,  
But in upon them like a Tempest broke,  
And down their buildings with such fury bare,  
That they from mists dissolved were to air.   

As those brave Edward's, Father, and the Son▪  
●● Conquered Cressy▪ with successful luck,  
Where first all France (as at one game) they won,  
Never two Warriors, such a Battle struck,  
That when the bloody dismal fight was done,  
Here in one heap, there in another Rucke  
Princes and peasants lay together mixed,  
The English Swords, no difference knew betwixt.   

There Lewe● King of Beam was overthrown,  
With valiant Charles, of France the younger brother  

* james, Dauphin of Viennoys. The Dukes of L●●raine & Bourbon. The Earls of Aumerl●, Savoye, Mountbilliard Flaunders, Nevers, & ●●arcourt. King john of France and Philip his son taken by the Black Prince, at the Battle of Poyteers, brought Prisoners to ●● land. john of Cleumount. Peter of Bourbon. Examples of such as have advanced themselves to the Crown of France, against the strict letter of the law Salic, in two following Stanza's.  A Dauphin and two Dukes, in pieces hewn;  
To them six Earls lay slain by one another;  
her the grand Prior of France, fetched his last groa●  
Two Archbishops the boisterous crowd doth smother  
There fifteen thousand of their Gentry died▪  
With each two Soldiers, slaughtered by his sid●   

Nor the Black Prince at poitiers battle fought  
Short of his Father, and himself before,  
Her King and Prince, that prisoners hither borough  
From forty thousand, weltering in their gore,  
That in the world's opinion it was thought,  
France from that instant could subsist no more,  
The * Marshal, and the * Constable, there ●laine,  
Under the Standard, in that battle ta'en.   

Nor is this claim for women to succeed,  
('Gainst which they would your right to France de● ba●  
A thing so new, that it so much should need  
Such opposition, as though fetched from far,  
By Pepin this is proved, as by a deed,  
Deposing Cheldricke, by a fatal war,  
By Blythyld dated his title to advance,  
Daughter to Clothar, first so named of France.   

Hugh Capet, who from Charles of Lorraine too●  
The Crown of France, that he in peace might reign  
As heir to Lingard to her title stooke,  
Who was the daughter of King Charlemagne,  
So holy 'Lows poring on his book,  
Whom that Hugh Capet made his heir again,  
From Ermingard his Grandam, claimed the crown,  
Duke Charles' his caughter, wrongfully put down.   

Nor think my Liege a fitter time than this,  
You could have found your title to advance,  
●t the full height, when now the faction is,  
twixt Burgoyne, and the house of Orleans,  
Your purpose you not possibly can miss,  
● for my Lord so luckily doth chance,  
That whilst these two in opposition stand,  
You may have time your Army there to land.   

And if my fancy do not overpress,  
●y visual sense, me thinks in every eye  
● see such cheer, as of our good success  
● France hereafter seems to Prophecy;  
Think not my Sovereign, my Allegiance less  
Quoth he; my Lords nor do you misaply  
My words: thus long upon this subject spent,  
Who humbly here submit to your assent.   

THis speech of his, that powerful Engine proved  
Then e'er our Fathers got▪ which raised us hire,  
The Clergies fear that quietly removed,  
And into France transferred our Hostile fire,  
● made the English through the world beloved,  
●hat durst to those so mighty things aspire,  
And gave so clear a lustre to our fame,  
That neighbouring nations trembled at our name.   

When through the house, this rumour scarcely r●  
That war with France propounded was again▪  
In all th'assembly there was not a man,  
But put the project on with might and main,  
So great applause it generally wan,  
That else no business they would entertain,  
As though their honour utterly were lost,  
If this desine should any way be crossed.   

So much men's minds now upon France were s●  
That every one doth with himself forecast,  
What might fall out this enterprise to let,  
As what again might give it wings of haste,  
And for they knew▪ the French did still abet  
The Scot against us, (which we used to taste)  
It questioned was if it were fit or no;  
To conquer them, ere we to France should go▪   

Which Raulph then Earl of Westmoreland propo● 
Ralph Nevil then warden of the Marches betwixt England and Scotland. An ●●● adag● He that will France wi●▪ must with Scotland first begin. The Duke of Excester the Kings own ●●●●.   
Quoth he with Scotland let us first begin,  
By which we are upon the North enclosed,  
And locked with us, one Continent within,  
Then first let Scotland be by us disposed,  
And with more ease, ye spacious France may win●  
Else of ourselves, ere we our ships can clear,  
To land in France; they will invade us here.   

Not so brave Nevil, Excester replies,  
For that of one two labours were to make,  
For Scotland wholly upon France relies;  
First Conquer France, and Scotland ye may take▪  
●is the French pay, the Scot to them that ties,  
That stopped, asunder quickly ye shall shake,  
The French and Scots; to France then first say I,  
First, first, to France then all the commons cry.   

And instantly an Embassy is sent, 
The first brea●h with France.   
To Charles of France, to will him to restore  
●hose Territories, of whose large extent,  
The English Kings were owners of before;  
Which if he did not, and incontinent,  
The King would set those English on his shore,  
That in despite of him, and all his might,  
Should leave their lives there, or redeem his right.   

First Normandy, in his demand he makes,  
With Aquitane, a Duchy no less great,  
Anjou, and Main, with Gascoigne which he takes,  
Clearly his own, as many an English seat: 
The Countries demanded by the King of England.   
With these proud France, he first of all awakes,  
●or their delivery, giving power to treat;  
For well he knew, if Charles should these restore,  
No King of France was ever left so poor.   

The King, and Dauphin, to his proud demand,  
●at he might see they no such matter ment,  
● a thing sitter for his youthful hand;  
● Tun of Paris Tennis Balls him sent, 
The King and Dauphin of France, divides the King of England.   
●tter himself to make him understand,  
●riding his ridiculous intent:  
● And that was all the answer he could get,  
Which more the King doth to this Conquest ●he●.   

That answering the Ambassador, quoth he,  
Thanks for my Balls, to Charles your Sovereign gi● 
Henry the fist answered for the Tennis Balls.   
And thus Assure him, and his son from me,  
I'll s●nd him Balls, and Rackets if I live,  
That they such R●c●et shall in Paris see,  
When over line with Bandies I shall drive, 
The language of Tennis.   
As that before the set be fully done,  
France may (perhaps) into the H●zzard run▪   

So little doth luxurious France fore see  
By her disdain, what she upon her drew:  
In her most brau●●y s●e●ing then to be,  
The punishment that shortly should ensue,  
Which so incensed the English King, that he,  
For full revenge into that fury grew:  
That those three horro●s, Famine, Sword, and F●  
Could not suffice to satisfy his ire.   

In all men's mouths now was no word but w●  
As though no thing had any other name;  
And folk would ask of them arrived from far,  
What forces were preparing whence they came ●  
'Gainst any business 'twas a lawful bar  
To say for France they were; and 'ttwas a shame  
For any man to take in hand to do  
Aught, but something that did belong thereto   

Old Armours are dressed▪ up, and new are made●  
jacks are in working, and strong shirts of Male,  
He scours an * old Fox, he a 
* Blades accounted of the best▪ temper▪  elbow blade,  
Now Shields and Targets only are for sale;  
Who works for wa●re, now▪ thriveth by his Trade▪  
The brown-Bill, and the Battle-Axe prevail:  
The curious Fletcher fits his well-strung Bow,  
And his barbed Arrow which he sets to show.   

Tents and Pavilions in the fields are pitched,  
(●● full wrought up their Roomthynesse to try)  
Windows, and Towers, with Ensigns are enriched,  
With ruffing Banners, that do brave the sky,  
Wherewith the wearied Labourer bewitched  
To see them thus hang waving in his eye:  
His toilsome burden from his back doth throw,  
And bids them work that will, to France he'll go.   

Rich Saddles for the Light-horse and the Bard, 
Armed at all points▪   
For to be brav'st there's not a man but plies,  
Plumes, Bandroules, a●d Caparizons prepared;  
Whether of two, and men at Arms divise,  
The 
* Arming for the thigh and leg-  Greaves, or * Guyses' were the surer guard,  
The 
* Arming for the arm and shoulder.  Vambrasse, or the Pouldron, they should prise,  
And where a stand of Pikes placed close, or large,  
Which way to take advantage in the Charge,   

One trains his Horse, another trails his Pike.  
He with his Pole▪ Axe, practiseth the fight,  
The Bowe-man (which no Country hath the like)  
With his sheaf Arrow, proveth by his might,  
How many score off, he his Foe can strike,  
Yet not to draw above his bosom's height:  
The Trumpets sound the Charge and the Retreat,  
The bellowing Drum, the March again doth beat,   

Cannons upon their Carriage mounted are,  
Whose Battery France must feel upon her Walls,  
The Engineer providing the Petar,  
To break the strong Percullice, and the Balls  
Of Wild fire devised to throw from far,  
To burn to ground their Palaces and Halls:  
Some studying are, the Scale which they had got, 
Great Ordnance then ●u● newly in ●●●.   
Thereby to take the Level of their Shot.   

The man in years preached to his youthful so●  
Pressed to this War, as they sat by the fire,  
What deeds in France were by his Father done,  
To this attempt to work him to aspire,  
And told him there, how he an Ensign won,  
Which many a year was hung up in the Choir:  
And in the Batrell, where he made his way,  
How many Frenchmen he struck down that day●   

The good old man with tears of joy would tell,  
In Cressy field, what prizes Edward played,  
As what at Poycteers the Black Prince befell,  
How like a L●on he about him laid:  
In deeds of Arms, how Audely did excel,  
For their old sins▪ how they the Frenchmen paid  
How bravely Basset did be have him there:  
How Oxford charged the Van, Warwick the rear   

And Boy, quoth he, I have heard thy Grandsire s●  
That once he did an English Archer see,  
Who shooting at a French twelve score away,  
Quite through the body, stuck him to a Tree;  
Upon their strengths a ●●●ng his Crown might lay:  
Such wer● the men of that brave age quoth he,  
When with his ●●● he at his foe did drive,  
Murrian and scalp down to the teeth could rive,   

The scarlet judge might now set up his Mule,  
With neighing Steeds the Street so pestered are,  
For where he went in Westminster to rule,  
On his Tribunal seat the man of war,  
The Lawyer to his chamber doth recoil,  
For he hath now no business at the bar:  
But to make Wills, and Testaments for those,  
That were for France, their substance to dispose▪   

By this, the Council of the War had met,  
And had at large of every thing discussed;  
And the grave Clergy had with them been set,  
To warrant wha they undertook was just,  
And as for moneys that to be no let,  
They, bade the King for that to them to trust:  
The Church to pawn, would see her chalice laid,  
E'er she would leave one Pyoner unpaid.   

From Milford Haven, to the mouth of Tweed, 
Half th●●●●● cut of the Island, from the Spanish to the Germane Ocean.   
Ships of all burden to Southampton brought,  
For there the King the Rendezvous decreed  
To bear abroad his most victorious fraught:  
The place from whence he with the greatest speed,  
Might land in France▪ (of any that was thought)  
And with success upon that lucky shore,  
Where his great Grandsire landed had before. 
Edward the third.    

But for he found those vessels were too few,  
That into France his Army should convey:  
He sent to Belgia, whose great store he knew,  
Might now at need supply him every way,  
His bounty ample; as the winds that blue,  
Such Barks for Portage out of every bay  
In Holland, Zealand, and in Flanders, brings;  
As spread the wide 
* The Soa betwixt France and England ●● called. A Catalogue of the S●ps in ●● Stanza's.  sleeve with their canvas wings▪   

But first seven Ships from Rochester are sent,  
The narrow Seas, of all the French to sweep;  
All men of war with scripts of Mart that went,  
And had command, the Coast of France to keep:  
The coming of a Navy to prevent,  
And view what strength was in the Bay of Deep:  
And if they found it like to come abroad,  
To do their best to fire it in the Road.   

The Bonaventure, George, and the Expense, 
The names of the Kings 7. Ships of War   
Three as tall ships, as e'er did Cable tewe,  
The Henry Royal, at her parting thence,  
Like the Huge Ruck from Gillingham that flew: 
An Indian Bird so great, that she is able to carry an Elephant.   
The Antelope, the Elephant, Defence,  
Bottoms as good as ever spread a clue:  
All having charge, their voyage having been,  
Before Southampton to take Soldiers ●●.   

Twelue Merchants ships, of mighty burden all,  
New of the stocks, that had been rigged for Stoad,  
Riding in Thames, by Lymehouse, and Blackwall,  
That ready were their Merchandise to load,  
Straightly commanded by the Admiral,  
At the same Port to settle their abode▪  
And each of these a Pinnace at command.  
To put her fraught conveniently to land.   

Eight goodly Ships, so Bristol ready made,  
Which to the King they bountifully ●ent,  
With Spanish Wines which they for ballast lad,  
In happy speed of his brave Voyage meant,  
Hoping this Conquest should enlarge their Trade,  
And there▪ withal a rich and spacious Tent:  
And as this Fleet the Severne Seas doth stem,  
Five more from Padstowe came along with them.   

The Hare of Loo a right good ship well known,  
The year before that twice the straits had passed,  
Two wealthy Spanish Merchants did her own,  
Who then but lately had repaired her waist;  
For from her Deck a Pirate she had blown,  
After a long Fight, and him took at last:  
And from Mounts Bay six more, that still in sight  
Walted with her before the I'll of Wight.   

From Plymmouth next came in the Blazing Star,  
And fiery Dragon to take in their fraught;  
With other four, especial men of war, 
The Bay of Portugal ● of the high working S● that is know●●.   
That in the Bay of Portugal had fough,  
And though returning from a Voyage far,  
Stemmed that rough sea, when at the highest it wrought▪  
With these of Dertmouth seven good ships there were  
The golden Crescent in their tops that bear▪   

So Lyme, three Ships into the Navy sent,  
Of which the Samson scarce a month before,  
Had sprung a Plank, and her main Mast had spent▪  
With extreme peril that she got to shore;  
Which them five other out of Waymouth went,  
Which by Southampton, were made up a score:  
With those that road (at pleasure) in the Bay,  
And that at Anchor before Portsmouth lay.   

Next these, Newcastle furnisheth the Fleet  
With nine good Hoys of necessary use;  
The Danish Pirates▪ valiantly they beet,  
Offering to Sack them as they sailed from Sluice:  
Six Hulks from Hul at Humber's mouth them meet,  
Which had them oft acompanied to 
* A country ●●ng upon ●e ●ast Sea, ordering upon Poland. ●amous for ●●erring fishng.  Pruce,  
Five more from * Yurmouth falling them among▪  
That had for fishing been prepared long.   

The Cow of Harwitch never put to flight,  
For Hides and Furs, late to Musco●ia bound,  
Of the same Port, another named the Spite,  
That in her coming lately, from the Sound,  
After a two dayes-still▪ continued fight,  
Had made three Flemings run themselves on ground;  
With three neat Flee-boats which with them do tak●  
Six ships of Sandwich up the Fleet to make.   

Nine ships for the Nobility were there, 
●ydes to the ●ing by the ●obility.   
Of able men, the enterprise to aid,  
Which to the King most liberally they lent,  
At their own charge, and bountifully paid,  
Northumberland, and Westmoreland in scent,  
Fourscore at Arms a piece, themselves, and laid  
At ●ix score Archers each, as Suffolk shows,  
Twenty tall men at Arms, with forty Bows.   

Warwick, and Stafford levied at no less,  
Then Noble Suffolk, nor do offer more,  
Of men at Arms, and Archers which they press▪  
Of their own Tenants Armed wit their own store;  
Their forwardness foreshows their good success,  
In such a War▪ as had not been before:  
And other Barons under Earls that were,  
Yet dared with them an equal charge to bear.   

Darcy, and Camois, zealous for the King,  
Lovel, Fitzwater, Willoughby, and Rosse,  
Berkely, Powis, Burrell, fast together cling;  
Seymor and Saint-Iohn for the business close,  
Each twenty Horse, and forty foot do bring,  
More, to nine hundred mounting in the gross  
In those nine Ships, and ●itly them bestowed,  
Which with the other fall into the Road.   

From Holland, Zealand, and from Flanders won,  
By weekly pay, threescore twelve Bottoms came,  
From fifty upward; to five hundred Tun;  
For every use a Mariner could name,  
Whose glittering Flags against the Radiant Sun,  
showed as the Sea had all been of a flame;  
For skiffs, Crays, Scallops, & the like, why these  
From every small Creek, covered all the Seas.   

The man whose way from London happed to lie,  
By those ●e met might guess the general force,  
Daily encountered as he passed by,  
Now with a Troop of Foot, and then of Horse,  
To whom the people still themselves apply,  
Bringing them victuals as in mere remorse▪  
And still the acclamation of the press▪  
Saint George for England, to your good success.   

There might a man have seen in every street,  
The Father bidding farewell to his Son:  
Small Children kneeling at their Father's feet:  
The Wife with her dear Husband ne'er had done,  
Brother his Brother, with adieu to greet:  
One Friend to take leave of another run:  
The Maiden with her best beloved to part,  
Gave him her hand, who took away her heart▪   

The nobler Youth the common rank above,  
On their coructing Coursers mounted fair,  
One ware his Mistress Garter, one her Glove,  
And he a lock of his dear Lady's hair;  
And he her Colours, whom he most did love,  
There was not one but did some Favour wear:  
And each one took it, on his happy speed,  
To make it famous by some Knightly deed.   

The clouds of dust, that from the ways arose,  
Which in their March the trampling troops do rear●  
When as the Sun their thickness doth oppose,  
In his descending, shining wondrous clear,  
To the beholder far off standing shows,  
Like some besieged town, that were on fire,  
As though foretelling e'er they should return,  
That many a City yet secure must burn.   

The well-rigd Navy fall'n into the Road,  
For this short Cut with victual fully stored,  
The King impatient of their long abode,  
Commands his Army instantly aboard,  
Casting to have each company bestowed,  
As then the time convenience could afford;  
The Ships appointed wherein they should go,  
And Boats prepared for wastage to and fro.   

To be embarked when every band comes down,  
Each in their order as they mustered were,  
Or by the difference of their 
a A blazon of the Ensigns of the several Shire● in 14. Stanzas following.  Arming known,  
Or by their Colours; for in Ensigns there,  
●ome wore the Arms of their most ancient town,  
Others again their own Divises bear.  
There was not any▪ but that more or less,  
Something had got, that something should express.   

FIrst, in the 
b Expressing their freedom, as still retaining their ancient liberties, by surprising the Conqueror like a moving wood.  Kentish Stremer was a Wood,  
Out of whose top, an arm that held a sword,  
As their right Emblem; and to make it good,  
They above other only had a word,  
Which was; Unconquered; as that freest had stood.  

c An expression of King Harold's deat● slain with an Arrow i● the head, at ● the Ba●ta●●● of Hastings fight against the Conqueror.  Sussex the next that was to come Aboard  
Boar a black Lion Rampant sore that bled,  
With a Field-Arrow darted through the head.   

The men of 
d The first famous Earl of that country.  Surry, Checky Blue and gold▪  
Which for brave Warren their first Earl they w●  
In many a Field, that honoured was of old)  
And Hamshiere next, in the same colours bore,  
Three Lions Passant, th'arms of Benis Bold,  
Who through ●he Wo●ld, so famous was of yore▪  
A silver 
e Expressing the pleasantness of the situation of that country, lying upon the French Sea  Tower, Dorsets Red Banner bears  
The Cornishmen two Wrestlers had for theirs.   

The 
f At lying the fittest to expel or fore▪ warn. Invasion.  Devonshire Band, a Beacon set on fire,  
Somerset 
g Expressing the delicacy of the Bath, their chief City.  a Virgin Bathing in a Spring,  
Their City's Arms the men of Glostershire,  
In Gold▪ three Bloody Chevernells do bring,  
Wiltshire● Crowned * Piramed; As higher  
Than any other to match to the King;  
Berkshire, a * Stag, under an Oak that stood,  
Oxford, a White Bull wading in a Flood. 
h The Arms of the ancient Family of Clare Earl of Gloster borne by the City. Stonidge being the first wonder of England, standing in Wiltshire: An old Em●l●m● of B●●●c●, or ●●rkshire.    

The mustered men for 
i A ●adge of the ancient Family of the Staffords, Dukes of that place.  Buckingham, are gone,  
Under the Swan, the Arms of that old Town;  
The Londoners, and Middlesex as one,  
Are by the Red Cross, and the Dagger known▪  
The Men of 
k Queen 〈…〉 Founder-of the Cross, wife to Constantine, and daughter to King Co●ll, builder of Colcheses 〈…〉 Essex.  Essex overmatcht by none,  
Under Queen Helen's Image Marching down;  

l Suffolk the most Easterly of the English shires.  Suffolk a Sun half ris●n from the brack,  

m For the br●●: prospect to 〈…〉 German Ocean.  Norfolk a Triton on a Dolphin's back.   

The soldiers sent from Cambridgeshire, a Bay 
a Having relation to that famous University their Shire towns.   
Upon a Mountain watered with a shower:  
Hartford 
b The Arms of the Town● somewhat alluding to th● name.  two Hearts that in a river play:  
Bedford an Eagle perched upon a Tower,  
And 
c The Arms of the town of Hunting▪ don, first so named of a place where Hunters met▪  Huntingdon a people proud as they,  
Nor giving place to any for their power,  
A youthful Hunter with a Chaplet Crowned,  
In a pied Lyam leading forth his Hound.   

Northampton 
d The Arms of the town.  with a Castle seated high,  
Supported by two Lions thither came,  
The men of 
e From the abundance of wool in that tract.  Rutland, to them marching nigh;  
In their rich Ensign bear an Ermine Ram,  
And 
f A sport more used in that shire from ancient time▪ then in any other.  Leicestershire that on their strength rely,  
A Bull and Mastiff fight for the game,  
Lincoln 
g For the length that it hath upon the Germane Ocean.  a ship most neatly that was limned,  
In all her sails with Flags and Pennons trimmed.   

Sto●● 
h The Bear and ragged Staff, th● Ancient Arms of that Earldom.  Warwickshire, her ancient badge the Bear,  
W●rster 
i For the abundance of fruit more there then in any other tract.  a Peartree laden with the fruit,  
A Golden fleece and 
k The fine 〈…〉 of the Wool of Lemster in that shire  Hereford doth wear  
Stafford▪ 
l Many Hermit's lived there in the woods in ti 〈…〉 pas●, it being all forrestrie.  A Hermit in his homely suit,  
Shropshire 
m Expressing the loftiness of the mountains in that S 〈…〉 on which many Hawks were wont ●● airy.  a Falcon towering in the air,  
And for the Shire whose surface seems most brute,  
Derby, an Eagle sitting on a Root,  
A swathed infant holding in her foot.   

Old 
n That famous out▪ law ●●●ed 〈…〉 ch in▪ that Country, and is yet by many places there Celebrated.  Nottingham an Archer clad in green,  
Under a Tree with his drawn bow that stood,  
Which in a checkquered Flag far off was seen  
It was the picture of old Robin Hood,  
And 
o Accounted o●●r the best Archers of England.  Lancashire not as the least I ween,  
Through three Crowns, three arrows smeared wi〈…〉 blood  
Cheshire a Banner very square & broad,  
Wherein a man upon a Lion road.   

A flaming Lance, the 
p For their 〈…〉 with the sp●are, & 〈…〉 of their Naggy.  Yorkeshir● men for the●  
As those for Durham near again at hand,  
A Mitre crowned with a Diadem:  
An armed man▪ the men of 
q Being ready still in Arms against the Scots  Cumberland:  
So 
r Expressing the s●it● thereof ●uting ou● into those dangerous S●●●, betwixt England and Ireland  Westmoreland linked with it in one Stem,  
A ship that wracked lay fired upon the sand:  
Northumberland 
s Their 〈…〉 conflicts (〈…〉) with the Scots, expressed in the fight between ●●● golden & ●●d Lion▪  with these come as a broth 〈…〉  
Two Lion's fight tearing one another.   

Thus as themselves the English men had showed 〈◊〉  
Under the Ensign of each several Shire,  
The native Welsh who no less honour owed,  
To their own King, nor yet less valiant were;  
In one strong regiment had themselves bestowed,  
And of the rest, resumed had the Rear:  
To their own Quarter marching as the rest,  
As neatly Armed, and bravely as the best,   


a Milford Haven in Pembroke▪ shi●●●, one of the 〈…〉 harbours in the kno〈…〉 world, therefore not unaptly so expressed.  Pembroke, a Boat wherein a Lady stood,  
Rowing herself within a quiet Bay;  
Those men of South-wales of the 
b Partly Dut●●, partly English, partly Welch.  mixed blood  
Had of the Welsh the leading of the way:  
Ca●rmardin 
c Me● i●, by whose birth and knowledge that town ●● ma●● f●mous  in her colours bear a Rood,  
Whereon an old man leaned himself to stay,  
At a Star pointing; which of great renown,  
Was skilful M●●lin, namer of that town.   


d A watch Tower or pharus, having the situation wh●●● Seuor● beginneth to● widden, as when Pirates have come in to gi●e warning to the other Maritine Countries.  Glamorgan men, a Castle great and high,  
From which, out of the battlement above,  
A flame shot up itself into the sky:  
The men of 
e For the glory it hath attained to be the King's birthplace, and to ex 〈…〉 sse his principalities.  Munmouth (for the ancient love  
To that dear Country neighbouring them so nigh)  
Next after them in Equipage that move,  
Three Crowns Imperial which supported were  
With three Armed Arms, in their proud Ensign (bear.)   

The men of 
f The Arms of Brecknock.  Brecknock brought a Warlike Tent,  
Upon whose top there sat a watchful Cock,  
Radnor, 
g Lying towards the midst of W●l●● 〈…〉 for abundance of Sheep living on those high mountains.  a mountain of an high ascent,  
Thereon a shepherd keeping of his Flock,  
As 
g Lying towards the midst of W●l●● 〈…〉 for abundance of Sheep living on those high mountains.  Cardigan the next to them that went,  
Came with a Meremayd sitting on a Rock,  
And 
i For the abundance of G●ate● 〈…〉 those inaccessible Mountains.  Merioneth bears (as these had done)  
Three dancing goats against the rising Sun. 
h Expressing the situation 〈…〉 Sh●●r●, lying on the Maritine part upon the Irish Sea.    

Those of 
k The shire breeding the best Horses of Wales  Montgomery, bear a prancing Stee●  
Denbeio●● 
l As 〈…〉 itself to the great North or Deucal●donian Sea. in Expressing the abundance of Corn and grass, in that little Tract.  a Neptune with his three-forked Mace  
Flintshire (m) a Workemayd in her Summer wee●  
with Sheafe and Sickle (with a warlike pace)  
Those of Caernaruon not the least in speed,  
Though marching last (in the main Army's face)  
Three golden Eagles in their Ensign brought,  
Under which oft brave Owen Guyneth fought,   

The Seas amazed at that fearful sight,  
Of Arms and Ensigns that abroad were brought  
Of Streamers, Banners, Pennons▪ Ensigns pight,  
Upon each Publius, and Prow; and at the fraught,  
So full of terror, that it hardly might  
Into a natural course again be brought,  
As the vast Navy which at Anchor rides,  
Proudly presumes to shoulder out the Tides.   

The Fleet then full and floating on the main  
The numerous Masts, with their brave topsails s●  
When as the wind a little doth them strain,  
Seem like a Forest bearing her proud head▪  
Against some rough flaw, that foreruns a rain: 
A Simile of the Navy.   
So do they look from every lofty stead,  
Which with the surges, tumbled to and fro,  
Seem (even) to bend, as trees are seen to do   

From every Ship when as the Ordnance ror●  
Of their depart that all might understand, 
The braus solemnity of the departing of the ●l●et   
When as the zealous people from the shore,  
Again with fires salute them from the Land,  
●or so was order left with them before,  
●o watch the Beacons with a careful hand,  
Which being once fired, the people more or less,  
Should all to Church, to pray for their success.   

They shape their course into the Mouth of Seyne, 
The Navy Landing in the mouth of Seyne.   
●hat destined Flood those Navies to receive,  
●efore whose fraught, her France had prostrate lain  
●s now she must this, that shall never leave,  
●ntill the Ensigns that it doth contain,  
●to the air her heightened walls shall heave;  
Whose stubborn Turrets had refused to bow,  
To that brave Nation that shall shake them now.   

Long Boats with Scouts are put to land before,  
●pon light Naggs the country to disery,  
Whilst the brave Army setting is on shore,)  
● view what strength the enemy had nigh,  
●essing the bosom of large France so sore,  
●at her pale Genius, in affright doth fly  
To all her Towns, and warns them to awake,  
And for her safety up their Arms to take▪   

At Paris, Roan, and Orleans, she calls,  
●d at their gates with groan doth complain:  
●en cries she out, O get up to your walls:  
●e English Armies are returned again,  
●hich in two Battles gave those fatal falls,  
Cressy, and at Poyteers, where lay slain,  
Our conquered Fathers, which with very fear,  
Quake in their graves to feel them landed here.   

The King of France now having understood,  
Of Henry's entrance. (but too well unproued,)  
He clearly saw that dear must be the blood,  
That it must cost●e'● he could be removed,  
He sends to make his other s●a Townes good,  
Never before, so much it him behooved,  
In every one a Garrison to lay,  
Fearing fresh powers from England every day.   

To the highest earth whilst awful Henry gets,  
From whence strong Harflew he might easiest see,  
With sprightly words, & thus their courage whe● 
The brave encouragement of a ●o●ragious King.   
In yonder walls be Mines of gold (quoth he)  
Hen's a poor slave that thinks of any debts;  
Ha●flew sh●ll p●y for all, it ours shall be,  
This air of France doth like me wondrous we●  
Le's burn our ships, for here we mean to dwr   

But through his H●ast he first of all proclaim  
In pain of death no English man should take,  
From the Religion's aged, or the maimed, 
A charitable Proclamation made by the King.   
Or women that could no resistance make;  
To gain his own for that he only aimed;  
No● would have such to suffer for his sake:  
Which in the French (when they the same did he●  
Bred of this brave King, a religions fear.   

His arm● ranged, in order fitting war, 
The King's main Standard (for the p●nderousnes thereof,) eu●● borne upon a Carriage.   
Each with some green thing doth his Morion cro●  
With his main standard fixed upon the Car;  
Comes, the great King before th'entrenched to●  
Whilst from the walls the people gazing are,  
● all their sights he sets an army down,  
Not for their shot he careth not a pin.  
But seeks where he his battery may begin.   

And into three, his Army doth divide, 
The King makes his aproches on three parts.   
●is strong approaches on three parts to make;  
himself on th'one, Clarence on th'other side,  
●o York, and Suffolk he the third doth take,  
●he Mines the Duke of Gloucester doth guide,  
●hen caused his Ships the river up to Stake,  
That none with victual should the Town relieve,  
Should the sword fail, with famine them to grieve.   

From his pavilion where he sat in State,  
armed for the siege, and buckling on his Shield,  
●raue Henry sends his Herald to the Gate, 
The King summons Harflew.   
●y trumpets sound to summon them to yield,  
●nd to accept his mercy e'er too late,  
●r else to say, ere he forsook the field,  
Harflew should be but a mere heap of Stones,  
Her buildings buried with her owner's bones.   

France on this sudden put into a fright,  
●ith the sad news of Harflew in distress,  
●hose inexpected, miserable plight,  
●ee on the sudden, knew not to redress,  
●t urged to do, the utmost that she might,  
●e people's fears and clamours to suppress,  
Raiseth a power with all the speed she could,  
●om what thereby to loose King Henry's hold.   

The Marshal and the Constable of France, 
Charles de A●bert, and john Boweequalt.   
Leading those Forces lev●ed for the turn,  
By which they thought their Titles to advance,  
And of their Country endless praise to earn,  
But it with them far otherwise doth chance,  
For when they saw the villages to burn,  
And high-towred Harflew round engird with fire  
They with their power to Cawdebeck retire.   

Like as a Hind when she her Calf doth see, 
A Simile of the French power.   
Lighted by chance into a Lion's paws,  
From which should she adventure it to free,  
She must herself fill his devouring jaws,  
And yet her young one, still his prey must be,  
(She so instructed is by Nature's Laws:)  
With them so fares it, which must needs go dow●  
If they would fight; and yet must lose the Tow●   

Now do they mount their Ordnance for the da● 
A description of the siege of Harflewe, in the 19 following Stanza's.   
Their scaling Ladders rearing to the walls,  
Their battering Rams against the gates they lay,  
Their brazen slings send in the wildfire balls,  
Baskets of twigs now carry stones and clay  
And to th'assault, who furiously not falls;  
The spade and Pickax working are below;  
Which then unfelt, yet gave the greatest blow.   

Rampires of earth the painful pioneers raise,  
With the walls equal, close upon the Dike,  
To pass by which the soldier that assays,  
On planks thrust over, one him down doth strike  
Him with a mall a second English pays,  
● second French transpearced him with a pike  
That from the height of the embattled Towers,  
Their mixed blood ran down the walls in showers.   

A Frenchman b●●ke into the town doth fall,  
With a sheaf Arrow shot into the head,  
An English man in scalling of the wall,  
From the same place, is by a stone struck dead,  
Tumbling upon them logs of wood, and all,  
That any way for their defence might stead:  
The hills at hand reechoing with the din,  
Of shouts without, and fearful shrieks within.   

When all at once the English men assail,  
The French within all valiantly defend,  
And in a first assault, if any fail,  
They by a second strive it to amend:  
Out of the town come 
* Crossbow Arrows.  quarries thick as hail;  
As thick again their Shafts the English send:  
The bellowing Canon from both sides doth roar,  
With such a noise as makes the thunder poor.   

Now upon one side you shall hear a cry,  
And all that Quarter clouded with a smother,  
The like from that against it by and by;  
As though the one were echo to the other,  
The King and Clarence so their turns can ply:  
And valiant Gloster shows himself their brother;  
Whose Ours to the besieged more mischief do,  
Then with th'assaults above the other two.   

An old man sitting by the fire side,  
Decrepit with extremity of Age,  
Stilling his little Grandchild when it cried,  
Almost distracted with the Batteries rage:  
Sometimes doth speak it fair, sometimes doth chide  
As thus he seeks its mourning to assuage,  
By chance a bullet doth the chimney hit,  
Which falling in doth kill both him and it.   

Whilst the sad weeping Mother sits her down,  
To give the little newborn babe the Pap,  
A luckless quarry level 〈…〉 Town,  
Kills the sweet baby sleeping in her lap,  
That with the fright she falls into a swoone,  
From which awaked, and mad with this mishap,  
As up a Rrampire shrieking she doth climb,  
Comes a great shot, and strikes her limb from limb,   

Whilst a sort run confusedly to quench,  
Some Palace burning, or some fired Street,  
Called from where they were fight in the Trench:  
They in their way with Balls of wildfire met,  
So plagued are the miserable French,  
Not above head, but also under feet,  
For the fierce English vow the Town to take,  
Or of it soon a heap of stones to make.   

Hot is the siege the English coming on;  
As men so long to be kept out that scorn,  
Careless of wounds as they were made of stone,  
As with their teeth the walls they would have torn:  
●nto a breach who quickly is not gone,  
● by the next behind him over-borne:  
So that they found a place that gave them way,  
They never cared what danger therein lay.   

From every Quarter they their course might ply,  
As't pleased the King them to th'assault to call:  
Now ●n the Duke of York the charge doth lie:  
To Kent and Cornwall then the turn doth fall:  
Then Huntingdon up to the walls they cry:  
Then Suffolk, and then Excester; which all,  
In their mean Soldiers habits used to go,  
Taking such part as them that owned them ●●e,   

The men of Harflew rough excursions make,  
Upon the English in their watchful Tent,  
Whose courages they to their cost awake,  
With many a wound that often backe them sent,  
So proud a Sally that durst undertake,  
And then the Chasepell mell amongst them went,  
For on the way such ground of them they win,  
That some French are shut out, some English in.   

Nor idly sit our men at Arms the while,  
Four thousand Horse that every day go out,  
And of the Field are Masters many a mile,  
By putting the rebellious French to rout,  
No peasants them with promises beguile:  
Another business they were come about;  
For him they take, his ransom must redeem,  
Only French Crowns, the English men esteem.   

Whilst English Henry lastly means to try;  
By three vast Mines, the walls to overthrow,  
The French men their approaches that espy,  
By countermines do meet with them below,  
And as opposed in the works they lie:  
Up the Besieged the besiegers blow,  
That stifled quite, with powder as with dust,  
Longer to walls they found it vain to trust.   

Till Gaucourt then, and Tuttivile that were  
The town's commanders, (with much peril) find  
The Resolution that the English bear;  
As how their own to yielding were inclined,  
Summon to parley, offering frankly there;  
If that aid came not by a day assigned,  
To give the town up, might their lives stand free:  
As for their goods, at Henry's will to be.   

And having won their conduct to the King,  
Those hardy chiefs on whom the charge had lain▪  
Thither those well-fed Burgesles do bring,  
What they had offered strongly to maintain,  
In such a case, although a dangerous thing,  
Yet they so long upon their knees remain:  
That five days respite from his Grant they have  
Which was the most, they (for their lives) durst crave   

The time prefixed coming to expire,  
And their relief ingloriously delayed,  
Nothing within their fight but sword, and fire;  
And bloody Ensigns every where displayed,  
The English still within themselves entire,  
When all these things they seriously had weighed,  
To Henry's mercy found that they must trust,  
For they perceived their own to be unjust.   

The Ports are opened, weapons laid aside,  
And from the walls th'artillery displaced,  
The Arms of England are advanced in pride:  
The watch tower, with Saint George's banner graced  
Live England Henry, all the people cried:  
Into the streets the women run in haste,  
Bearing their little children, for whose sake,  
They hoped the King would the more mercy take.   

The gates thus widened with the breath of war;  
Their ample entrance to the English gave.  
There was no door that then had any bar,  
For of their own not any thing they have: 
The King of England entereth Harflew in triumph.   
When Henry comes on his Imperial Car:  
To whom they kneel their lives alone to save.  
Strucken with wonder, when that face they saw,  
Wherein such mercy was with so much awe.   

And first themselves the English to secure,  
Doubting what danger might yet be within,  
The strongest Forts, and Citadel make sure,  
To show that they could keep as well as win,  
And though the spoils them wondrously allure.  
To fall to pillage e'er they will begin,  
They shut each passage, by which any power,  
Might be brought on to hinder, but an hour.   

That Conquering King which entering at the g●  
Borne by the presie as in the air he swam:  
Upon the sudden lays aside his state,  
And of a Lion is become a Lamb:  
He is not now what he was but of late:  
But on his bare feet to the Church he came:  
By his example, as did all the press,  
To give God thanks, for his first good success   

And sends his Herald to King Charles to say,  
That though he thus was settled on his shore,  
Yet he his Arms was ready down to lay,  
His ancient right if so he would restore;  
But if the same he wilfully denay,  
To stop th'effusion of their Subject's gore; 
Hang Henry offereth to decade his right by single combat.   
He frankly off'reth in a single fight,  
With the young Dauphin to decide his right▪   

Eight days at Harflew he doth stay to hear,  
What answer back, his Herald him would b●●  
But when he found that he was ne'er the near,  
And that the Dauphin meaneth no such thing,  
As to fight single; nor that any were  
To deal for composition from the King:  
He casts for Calais to make forth his way.  
And take such towns as in his journey lay,   

But first his business he doth so contrive,  
To curb the Townsmen, should they chanc● st●  
Of Arms, and office, he doth them deprive,  
And to their rooms the English doth prefer;  
●ut of the ports all Vagrants he doth drive,  
●nd therein sets his Uncle Excester:  
This done, to march he bids the thundering Drums,  
To scourge proud France when now her conqueror comes.   

The King and Dauphin having understood,  
●ow on his way this haughty Henry was,  
●uer the Soame, which is a dangerous flood;  
●uckt down the bridges that might give him pass,  
●nd every thing, if fit for humane food,  
●us'd to be foraged; (to a wondrous mass,)  
And more than this, his journeys to foreslow,  
He scarce one day vnskirmished with doth go,   

But on his march, in midst of all his foes,  
●e like a Lion keeps them all at bay,  
●nd when they seem him strictly to enclose;  
●et through the thick'st he hews him out a way:  
●or the proud Dauphin dare him to oppose;  
●hough offering oft his Army to forelay:  
Nor all the power the envious French can make,  
Force him one foot, his path (but) to forsake.   

And each day as his Army doth remove,  
●arching along upon Soams Marshy side, 
A f●●●d found in the river of Soame.   
●is men at Arms on their tall Horses prove,  
●o find some shallow, over where to ride,  
●ut all in vain against the Stream they strove,  
●ill by the help of a laborious guide,  
A Ford was found to set his Army o'er  
Which never had discovered been before.   

The news divulged that he had waded Soame▪  
And safe to shore his Caridges had brought,  
Into the Daulphines' bosom struck so home,  
And on the weakness of King Charles so wrout  
That like the troubled Sea, when it doth Foam,  
As in a rage, to beat the Rocks to nought;  
So do they storm, and curse on curse they hea●  
'Gainst those which should the passages have ke●   

And at that time, both resident in Rouen,  
Thither for this assembling all the Peers,  
Whose counsels now must under prop their thro● 
A council held at Rouen against the King of England.   
Against the Foe; which not a man but fears;  
Yet in a moment confident are grown,  
When with fresh hopes each one his fellow chee●  
That ere the English to their Calais got,  
Some for this spoil should pay a bloody shot,   

Therefore they both in solemn Counsel sat●  
With Berry and with Britain their Allies;  
Now speak they of this course, and then of that,  
As to ensnare him how they might devose;  
Something they fain would do, but know not w●  
At length the Duke Alanzon up doth rise,  
And craving silence of the King and Lords,  
Against the English, broke into these words,   

HAd this unbridled youth an Army led, 
A speech of the Duke Alanzon against the English.   
That any way were worthy of your fear▪  
Against our Nation that durst turn the head,  
Such as the former English forces were,  
This care of yours, your Country then might stead,  
To tell you then, who longer can forbear,  
That into question you our valour bring,  
To calla counsel for so poor a thing.   

A Rout of tattered Rascals starved so,  
As forced through extremity of need,  
To rake for scraps on Dunghills as they go,  
And on the Berries of the Shrubs to feed,  
Besides with fluxes are enfeebled so,  
And other foul diseases that they breed,  
That they disabled are their Arms to sway,  
But in their march do leave them on the way.   

And to our people but a handful are,  
Scarce thirty thousand, when to land they came,  
Of which to England daily some repair,  
Many from Harflew carried sick and lame,  
Fitter for Spitals, and the Surgeon's care,  
Then with their swords on us to win them fame,  
Vnshod, and without stockings are the best,  
And those by Winter miserably oppressed.   

To let them dye upon their March abroad,  
And fowls upon their Carkaises to feed,  
The heaps of them upon the common road,  
A great infection likely were to breed,  
For our own safeties see them then bestowed,  
And do for them this charitable deed,  
Under our swords together let them fall,  
And on that day they die be buried all▪   

This bold invective forced against the Foe,  
Although it most of the assembly seized,  
Yet those which better did the English know,  
Were but a little with his speeches pleased,  
And that the Duke of Berry meant to show:  
Which when the murmur somewhat was appease  
After a while, their listening silence breaks,  
And thus in answer of Alanzon speaks.   

MY Liedg, quoth he, & you my Lords & pee● 
The Duke of Berrys answer to Alanzon.   
Whom this great business chiefly doth co 〈…〉 ce●●  
By my experience, now so many years,  
To know the English● am not to learn,  
Nor I more feeling have of humane fears,  
Then fitteth Manhood, or do● hope to earn  
Suffrage from any; but by zeal am won,  
To speak my mind here, as the Duke hath do●   

Th'events of War are various (as I know,)  
And say, the loss upon the English light,  
Yet may a dying man give such a blow,  
As much may hinder his proud conquerors might▪  
It is enough our puissant power to show,  
To the weak English, now upon their flight,  
When want, and winter, strongly spur them●  
You else but stay them, that would fain be go●   

I like our Forces their first course should hold▪  
To skirmish with them upon every stay,  
But fight by no means with them, though they wo●  
Except they find them foraging for pray,  
So still you have them shut up in a fooled,  
And still to Calais keep them in their way,  
So Fabius wearied Hannibal, so we,  
May English Henry, if you pleased be.   

And of the English rid your Country clean,  
If on their backs, but Calais walls they win,  
Whose Frontier Towns you easily may maintain,  
With a strong Army still to keep them in,  
Then let our Ships make good the mouth of Seyne,  
And at your pleasure Harflew you may win,  
E●e with supplies again they can invade,  
●pent in the Voyage lately hither made▪   

That day at Poyteers, in that bloody Field,  
The sudden turn in that great Battle then,  
Shall ever teach me, whilst I Arms can wield,  
Never to trust to multitudes of men;  
● was the first day that ere I wore a Shield,  
Oh let me never see the like again  
Where their Black Edward such a Battle won,  
As to behold it might amaze the Sun.   

There did I see our conquered Fathers fall,  
Before the English on that fatal ground,  
When as to ours their number was but small,  
And with brave Spirits France ne'er did more abound  
●et oft that Battle into mind I call,  
Whereas of ours, one man seemed all one wound,  
I instance this; yet humbly here submit,  
Myself to fight, if you shall think it fit.   

The Marshal and the Constable about,  
To second, what this sager Duke had said:  
The youthful Lords into a cry broke out, 
Young men's counsels ofttimes prove the utter subversion both of themselves and others.   
'Gainst their opinions, so that overswayed,  
Some seeming of their Loyalties to doubt;  
Alanzon as an Oracle obeyed,  
And not a French then present, but doth swear  
To kill an English, if enough there were.   

A Herald posted presently away,  
The King of England to the field to dare,  
To bid him cease his spoil, nor to delay, 
The French King sendeth ●o dare the King of England to Battle.   
'Gainst the French power his forces but prepare:  
For that King Charles determined to display  
His bloody Ensigns, and through France declare,  
The day and place, that Henry should set dow●  
In which their Battles, should dispose the cro●   

The news to Henry by the Herald brought,  
As one dispassioned soberly (quoth he)  
Had your King pleased, we sonar might have fou●  
For now my soldiers much enfeebled be:  
Nor day, nor place, for Battle shall be sought, 
The King of England's modest answer.   
By English Henry: but if he seek me,  
I to my utmost will myself defend,  
And to th'Almighties pleasure leave the end,   

The brute of this intended Battle spread,  
The coldness of each sleeping courage warms,  
And in the French that daring boldness bred:  
Like casting Bees that they arise in swarms,  
●hinking the English down so far to tread,  
● past that day ne'er more to rise in Arms.  
T'ext rpe the name, if possible it were,  
At least not after to be heard of there.   

As when you see the envious Crow espy,  
something that she doth naturally detest, 
A Simile of the rising of the French.   
●ith open throat how she doth squall and cry,  
●nd from the next Grove she doth call the rest,  
●nd they for those beyond them bawling fly,  
●ll their foul noise do all the air infest:  
Thus French, the French to this great Battle call,  
Upon their swords to see the English fall.   

And to the King when seriously one told,  
●ith what an host he should encountered be,  
●m noting well, the King did him behold, 
David Ga● a great Captain in that War.   
〈…〉 the reporting; Merrily (quoth he).  
●y Liege I'll tell you if I may be bold,  
●e will divide this Army into three,  
One part we'll kill, the second prisoners stay,  
And for the third, we'll leave to run away.   

But for the Foe came hourly in so fast,  
●st they his Army should disordered take;  
●e King who wisely doth the worst forecast,  
●s speedy march doth presently forsake,  
●o such form and his Battalion cast;  
●t do their worst, they should not easily shake;  
For that his scouts which Foraged had the coast,  
Bade him at hand expect a puissant Host▪   

On which ere long the English Vauward light, 
The Duke of York.   
Which York, of men the bravest doth command,  
When either of them in the others sight,  
He caused the Army instantly to stand,  
As though preparing for a present fight,  
And rideth forth from his courageous Band,  
To view the French, whose numbers over spread  
The troubled country on whose earth they tre●   

Now were both Armies got upon that ground  
As on a stage, where they their strengths must try  
Whence from the wydth of many a gaping wou 〈…〉  
there's many a soul into the air must fly,  
Mean while the English that some ease had found,  
By the advantage of a Village nigh,  
There set them down the Battle to abide,  
When they the place had strongly fortiside,   

Made drunk with pride the haughty French dis● 
The French scorning the English being so few in respect of their mighty power.   
Less than their own, a multitude to view,  
Nor ask of God, the victory to gain,  
Upon the English wext so poor and few,  
To stay their slaughter thinking it a pain,  
And lastly to that insolence they grew,  
Quoyts, Lots, and Dice for Englishmen to cast,  
And swear to pay the Battle being past.   

For knots of cord to every town they send,  
The Captived English that they caught to bind,  
For to perpetual slavery they intent:  
Those that alive they on the Field, should find,  
●o much as that they feared lest they should spend,  
●oo many English wherefore they assigned,  
Some to keeps fast those, fain that would be gone,  
After the Fight, to try their Arms upon.   

One his bright sharp edged Scimitar doth show,  
Offering to lay a thousand crowns (in pride)  
●hat he two naked English at one blow,  
●ound back to back will at the wastes divide,  
●ome bet his sword will do't, some others no,  
●fter the Battle, and they'll have it tried:  
Another wafts his Blade about his head,  
And shows them how their hanstrings he will shred   

They part their prisoners, passing them for debt,  
●nd in their Ransom ra●ibly accord,  
●o a Prince of ours, a Page of theirs they set,  
●nd a French Lackey to an English Lord,  
●s for our Gentry them to hire they'll let,  
●nd as good cheap as they can them afford,  
Branded for slaves, that if they happed to stray,  
Known by the mark, them any one might stay.   

And cast to make a Chariot for the King,  
●ainted with Antics, and ridiculous toys,  
● which they mean to Paris him to bring,  
●o make sport to their Madams, and their boys,  
●nd will have Rascals, Rhymes of him to sing,  
●●de in his mock'ry; and in all these joys,  
They bid the Bells to ring, and people cry,  
Before the Battle, France and Victory.   

And to the King and Dauphin sent away.  
(Who at that time residing were in Roan)  
To be partakers of that glorious day:  
Wherein the English should be overthrown,  
Lest that of them ensuing days should say;  
That for their safety they forsook their own,  
When France did that brave victory obtain,  
That shall her lasting'st Monument remain.   

The poor distressed Englishmen the while,  
Not dared by doubt, and less appalled by dread,  
Of their Armed pikes, some sharpening are the pile  
The Archer grinding his barbed Arrow head:  
Their Bills & blades, some whetting are with File  
And some their Armours strongly Revited,  
Some pointing stakes to stick into the groun●  
To guard the Bowmen, & their Horse to wound   

The night forerunning this most dreadful da●  
The French that all to jollity incline;  
Some fall to dancing, some again to play: 
The riot in the French Camp the night before the Battle.   
And some are drinking to this great Design:  
But all in pleasure spent the night away,  
The tents with lights, the fields with bonfires shi●  
The common Soldiers freemens catches sing●  
With shouts and laughter all the Camp doth ri●   

The wearied English watchful o'er their Foes,  
(The depth of night then drawing on so fast,  
That fain a little would themselves repose,  
With thanks to God, do take that small repast,  
Which that poor Village willingly bestows: 
Pondering in hu thoughts hu Fathers coming to the crown by deposing of the rightful King. Henry the fifth caused the body of King Richard to be taken up, where it was meanly buried at Langly, and to be laid in Westminster by his first. Wife, Queen Anne.   
And having placed their Sentinels at last,  
They fall to prayer, and in their Cabins blessed,  
T'refresh their spirits, than took them to their rest   

In his Pavilion Princely HENRY laid,  
Whilst all his Army round about him slept:  
His restlesle head upon his Helmet stayed,  
For careful thoughts his eyes long waking kept:  
Great God (quoth he) withdraw not now thy aid,  
Nor let my Father HENRY'S sins be heaped  
On my transgressions, up the Sum to make,  
For which thou may'st me utterly forsake.   

King Richards wrongs to mind, Lord do not call,  
Nor how for him my Father did offend,  
From us alone derive not thou his fall,  
Whose odious life caused his untimely end,  
That by our alms be expiated all:  
Let not that sin on me his Son descend,  
When as his body I translated have,  
And buried in an honourable grave.   

These things thus pondering, sorrow-ceasing sleep,  
From cares to rescue his much troubled mind,  
Upon his Eyelids stealingly doth creep,  
And in soft slumbers every sense doth blind,  
(As undisturbed every one to keep)  
When as that Angel to whom God assigned,  
The guiding of the English, gliding down,  
The silent camp doth with fresh courage crown.   

His glittering wings he gloriously displays,  
Over the ●ost as every way it lies,  
With ●olden Dreams their travel, and repays,  
This Herald from the Rector of the skies,  
In Vision warns them not to use delays,  
But to the Battle cheerfully to rise,  
And be victorious for that day at hand,  
He would amongst them for the English stand.   

The dawn scarce drew the curtains of the East▪  
But the late wearied Englishmen awake,  
And much refreshed with a little rest,  
Themselves soon ready for the Battle make,  
Not any one but feeleth in his breast,  
That sprightly fire which courage bids him take,  
For cre the Sun next rising went to bed,  
The French by them in triumph should be led,   

And from their Cabins, ere the French arose,  
(Drowned in the pleasure of the passed night)  
The English cast their Battles to dispose,  
Fit ' or the ground whereon they were to fight:  
Forth that brave King courageous Henry goes,  
An hour before that it was fully light, 
The great are of a wise ●nd politic aptaine.   
To see if there might any place be found,  
To give his Host advantage by the ground.   

Where 'twas his hap a Quickset hedge to view,  
Well grown in heigh; and for his purpose thin,  
Yet by the Ditch upon whose bank it grew,  
He found it to be difficult to win,  
especially if those of his were true,  
●mongst the shrubs that he should set within,  
By which he knew their strength of horse must come  
If they would ever charge his Vanguard home.   

And of three hundred Archers maketh choice, 
This Stratagem the overthrow of the French.   
Some to be taken out of every Band,  
The strongest Bowmen▪ by the general voice,  
Such as beside were valiant of their hand,  
And to be so employed, as would rejoice,  
Appointing them behind the hedge to stand,  
To shroud themselves from sight, and to be mute,  
Until a signal freely bade them shoot.   

The game some Lark now got upon her Wing,  
As 'twere the English early to awake,  
And to wide heaven her cheerful notes doth sing,  
As she for them would intercession make,  
Nor all the noise that from below doth spring,  
Her airy walk can force her to forsake,  
Of some much noted, and of others less,  
But yet of all presaging good success.   

The lazy French their leisure seem to take,  
And in their Cabins keep themselves so long,  
Till flocks of Ravens them with noise awake,  
Over the Army like a cloud that hung,  
Which greater haste enforceth them to make,  
When with their croaking all the Country rung,  
Which boded slaughter as the most do say,  
But by the French it turned was this way.   

That this divining Fowl well understood, 
The French misinterpret the flight of Ravens ●ouering over there hour 〈…〉   
Upon that place much gore was to be spilled,  
And as those Birds do much delight in blood,  
With humane flesh would have their gorges filled,  
So waited they upon their swords for food,  
To feast upon the English being killed,  
Then little thinking that these came indeed,  
On their own mangled Carcases to feed.   

When soon the French preparing for the Field,  
Their Armed troops are setting in array,  
Whose wondrous numbers they can hardly wield,  
The place too little whereupon they lay,  
They therefore to necessity must yield,  
And into order put them as they may.  
Whose motion sounded like to Nilus' fall,  
That the Vast air was deafened therewithal,   

The Constable, and admiral of France,  
With the grand Marshal, men of great command▪  
The Dukes of Bourbon, and of Orleans,  
Some for their place, some for their birthright stand,  
The Dauphin of Auerney (to advance,  
His worth and honour) of a puissant hand:  
The Earl of Ewe in War that had been bred,  
These mighty men the mighty Vauward led.   

The maine brought forward by the Duke of Bar▪ 
〈…〉 Marshal 〈…〉 of the 〈…〉 ch Ar●y▪ ●ontai●●g three 〈…〉.   
Nevers and Beaumont, men of special name,  
Alan Zon thought, not equalled in this War,  
With them Salines, Rous, and Grandpre came,  
●heir long experience, who had fetched from far,  
Whom this expected Conquest doth inflame,  
Consisting most of Crossbows, and so great,  
As France herself it well might seem to threat.   

The Duke of Brabant of high valour known,  
●he Earls of Marle, and Faconbridge the Rear,  
●o Arthur Earl of Richmount's self alone,  
●hey leave the right wing to be guided there:  
Lewes of Bourbon, second yet to none,  
●ed on the left; with him that mighty Peer  
The Earl of Vandome, who of all her men,  
Large France entitled, her great Master then.   

The Duke of York the English Vauward guides, 
The Marshalling of the English Army containing five Stanza's.   
Of our strong Archers, that consisted most;  
Which with our horse was winged on both the sides,  
●affront so great and terrible an host;  
●here valiant Fanhope, and there Beaumont rides,  
With Willoughby which scoured had the Coast,  
That morning early, and had seen at large,  
How the Foe came, that then they were to charge,   

Henry himself, on the main battle brings,  
Nor can these Legions of the French affright,  
This Mars of men, this King of earthly Kings:  
Who seemed to be much pleased with the sight,  
As one ordained t'accompish mighty things;  
Who to the field came in such brau'ry dight:  
As to the English bodes successful luck,  
Before one stroke, on either side was struck.   

In Warlike State the Royal Standard borne, 
The bravery of King Henry's ow●e Person.   
Before him as in splendorous Arms he road,  
Whilst his curveting Courser seemed in scorn,  
To touch the earth whereon he proudly trod;  
Lillies and Lions quarterly adorn,  
His shield, and his Caparison do load:  
Upon his Helm a crown with Diamonds dec●  
Which through the field, their Radiant fires ref●e●   

The Duke of Gloucester near to him again,  
T'assist his Brother in that dreadful day,  
Oxford, and Suffolk both true Marshal men,  
Ready to keep the battle in Array,  
To Excester there was appointed then,  
The Rear; on which their second succours lay,  
Which were the youth most of the Noblest blo●  
Under the Ensigns of their names that stood.   

Then of the stakes he doth the care commend,  
To certain troops that active were and strong,  
Only devised the Archers to defend,  
Pointed with Iron and of five foot long,  
To be removed still which way they should bend,  
Where the French horse should thick'st upon them thro●  
Which when the host to charge each other went▪  
Showed his great wit that first did them invent.   

Both armies fit, and at the point to fight,  
The French assuring of themselves the day, 
The scornful message of the French to the King of England▪   
Send to the King of England (as in spite,)  
To know what he would for his Ransom pay,  
Who with this answer doth their scorn requite: 
The King's answer to the French.   
●pray thee Herald wish the French to stay,  
And e'er the day be past, I hope to see.  
That for their Ransoms they shall send to me.   

The French which found how little Henry makes  
●f their vain boasts, as set therewith on fire,  
Whilst each one to his Ensign him betakes, 
The Constable's Oration to the French   
●he Constable to raise his spleen the higher,  
●hus speaks: Brave friends, now for your Grandsire's saks,  
●our countries' honour, or what may inspire,  
Your souls with courage, strain up all your power  
To make this day victoriously ours.   

Forward stout French, your valours and advance,  
●y taking vengeance for our Fathers slain,  
●nd strongly fix the Diadem of France,  
Which to this day unsteady doth remain:  
Now with your swords their Traitor's bosoms launce  
●nd with their bloods wash out that ancient stain,  
And make our earth drunk with the English gore,  
Which hath of ours oft surfeited before,   

Let not one live in England once to tell,  
●hat of their King, or of the rest became:  
Nor to the English what in France befell,  
But what is bruited by the general fame:  
But now the Drums began so loud to yell,  
As cut off further what he would declaim:  
And Henry seeing them on so fast to make,  
Thus to his Soldiers comfortably spoke.   

Think but upon the justness of our cause, 
The King of England's Oration ●o the English.   
And he's no man their number that will w●  
Thus our great Grandsire purchased his applause  
The more they are, the greater is our prey,  
We'll hand in hand wade into dangers jaws,  
And let report to England this convey  
That it for me no ransom e'er shall raise,  
Either I'll Conquer, or here end my days,   

It were no glory for us to subdue▪  
Them, than our number, were the French no mo●  
When in one battle twice our Fathers flew,  
Three times so many as themselves before,  
But to do something that were strange and new▪  
Wherefore (I ask you) Came we to this shore▪  
Upon these French our Father's wan renown  
And with their swords we'll hew yan forest d●   

The meanest Soldier if in fight he take,  
The greatest Prince in yonder Army known,  
Without control shall him his prisoner make,  
And have his ransom freely as his own:  
Now, English, lies our honour at the stake,  
And now or never be our valour shown:  
God & our cause, Saint George for England sta 〈…〉  
Now charge them English, fortune guide yo● ha●   

When hearing one wish all the valiant men, 
The high 〈…〉 of the King of England.   
At home in England, with them present were,  
The King makes answer instantly again,  
I would not have one man more than is here:  
●●e subdue, less should our praise be then:  
●euer come, less loss shall England bear:  
And to our numbers we should give that deed,  
Which must from Gods own powerful hand proceed.   

The dreadful charge the drums & trumpets sound  
With hearts exalted, though with humbled eyes,  
When as the English kneeling on the ground,  
Extend the●r hands up to the glorious skies,  
Then from the earth as though they did rebound:  
●iue as fire immediately they rise:  
And such a shrill shout from their thr●ats they sent,  
As made the French to stagger as they went.   

Wherewith they stopped, when Erpingham which led 
Sir Thomas Erpingham gave the signal to the English.   
〈…〉 e Army, saw, the shout had made them stand,  
〈…〉 ting his warder thrice about his head,  
●e cast it up with his auspicious hand,  
●hich was the signal through the English spread,  
●hat they should charge: which as a dread command,  
Made them rush on, yet with a second roar,  
Frighting the French worse than they did before,   

But when they saw the enemy so slow,  
●hich they expected faster to come on,  
〈…〉 e scattering shot they sent out as to show,  
〈…〉 their approach they only stood upon,  
●hich with more fervour made their rage ●o glow,  
● much disgrace that they had under-gone,  
Which to amend with Ensigns let at large,  
Upon the English furiously they charge,   

At the full Moon look how th'unwieldy Tide▪ 
A Simile of the French charging the English.   
Should by some Tempest that from Sea doth rise,  
At the full height, against the ragged side,  
Of some rough Cliff (of a Gigantic size)  
Foaming with rage impetuously doth ride,  
The angry French (in no less furious wise)  
Of men at Arms upon their ready Horse,  
Assail the English to disperse their force.   

When as those Archers there in ambush laid,  
Having their broad side as they came along,  
With their barbed Arrows the French Horses pay▪  
And in their ●lankes like cruel Hornets stung: 
The three hundred Ar●h●rs lay a in ambush, disorder the French men ●● Arms at the first encounter.   
They kick and cry, of late that proudly nay de:  
And from their seats their Armed riders flung,  
They ran together flying from the Dike,  
And make their riders one another strike.   

And whilst the front of the French vanguard ma 〈…〉  
Upon the English thinking them to Route,  
Their Horses run upon the Armed stakes,  
And being wounded turn themselves about,  
The bit into his teeth the Courser takes,  
And from his Rank flies with his Master out,  
Who either hurts or is hurt of his own,  
If in the throng not both together thrown.   

Tumbling on heaps, some of their Horses cast▪  
With their four feet all up into the air,  
Under whose backs their Master's breath their last▪  
So break their rains, and thence their riders b 〈…〉  
●ome with their feet stick in the stirrups fast,  
●y their fierce jades and trailed here and there,  
Entangled in their bridles, one back draws,  
And plucks the bit out of another's jaws,   

With showers of shafts yet still the English ply,  
●he French so fast upon the point of flight,  
●ith the main Battle yet stood Henry by,  
●or all this while had meddled in the fight,  
●pon the Horses as in chase they fly,  
●rowes so thick, in such abundance light,  
●hat their broad buttocks men like butts might see,  
Whereat for pastime bowmen shooting be.   

When soon De Lannies and Sureres hast,  
●ayde their friends put to this shameful foil, 
Two wings of French horse defeated.   
●ith two light wings of Horse which had been placed,  
●ill to supply where any should recoil,  
●t yet their forces they but vainly waste,  
●r being light into the general spoil,  
Great loss De Linnies shortly doth sustain,  
Yet escapes himself; but brave Surreres slain.   

The King who sees how well his Vanguard sped,  
●ds his command that instantly it stay,  
desiring York so bravely that had led,  
〈…〉 hold his soldiers in their first array,  
●r it the Conflict very much might stead,  
〈…〉 mewhat to fall aside, and give him way,  
Till full up to him he might bring his power,  
And make the Conquest complete in an hour.   

Which York obeys, and up King Henry comes,  
When for his guidance he had got him room,  
The dreadful bellowing of whose straitbracd dru 〈…〉 
The English Vanward and 〈…〉 Bas●●●●e charge ●he French 〈…〉 at 〈…〉.   
To the French sounded like the dreadful doom,  
And them with such stupidity benumbs,  
As though the earth had groaned from her womb,  
For the grand slaughter ne'er began till then,  
Covering the earth with multitudes of men.   

Upon the French what Englishman not falls,  
(By the strong Bowmen beaten from their stee●  
With Battleaxes, Halbers, Bills, and Maules.  
Where, in the slaughter every one exceeds,  
Where every man his fellow forward calls,  
And shows him where some great born French 〈…〉 bleeds  
Whilst Scalps about like broken pot-sherds fly,  
And kill, kill, kill, the Conquering English cry.   

Now waxed horror to the very height,  
And scarce a man but wetshod went in gore,  
As two together are in deadly fight,  
And to death wounded, as one tumbleth over,  
This Frenchman falling, with his very weight,  
Doth kill another strucken down before,  
As he again so falling, likewise feels,  
His last breath hastened by another's heels,   

And whilst the English eagerly pursue,  
The fearful French before them still that fly,  
The points of Bills and Halberds they imbrue  
In their sick bowels, beaten down that lie,  
〈…〉 o man respects how, or what blood he drew,  
〈…〉 or can hear those that for their mercy cry,  
〈…〉 ears are damned up with howls & hellish sounds,  
One fearful noise, a fearefuller confounds,   

When the courageous Constable of France, 
Charles de 〈…〉 Constable of F 〈…〉   
〈…〉 h'vnluckly Vanguard valiantly that led,  
〈…〉 we the day turned by this disastrous chance,  
〈…〉 and how the French before the English fled;  
〈…〉 stay (quoth he) your Ensigns yet advance,  
〈…〉 nce more upon the enemy make head:  
Never let France say, we were vanquished so,  
With our backs basely turned upon our Foe,   

Whom the Chattillyon happened to accost, 
The A 〈…〉   
〈…〉 d seeing thus the Constable dismayed:  
〈…〉 if'ft Noble Lord (quoth he) the day is lost,  
〈…〉 the whole world upon the match were laid,  
〈…〉 cannot think but that Black Edward's Ghost,  
〈…〉 ists the English, and our Horse hath frayed,  
If not, some Devils they have with them then,  
That fight against us in the shapes of men.   

Not I my Lord, the Constable replies:  
〈…〉 my best soul, the field I will not quit:  
〈…〉 hilst two brave Battles are to bring supplies,  
〈…〉 ither of which one stroke have strucken yet,  
〈…〉 y (quoth Dampier) I do not this advice,  
〈…〉 re than yourself, that I do fear a whit:  
Spur up my Lord, than side to side with me,  
And that I fear not you shall quickly see.   

They struck their Rowels to the bleeding sid●  
Of their fierce▪ Steeds into the air that sprung▪  
And as their fury at that instant guides:  
They thrust themselves into th● murdering thro●  
Where such bad fortune these brave Lords betide●  
The Admiral from off his Horse was stung, 
Th● Admiral fl●●●●   
For the stern English down before them beer  
All that withstand, the Peasant and the Peer.   

Which when the Noble Constable with grief  
Doth this great Lord upon the ground behold,  
In his account so absolute a Chief▪  
Whose death through France he knew would be condo●  
Like a brave Knight to yield his friend relief,  
Doing as much as possibly he could,  
Both Horse and man is borne into the main▪  
And from his friend not half a furlong slain. 
The Constable slain.    

Now Wil●ough by upon his well-armed Horse,  
Into the midst of this Battalion brought,  
And valiant Fanhope no whitlesse in force,  
Himself hath thither through the squadrons ra●●  
Whereas the English without all remorse,  
(Looking like men that deeply are distraught)  
Smoking with sweat, besmeared with dust & b 〈…〉  
Cut into Cantles all that them withstood.   

Yet whilst thus hotly they hold up the Cha●●  
Upon the French, and had so high a hand▪  
The Duke of Bourbon to make good his place▪  
Enforced his troops (with much ado) to stand▪  
To whom the Earl of Suffolk makes apace,  
Bringing a fresh and yet unfought-with band:  
Of valiant Billmen, Oxford with success,  
Up with his Troops doth with the other press.   

When in comes Orleans; quite thrust off before,  
By those rude crowds that from the English ran,  
Encouraging stout Bourbon's Troops the more,  
●'affront the Foe that instantly began:  
●aine would the Duke (if possible) restore,  
〈…〉 Doing as much as could be done by man)  
Their Honour lost, by this their last defeat,  
And caused only by their base Retreat,   

Their men at Arms their Lances closely lock,  
One in another, and come up so round,  
That by the strength and horror of the shock,  
They forced the English to forsake their ground,  
shrinking no more than they had been a Rock,  
Though by the shafts receiving many a wound,  
As they would show, that they were none of those  
That turned their backs so basely to their Foes.   

Panting for breath his Morion in his hand,  
woodhouse comes in as back the English bear, 
The ●●●●ag● of Woodhouse remarkable.   
My Lords (quoth he) what now enforced to stand,  
When smiling Fortune offereth us so fair,  
●he Frenchly yonder like to wreaks of sand,  
●nd you by this our glory but impair:  
Or now, or never, your first fight maintain,  
Chattillion and the Constable are slain.   

Hand over head pell mel upon them run,  
If you will prove the Masters of the day,  
Ferrer and Greystocke have so bravely done,  
That I envy their glory, and dare say,  
From all the English they the Goal have won,  
Either let's share, or they'll bear all away,  
This spoke, his Axe about his head he flings,  
And hasts away, as though his heels had win●   

The Incitation of this youthful Knight,  
Besides amends for their retreat to make,  
Doth reinforce their courage, with their might,  
A second charge with speed to undertake;  
Never before were they so mad to fight,  
When valiant Fanhope thus the Lords be spoke,  
Suffolk, and Oxford as brave Earls you be,  
Once more bear up with Willoughby and me.   

Why now, me think's I hear brave Fanhope sp●  
Quoth noble Oxford, thou hast thy desire,  
These words of thine shall yan battalion break,  
And for myself I never will retire,  
Until our Teen upon the French we wreak,  
Or in this our last enterprise expire:  
This spoke, their Gauntlets each doth other g●  
And to the charge as fast as they can drive,   

That slaughter seemed to have but stayed for 〈…〉 de●  
To make the horror to ensue the more,  
With hands be smeared with blood when meager  
Looketh more grisly than he did before,  
●o that each body seemed but as a sheath,  
●o put their swords in to the Hilts in gore:  
As though that instant were the end of all,  
To fell the French or by the French to fall.   

Look how you see a field of standing Corn, 
A Simile 〈…〉 the appearance of the Battle.   
When some strong wind in Summer haps to blow,  
●t the full height, and ready to be shorn,  
Rising in waves, how it doth come and go,  
Forward and backward so the crowds are borne,  
Or as the Edie turneth in the flow,  
And above all the Bills and Axes play,  
As do the Attom's in the Sunny ray.   

Now with main blows their Armours o'er vnbrased,  
And as the French before the English fled,  
With their brown Bills their recreant backs they baste  
And from their shoulders their faint arms do shred,  
One with a gleave near cut off by the waste,  
Another runs to ground with half a head:  
Another stumbling falleth in his flight,  
Wanting a leg, and on his face doth light.   

The Duke's who found their force thus overthrown,  
And those few left them ready still to rout,  
Having great skill, and no les●e courage shown;  
Yet of their safeties much began to doubt,  
For having few about them of their own,  
And by the English so impaled about,  
Saw that to some one they themselves must yield,  
Or else abide the fury of the field   

They put themselves on those victorious Lord 
The Duke of Burben and brigance to●●● prisoners.   
Who led the Vanguard with so good success,  
Bespeaking them with honourable words,  
Themselves their prisoners freely and confess,  
Who by the strength of their commanding sword's  
Can hardly save them from the slaught'ring pre●  
By Suffolk's aid till they away were sent,  
Who with a Guard conveyed them to his Tent.   

When as their Soldiers to eschew the sack,  
'Gainst their own Battle beating in their flight,  
By their own French are strongly beaten back:  
Lest they their Ranks, should have disordered quigg  
So that those men at Arms go all to wrack.  
'twixt their own friends & those with whom the● fig●  
Wherein disorder and destruction seemed,  
To strive, which should the powerfullest be d●em'●   

And whilst the Dauphin of Auerney cries, 
〈…〉 of some Guis●ard the Dauphin of A●ag●n.   
Stay men at Arms, let Fortune do her worst,  
And let that Villain from the field that flies,  
By Babes yet to be borne, be ever cursed:  
All under Heaven that we can hope for, lies  
On this day's battle, let me be the first,  
That turn'dye back upon your desperate Foe●  
To save our Honours, though our lives we lose.   

To whom comes in the Earl of Ewe, which long  
Had in the Battle ranged here and there,  
A thousand Bills, a thousand Bows among,  
And had seen many spectacles of fear,  
And finding yet the Daulphins' spirit so strong,  
By that which he had chanced from him to hear,  
Upon the shoulder claps him▪ Prince quoth he,  
Since I must fall, Oh let me fall with thee.   

Scarce had he spoke, but th' English them enclose,  
And like to Mastiffs fiercely on them flew,  
Who with like courage strongly them oppose,  
When the Lord Beaumont, who their Arming knew,  
Their present peril to brave Suffolk shows,  
Quoth he, lo where Daverney are and Ewe,  
In this small time, who since the Field begun,  
Have done as much, as can by men be done.   

Now slaughter cease me, if I do not grieve,  
Two so brave Spirits should be untimely slain,  
Lies there no way (my Lord) them to relieve,  
And for their Ransoms two such to retain:  
Quoth Suffolk, come, we'll hazard their reprieve,  
And share our Fortunes, in they go amain,  
And with such danger through the press they wade  
As of their lives but small account they made.   

Yet ere they through the clustered clouds could get  
Oft down on those, there trod to death that lay,  
The valiant Dauphin had discharged his debt, 
The Dauphin of Auerney slain. The Earl 〈…〉 Ewe taken prisoner.   
Then whom no man had bravelier served that day,  
The Earl of Ewe, and wondrous hard beset:  
Had left all hope of life to scape away:  
Till Noble Beaumont and brave Suffolk came,  
And as their prisoner seized him by his name.   

Now the main Battle of the French came on▪  
The Vauward vanquished, quite the field doth fly,  
And other helps besides this, have they none,  
But that their hopes doth on their main rely,  
And therefore now it standeth them upon,  
To fight it bravely, or else yield, or dye:  
For the fierce English Charge so home and sort▪  
As in their hands jove's thunderbolts they bore.   

The Duke of York who since their fight begun 
The Duke of York slain.   
Still in the top of all his troops was seen,  
And things well-near beyond belief had done,  
Which of his fortune, made him over ween,  
Himself so far into the maine doth run,  
So that the French which quickly got between  
Him and his succours, that great Chieftain slew  
Who bravely fought whilst any breath he drew.   

The news soon brought to this courageous King  
O'erspread his face with a distempered Fire, 
The King 〈…〉 of the Duke of Yorks 〈…〉.   
Though making little show of any thing,  
Yet to the full his eyes expressed his Ire,  
More than before the Frenchmen menacing,  
And he was heard thus softly to respire:  
Well, of thy blood revenged will I be, 
The King's solution.   
Or ere one hour be past I'll follow thee.   

When as the frolic Cavalry of France,  
That in the Head of the main Battle cam●  
Perceived the King of England to advance,  
To charge in person; it doth them inflame,  
〈…〉 ch one well hoping it might be his chance,  
〈…〉 seize upon him, which was all their aim,  
Then with the bravest of the English met,  
Themselves that there before the King had set,   

When th'earl of Cornwall with unusual force, 
The bloody scuffle between the French and English, at the joining of the two main Battles in five S●anzaes.   
●counters Grandpre (next that came to hands)  
〈…〉 strength his equal, blow for blow they scorce,  
yielding their Axes as they had been wands,  
●ll the Earl tumbles Grandpre from his Horse▪  
〈…〉 o whom straight the Count Salines stands,  
And dareth Cornwall such a blow withal▪  
Over the crupper that he makes him fall▪   

Cornwall recovers, for his Arms were good,  
〈…〉 d to Saline▪ maketh up again,  
●ho changed such boy strous buffers, that the blood  
●th through the joints of their strong Armour strain  
〈…〉 Count Salines sunk down where he stood▪  
amount who sees the Count Salines slain,  
strait copes with Cornewal beaten out of breath  
〈…〉 Till Kent comes in, and rescues him from death.   

Kent upon Blamount furiously doth fly,  
〈…〉 at the Earl with no less courage struck,  
〈…〉 d one the other with such knocks they ply,  
〈…〉 at either's Axe in th'other's Helmets stuck,  
whilst they are wrestling, crossing thigh with thigh  
〈…〉 eir Axes pikes, which soon out should pluck:  
They fall to ground like in their Casks to smother,  
With their clutched Gauntlets ●uffing one another.   

Courageous ●l●e● grieved at the sight, 
Called Cl●e● of Brabant.   
Of his friend Blamounts' unexpected fall,  
Makes in to lend him all the aid he might;  
Whose coming seemed the stout Lord Soles to call 〈…〉  
Betwixt whom then began a mortal fight,  
When instantly fell in Sir Philip Hall,  
'Gainst him goes Roussy, in than Lovel ran,  
Whom next Count Morveyle chooseth as his m 〈…〉   

Their Curates are unrevited with blows,  
With Horrid wounds their breasts and faces slas 〈…〉  
There drops a cheek, and there falls off a nose,  
And in ones face his fellow's brains are dashed;  
Yet still the better with the English goes.  
The earth of France with her own blood is wash 〈…〉  
They fall so fast, she scarce affords them room 〈…〉  
That one man's trunk becomes another's tom 〈…〉   

When Suffolk chargeth Huntingdon with slo 〈…〉 
The Earl of Suffolk chargeth the Earl of Huntingdon with brea●h of promise.   
Over himself too wary to have been,  
And had neglected his fast plighted troth,  
Upon the Field, the Battle to begin,  
That where the one was, there they would be both●  
When the stout Earl of Huntingdon, to win,  
Trust with his friends; doth this himself inlar 〈…〉  
To this great Earl who dares him thus to charge   

My Lord (quoth he) it is not that I fear,  
More than yourself, that so I have not gone;  
But that I have been forced to be near,  
The King, whose person I attend upon,  
〈…〉 d that I doubt not but to make appear,  
●ow, if occasion shall but call me on;  
Look round about my Lord, if you can see,  
Some brave adventure worthy you and me.   

See yan proud Banner of the Duke of Bars, 
A desp 〈…〉 attempt by the Earl of Huntingdon.   
〈…〉 think'st it wastes us, and I hear it say,  
〈…〉 her's that courageous Englishman that dares,  
〈…〉 enture, but to carry me away,  
●is were a t●ing now worthy of our wars;  
〈…〉 true, quoth Suffolk, by this blessed day,  
On, and we'll have it, sayst thou so indeed,  
Quoth Huntingdon, than Fortune be our speed,   

●nd through the ranks then rushing in their pride  
●ey make a Lan●; about them so they lay,  
●ote goes with foot, and side is joined to side,  
●ey strike down all that stand within their way,  
〈…〉 d to direct them, have no other guide,  
〈…〉 as they see the multitude to sway;  
And as they pass, the French as to defy,  
Saint George for England and the King they cry,   

By their examples, each brave English blood, 
One brave ●● pl●ie● begerteth another?   
〈…〉 the Frenchmen for their Ensigns run,  
〈…〉 e there as trees within a well-grown wood;  
●ere great Achievements instantly were done,  
〈…〉 inst them roughly whilst that Nation stood,  
〈…〉 o what man his destiny can shun,  
That Noble Suffolk there is overthrown, 
The Earl of Suffolk 〈…〉   
●hen ●e much valour sundry ways had shown.   

Which the proud English further doth pro●●  
Who to destruction bodily were bend,  
That the main battle instantly they broke,  
Upon the French so furiously they went,  
And not an English but doth scorn a stroke, 
The English kill she French with their own Weapons.   
If to the ground it not a Frenchman sent,  
Who weak with wounds, their weapons from th● thr●  
With which the English fearfully them slew.   

Alanzon back upon the Rearward borne,  
By those unarmed that from the English fled,  
All further hopes them utterly forlorn,  
His Noble heart in his full bosom bled,  
What fate, quoth he, our overthrow hath sworn  
Must France a prisoner be to England led,  
Well, if she be so, yet I'll let her see,  
She bears my carcase with her, and not me.   

And puts his Horse upon his full Career,  
When with the courage of a valiant Knight,  
(As one that knew not, or forgot to fear,)  
He towards King Henry maketh in the fight,  
And all before him as he down doth bear,  
Upon the Duke of Gloucester doth light:  
Which on the youthful Chivalry doth brin●  
Scarce two piks length that came before the 〈…〉   

Their Staffs both strongly revetted with s●● 
The Duke of Gloucester ●● 〈…〉 by the Duke of Alanzon.   
At the first struck each other they astounded,  
That as they staggering from each other reel▪  
The Duke of Gloucester falleth to the ground,  
●hen as Alanzon round about doth wheel,  
●hinking to lend him his last deadly wound,  
In comes the King, his brother● life to save,  
And to this brave Duke a fresh on▪ set gave.   

When as themselves like thunderbolts they shot,  
One at the other, and the lightning broke  
Out of their Helmets, and again was not,  
●'r of their stroke the ear a sound could take,  
betwixt them two, the conflict grew so hot,  
●hich those about them so amazed doth make,  
That they stood still as wondering at the ●ight,  
And quite forgot that they themselves must fight   

Upon the King Alanzon pressed so sore,  
●hat with a stroke (as he was wondrous strong) 
The King of England in dan●e● to be slan● by the Duke of Alanzon.   
●e c●eft the Crown which on his Helm he wore,  
●nd tore his Plume that to his heels it hung:  
●hen with a second bruised his Helm before,  
●hat it his forehead pitifully wrung:  
As some that saw it certainly had thought,  
●he King therewith had to the ground been brought   

But Henry soon Alanzons Ire to quit,  
●s now his valour lay upon the Rack) 
Alanzon betten down by the King of England.   
month face the Duke so strongly hit,  
〈…〉 in his Saddle laid him on his back,  
〈…〉 d once perceluing that be had him split,  
〈…〉 llowed his blows redoubling thwack on thwack  
〈…〉 Till ●e had lost his stirrups, and his head  
Hung where his Horse was like thereon to tread.   

When soon two other seconding their Lord, 
The King kill le●o two Gentlemen that adventure to ●resene the Duke.   
His kind companions in this glorious prize,  
Hoping again the Duke to have restored  
If to his feet his Arms would let him rise:  
On the King's Helm their height of fury scored;  
Who like a Dragon fiercely on them flies,  
And on his body slew them both, whilst he,  
Recovering was their aid again to be.   

The King thus made the master of the fight:  
The Duke calls to him as he there doth lie,  
Henry I'll pay my ransowe, do me right:  
I am the Duke Alanzon, It is I,  
The King to save him putting all his might,  
Yet the rude soldiers with their shout and cry,  
Quite drowned his voice, his Helmet being shut, 
The Duke Alanzon slain.   
And that brave Duke into small pieces cut.   

Report once spread, through the distracted Host,  
Of their prime Hope, the Duke Alanzon slain,  
That flower of France, on whom they trusted most,  
They found their valour was but then in vain,  
Like men their hearts that utterly had lost,  
Who slowly fled before, now run amain,  
Nor could a man be found, but that despairs,  
Seeing the Fate both of themselves and theirs.   

The Duke Nevers, now in this sad retreat, 
The Duke Nevers taken prisoner.   
By David Gam and Morrisby pursued,  
(Who throughly chased, near melted into sweat,  
And with French blood their Pole-axes imbrud)  
They seize upon him following the defeat,  
Amongst the faint and fearful multitude, 
Morrisby and Gam a● contention for the Duke of Neveres.   
When a contention fell between them twain.  
To whom the Duke should rightfully pertain,   

I must confess thou hadst him first in chase,  
Quoth Morrisby; but lefts him in the throng,  
●hen put I on, quoth Gam hast thou the face,  
insulting Knight to offer me this wrong;  
Quoth Morrisby, who shall decide the case,  
●●t him confess to whom it doth belong,  
Let him (quoth Gam) but if't be not to me,  
For any right you have, he may go free,   

With that courageous Morrisby grew hot, 
Morrisby ●● b●auey ●● Knigh   
●ere not said he his ransom worth a pin,  
●ow by these Arms I were, thou get'st him not,  
●r if thou dost thou shalt him hardly win: 
David Ga● oft mentioned in this P 〈…〉   
●am whose Welsh blood could hardly brook this blot,  
●o bend his Axe upon hi● doth begin,  
He his at him, till the Lord Beaumont came,  
Their rash attempt, and wisely thus doth blame.   

Are not the French twice trebled to our power,  
●nd fight still, nay, doubtful yet the day:  
●i●ke you not th●se us fast enough devour:  
●t that your braves the Army must dismay:  
●ought but good befall us in this hour:  
●is be you sure your lives for it must pay:  
Then first the end of this day's Battle see,  
And then decide whose prisoner he shall be,   

Now Excester with his untainted Rear, 
The Duke of Excester cometh in with the Rear.   
Came on, which long had laboured to come in,  
And with the King's main battle up doth bear,  
Who still kept off, till the last hour had been:  
He cries and clamours every way doth hear:  
But yet he knew not which the day should win:  
Nor asks of any what were fit to do,  
But where the French were thick'st he falleth to.   

The Earl of Vandom certainly that thought,  
The English fury some what had been stayed:  
Weary with slaughter as men overwrought,  
Nor had been spurred on by a second aid:  
For his own safety, then more fiercely fought,  
Hoping the tempest had been somewhat laid:  
And he thereby (though suffering the defeat)  
Might keep his rearward whole in his retreats   

On whom the Duke of Excester then fell,  
Rear with the Rear now for their valoursvy,  
Ours find the French their lives will dear sell,  
And th'English means as dear them to buy:  
The English follow, should they run through hell,  
And through the same the French must, if they fly,  
When to't they go, deciding it with blows,  
With th'one side now, then with th'other't g 〈…〉   

But the stern English with such luck and mig 〈…〉  
(As though the fates had sworn to take their part  
Upon the French prevailing in the Fight,  
With doubled hands, and with re-doubled heart●  
The more in peril still the more in plight,  
'Gainst them whom fortune miserably thwarts:  
Disabled quite before the foe to stand,  
But fall like grass before the Mower's hand.   

That this French Earl is beaten on the field, 
The Earl of Vandome slain.   
His fight soldiers round about him slain,  
And when himself a Prisoner he would yield,  
And begged for life, it was but all in vain:  
Their Bills the English do so easily wield,  
To kill the French as though it were no pain:  
For this to them was their auspicious day,  
The more the English fight, the more they may,   

When now the Marshal Boucequalt, which long  
Had through the Battle waded every way,  
Oft hazarded the murdered troops among,  
Encouraging them to abide the day:  
Finding the Army which he thought so strong,  
Before the English faintly to dismay,  
Brings on the wings which of the rest remained,  
With which the battle stoutly he maintained.   

Till old Sir Thomas Erpingham at last, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham getteth in with his three hundred A●●hers.   
●ith those three hundred Archers cometh in,  
●hich laid in ambush not three hours yet past,  
●ad the Defeat of the French Army been,  
●ith these that noble soldier maketh haste,  
〈…〉 t other from him should the honour win:  
Who as before now stretch their wel-waxt strings,  
At the French Horse then coming in the wings.   

The soil with slaughter every where they lo●  
Whilst the French stoutly to the English stood,  
The drops from either's emptied veins that flow  
Where it was lately firm had made a flood,  
But Heaven that day to the brave English owed;  
The Sun that rose in water, set in blood:  
Nothing but horror to be looked for there,  
And the slought Marshal vainly doth but fe●   

His Horse sore wounded whilst he went aside, 
The Marshal of France slain.   
To take another still that doth attend,  
A shaft that some too-lucky hand doth guide,  
Piercing his Gorget brought him to his end,  
Which when the proud Lord Falkonbridge espied,  
Thinking from thence to bear away his friend,  
Struck from his Horse with many a mortal wou●  
Is by the English nailed to the ground.   

The Marshal's death so much doth them affrig  
That down their weapons instantly they lay,  
And better ye● to fit them for their flight,  
Their weightier Arms they wholly cast away,  
Their hearts so heavy makes their heels so light,  
That there was no entreating them to stay,  
o'er hedge and ditch distractedly they take, 〈…〉  
And happiest he the greatest haste could make,   

When Vadamount now in the conflict met, 
Co 〈…〉 Vadamount.   
With valiant Brabant, whose high valour show●  
That day did many a blunted courage whet,  
Ere long before that from the field had flown,  
Quoth Vadamount, see how we are beset, 
The Duke of Brabant a most courageous Prince   
To death like to be trodden by our own,  
My Lord of Brabant, what is to be done?  
See how the French before the English run.   

Why let them run, and never turn the Head, 
A bitter exclamation of the Duke of Brabant against the French.   
Quoth the brave Duke, until their hateful breath,  
Forsake their bodies, and so far have fled,  
That France be not disparaged by their death,  
Who trusts to Cowards ne'er is better sped,  
Be he accursed, with such that holdeth faith,  
Slaughter consume the Recreants as they fly,  
Branded with shame, so basely may they dye.   

Ignoble French, your fainting cowardice craves  
The dreadful curse of your own mother earth,  
Hardening her breast, not to allow you graves,  
Be she so much ashamed of your birth;  
May he be cursed that one of you but saves,  
And be in France hereafter such a dearth,  
Of courage, that men from their wits it fear,  
A Drum or Trumpet when they hap to hear.   

From Burgundy brought I the force I had, 
Anthony Duke of Brabant son to the Duke of Burgundy.   
To fight for them, that ten for one did fly,  
It splits my breast, O that I could be mad;  
To vex these Slaves who would not dare to dye:  
In all this Army is there not a Lad,  
Th'ignoble French for cowards that dare cry:  
If scarce one found, then let me be that one,  
The English Army that opposed alone.   

This ●●Spand●● pu●● his Horse upon his speed,  
And in like 〈…〉ing on the English flew:  
〈…〉 son he made to bleed,  
W●●st ●●● with much astonishment they view:  
Where having acted many a Knight-like deed,  
H●● and his Horse they all too pieces hue:  
Yet he that day more lasting glory wan,  
Except Al●nzon then did any man. 
The valiant Duke of Brabant slain.    

When as 〈…〉 great King Henry came,  
Of a vast ro●●● which ●om the Battle ●●ed,  
(Amongst the French men of most special name)  
But the stout English fiercely followed;  
Ha● for ●h●i● safety, (much though to their sha●●e) 
Many of the French in ●hotr flight get ●●to an old Fort.   
Got in their flight into so strong a stead,  
So fortified by nature (as 'twas thought)  
They might no● thence, but with much blood be brought   

An aged Rampire, with huge Ruins heaped▪  
Which served for Shot, 'gainst those that should 〈…〉  
Whose narrow entrance they with crossbows kept  
Whose sharpened quarres came in show●'s like hail 
The King's slight answer.   
Quoth the brave King first let the field be swept,  
And with the rest we well enough shall deal;  
Which though some heard & so shut up their ●are  
Yet relished not with many soldiers there,   

Some that themselves by Ransoms would in r●●●  
(To make their prey of Peasants yet despise)  
Felt as they thought their bloody palms to ' tch,  
To be in action for their wealthy prize,  
Others whom only glory doth bewitch,  
Rather than life would to this enterprise:  
Most men seemed willing, yet not any one,  
Would put himself this great exploit upon.   

Which Woodhouse hearing merrily thus spoke, 
Woodhou●●●eereth at the attempt.   
One that right well knew, both his worth and wit)  
A d●ng ●ous thing it is to undertake,  
A fort, where Soldiers be defending it,  
●●●● path●● sleep, and if they should awake,  
With ●●ones, or with their shafts they may us hit,  
And in our Conquest whilst so well we fare,  
It were mere folly, but I see none dare.   

Which Gam or'hearing (being near at hand,) 
Braves pass between Gam and Woodhouse.   
Not dare quoth he, and angrily doth frown,  
I tell thee Woodhouse, some in presence stand,  
Dare prop the Sun if it were falling down,  
Dare grasp the bolt from Thunder in his hand,  
And through a Canon leap into a Town,  
I tell thee, a resolved man may do,  
Things that thy thoughts yet never mounted to.   

I know that resolution may do much,  
Woodhouse replies, but who could act my thought,  
With his proud Head the pole might easily touch,  
And Gam quoth he, though bravely thou hast fought  
Yet not the Fame thou hast attained to, such,  
But that behind as great is to be bought,  
And yonder 'tis, than Gam come up with me,  
Where soon the King our Courages shall see●   

Agreed quoth Gam, and up their troops they ●●  
Hand over head, and on the French they ran,  
And to the fight courageously they fall,  
When on both sides the slaughter soon began;  
Fortune a while indifferent is to all,  
These what they may, and those do what they ca●  
Woodhouse and ●am, upon each other vie,  
By Arms their manhood desperately to try.   

To climb the Fort, the Light-armed English strin●  
And some by Trees there growing to ascend;  
The French with flints let at the English drive,  
Themselves with shields the Englishmen defend,  
And fain the fort down with their hands would r●●  
Thus either side their utmost power extend,  
Till valiant Gam sore wounded, drawn aside, 
Captains Gam ●●ai●e.   
By his own soldiers, shortly after died,   

Then take they up the bodies of the slain, 
For this service done by Woodhouse▪ there was an addition of honour given him which was a hand holding● club: with the word, Frappe Fort, which is borne by the Family of the Woodhouse of Norfolk to t●●● day.   
Which for their Targets ours before them bear,  
And with a fresh assault came on again,  
Scarce in the Field yet such a fight as there,  
Crossbows, and Longbows, at it are amain,  
Until the French their massacre that fear,  
Of the fierce English▪ a cessation crave,  
Offering to yield, so they their lives would save▪   

Lewis of Bourbon in the furious heat,  
Of this great Battle, having made some stay  
Who with the left Wing suffered a●d feat,  
In the beginning of this luckless day,  
Finding the English forcing their retreat,  
And that much hope upon his valour lay,  
Fearing lest he might undergo some shame,  
That were unworthy of the Bourbon name.   

Hath gathered up some scattered troops of horse,  
That in the Field stood doubtful what to do,  
Though with much toil, which he doth reinforce,  
With some small power that he doth add thereto,  
Proclaiming still the English had the worse,  
And now at last, with him if they would go,  
He dares assure them Victory, if not,  
The grearest fame that ever Soldiers got.   

And being wise, so Bourbon to beguile,  
The French, (preparing instantly to fly) 
A deuis●●● Bourbon's to give encouragement to the French.   
Procures a Soldier by a secret wile,  
To come in swiftly and to crave supply,  
That if with courage they would fight a while,  
It certain was the English all should dye,  
For that the King had offered them to yield,  
Finding his troops to leave him on the field,   

When Arthur Earl of Richmount coming in,  
With the right wing that long stayed out of sight,  
Having too lately with the English been,  
But finding Bourbon bend again to fight,  
His former credit hoping yet to win,  
(Which at that instant easily he might)  
Comes close up with him, and puts on as fast,  
Bravely resolved to fight it to the last.   

And both encouraged by the news was braug●  
Of the arriving of the Dauphin: power;  
Whose speedy Van, their Rear had almost raug●  
(From Again Court discovered from a Tower)  
Which with the Norman Gallantry was fraught,  
And on the sudden coming like a shower;  
Would bring a deluge on the English Host,  
Whilst yet they stood their victory to boast.   

And on they come, as doth a rolling tide,  
Forced by a wind, that shoves it forth so fast, 
A Simile of the, French.   
Till it choke up some channel, side to side,  
And the crabbed banks doth down before it cast,  
Hoping the English would them not abide,  
Or would be so amazed at their haste,  
That should they fail to rout them at their w 〈…〉  
Yet of their blood, the fields should drink their f 〈…〉   

When as the English whose o'r-wearied Arms,  
Were with long slaughter lately waxed sore,  
These inexpected, and so fierce Alarms,  
To their first strength do instantly restore,  
And like a Stone their stiffened sinews warms,  
To act as bravely as th●● did before;  
And the proud French as stoutly to oppose,  
Scorning to y●e●d one foot despite of blows,   

The fight is fearful, for stout Bourbon brings,  
His f●esh 〈…〉 forces on with such a shock,  
That they were like to cut the Archers strings,  
ere they their Arrows handsomely could knock,  
〈…〉 e French like Engines that were made with springs:  
〈…〉 emselues so fast into the English lock,  
That th'one was like the other down to bear,  
In wanting roomth to strike, they stood so near.   

Till staggering long they from each other reeled,  
●lad that themselves they so could disengage:  
●●d falling back upon the spacious field,  
●or this last Scene, that is the bloody Stage)  
●here they their weapons liberally could wield,  
●hey with such madness execute their rage,  
As though the former fury of the day,  
To this encounter had been but a play.   

Slaughter is now desected to the full,  
●ere from their backs their battered Armorsfall,  
●er● a ●left shoulder, there a cloven scull,  
●here hang his eyes ou● beat●n with a●mall,  
●ntill the edges of their Bill● grow dull,  
p●n each other they so spend their gall,  
Wild sh●●t●s and clamours all the air do fill,  
The French cry stew, and the English kill.   

The Duke of Bar in this vast spoil by chance;  
●ith the Lord Saint-Iohn on the field doth meet,  
towards whom that brave Duke doth himself advance  
●ho with the like encounter him doth greet,  
●his English Barron, and this Peer of France,  
grappling together, falling from their feet,  
With the rude crowds had both to death been crushed,  
●n for their safety, had their friends not rushed.   

Both again raised, and both their soldiers shift  
To save their lives if any way they could:  
But as the French the Duke away wouldlift,  
Upon his Arms the English taking hold,  
(Men of that sort, that thought upon their thrift)  
Knowing his Ransom dear would be sold:  
Drag him away in spite of their defence,  
Which to their quarter would have borne him thence,   

Mean while brave Bourbon from his stirring hors●  
Galled with an Arrow to the earth is thrown,  
By a mean soldier seized on by force, 
Lewis of Bourbon taken prison's by a mean soldier.   
Hoping to have him certainly his own,  
Which this Lord holdeth better so then worse:  
Since the French fortune to that ebb is grown,  
And he perceives the soldier doth him deem,  
To be a person of no mean esteem.   

Berkely and Burnell, two brave English Lords,  
Fleshed with French blood & in their Valour's pride▪  
Above their Armed heads brandishing their swords,  
As they triumphing through the Army ride,  
Finding what prizes fortune her affords,  
To every Soldier, and more wistly eyed,  
This gallant prisoner, by this Arming see,  
Of the great Bourbon family to be.   

And from the Soldier they his prisoner take,  
Of which the French Lord seemeth wondrous fain▪  
Thereby his safety more secure to make,  
Which when the soldier finds his hopes in vain,  
〈…〉 rich a booty forced to forsake, 
Lewis of Bourbon stabbed by a Soldier that took him prisoner,   
〈…〉 put himself and prisoner out of pain,  
He on the sudden stabs him, and doth swear,  
Would th'ave his Ransom, they should take it there▪   

When Rosse and Morley making in amain,  
●ing the Lord Darcy up with them along,  
●hose Horse had lately under him been slain,  
〈…〉 d they on foot found fight in the throng,  
〈…〉 ose Lords his friends remounting him again,  
●ing a man that valiant was and strong:  
They altogether with a general hand,  
Charge on the French that they could find to stand.   

And yet but vainly as the French supposed,  
〈…〉 th'earl of Richmount forth such earth had found,  
〈…〉 at on two sides with quickset was enclosed,  
〈…〉 d the way to it by a rising ground,  
which a while the English were opposed,  
every Charge which else came up so round,  
As that except the passage put them by,  
The French as well might leave their Arms and fly.   

Upon both parts it furiously is fought,  
〈…〉 d with such quickness riseth to that height,  
〈…〉 t horror needs no further to be sought:  
〈…〉 nely that might satisfy the sight,  
〈…〉 o would have fame full d●er●ly here i● bought,  
〈…〉 it was sold by measure and by weight,  
And at one rate the price still certain stood,  
An ounce of honour cost a pound of blood,   

When so it happed that Dampier in the Van, 
The Lords Dampier an ● Savesses tataken prisoners.   
Meets with stout Darcy, but whilst he him pr 〈…〉  
Over and over cometh Horse and man,  
Of whom the other soon himself possessed:  
When as Savesses upon Darcy ran,  
To aid Dampier, but as he him addressed;  
A Halberd taking hold upon his Greaves,  
Him from his Saddle violently heaves,   

When soon five hundred Englishmen at Arm  
That to the French had given many a Chase,  
And when they covered all the field with swarms  
Yet oft● hat day had bravely bid them base:  
Now at the last by raising fresh alarms;  
And coming up with an unusual pace,  
Made them to know that they must run or yee●  
Never till now the English had the Field.   

Where Arthur Earl of Richmount beaten dow● 
Arthur Earl of Richmount taken prisoner.   
Is left (supposed of every one for dead)  
But afterwards awaking from his swoone,  
By some that found him, was recovered:  
So Count Du Marle was likewise overthrown, 
The Count du Marle slain.   
As he was turning meaning to have fled,  
Who fights the cold blade in his bosme feele●,  
Who flies, still hears it whisking at his heel●   

Till all disranked, like siely sheep they run,  
By threats nor prayers, to be constrained to stay▪  
For that their hearts were so extremely done,  
That fainting oft they fall upon the way,  
Or when they might a present peril shun,  
They rush upon it by their much dismay;  
That from the English should they safely fly,  
Of their own very fear, yet they should dye.   

Some they take prisoners, other some they kill,  
●s they affect those upon whom they fall:  
For they as Victors may do what they will:  
For who this Conqueror to account dare call,  
●n gore the English seem their souls to swill,  
And the dejected French must suffer all;  
Flight, cords, and slaughter, are the only three,  
To which themselves subjected they do see.   

A shoolesle Soldier there a man might meet, 
The misery of the French.   
Leading his monsieur by the Arms fast bound:  
Another, his had shackled by the feet;  
Who like a Cripple shuffled on the ground;  
Another three or four before him beat,  
Like harmful cattle driven to a pound,  
They must abide it, so the Victor will,  
Who at his pleasure may, or save, or kill.   

That brave French Gallant when the fight began,  
Whose lease of Lackeys ambled by his side,  
Himself a Lackey now most basely ran,  
Whilst a raged soldier on his Horse doth ride,  
That Rascal is no less than at his man,  
Who was but lately to his Luggadge tide;  
And the French Lord now curtsies to that slave,  
Who the last day his Alms was like to crave.   

And those few English wounded in the fight, 
The French forced to bear the wounded English on their backs.   
The force the French to bring with them away,  
Who when they w●re depressed with the weight▪  
Yet dared not once their burden down to lay,  
Those in the morn, whos● hopes were at their h●ig●  
Are fallen thus low ●re the departing day,  
With picks of Halberds pricked in stead of goa 〈…〉  
Like tired Horses labouring with their Loads▪   

But as the English from the field return,  
Some of those French who when the fight b●gan,  
Forsook their friends, and hoping yet to earn,  
Pardon, for that so cowardly they ran,  
Ass 〈…〉 h English C●rri'ges to burn.  
Which to defend them scarcely had a man;  
For that their keepers to the field were got,  
To pick such spoils, as chance should then▪ al●   

The Captains of this Rascal cowardly Ro●t●  
Were Isa●●ret of Agincourt at hand, 
A 〈…〉 of ras●al French 〈…〉 the King England's 〈…〉   
Riflant of ●lunasse a Dorp there about,  
And for the chief in this their base command.  
Was Robin●●t of Burn●●●le; throughout,  
The country known, all order to withstand,  
These with five hundred Peasants they had ra 〈…〉  
The English Tents upon an instant seized.   

For setting on those with the Luggadge left,  
A few poor Sutler's with the Camp that went,  
They basely fell to pillage and to theft,  
And having rifled every Booth and Tent,  
●ome of the sillyest they of life bereft,  
●he fear of which, some of the other sent,  
Into the Army, with their sudden cries,  
Which put the King in fear of fresh supplies.   

For that his Soldiers tired in the fight, 
The 〈…〉.   
●heir prisoners more in number than they were,  
●e thought it for a thing of too much weight,  
●oppose fresh fo●c●s, and to guard them there,  
●he Daulphines' Powers, yet standing in their sight,  
●nd Bourbon's Fo●ces of the field n●t clear,  
These yearning cr●es that ●rom the caridge came  
His blood yet hot, more highly doth inflame,   

And in his rage he instantly commands, 
The English kill 〈…〉 p●●soners.   
●hat every English should his prisoner ●ill,  
●●cept some few in some g●●at Captains hands,  
●hose Ransoms might his emptied C●fers fill,  
●lls one whose loose, or who is now in bonds,  
●oth must one way it is the Cōqu●rours will,  
Those who late thought, small ransoms them might free  
Saw only death their Ransoms now must be.   

Accursed French, and could it not suffice, 
Ex 〈…〉 ion.   
●hat ye but now bathed in your native gore;  
●ut ye must now infortunately rise,  
●o draw more plagues upon ye then before,  
●nd 'gainst yourself more mischief to devose,  
●hen th' English could have, and set wide the door,  
To utter ruin, and to make an end,  
Of that yourselves, which others would▪ not spend.   

Their utmost rage the English now hath breath'●  
And their proud hearts 'gan somewhat to relent,  
Their bloody swords they quietly had sheathed,  
And their strong bows already were unbent,  
To easeful rest their bodies they bequeathed,  
Nor farther harm at all to you they meant,  
And to that pains must ye then needsly put, 
The French ●ause of their own massa●hre. A description of the Massacre in the four following Stanza's.   
To draw their knives once more your throats 〈…〉 cut   

That French who lately by the English stood,  
And freely asked what ransom he should pay,  
Who somewhat cooled, and in a calmer mood,  
Agreed with him both of the sum and day,  
Now finds his flesh must be the present food,  
For wolves and ravens, for the same that stay,  
And sees his blood on th'other's sword to flow,  
E'er his quick sense could apprehend the blow▪   

Whilst one is ask what the business is,  
Hearing (in French) his countryman to cry:  
He who detains him prisoner, answers this:  
monsieur, the King commands that you must die▪  
This is plain English, whilst he's killing his:  
He sees another on a French man fly,  
And with a Poleax pasheth out his brains,  
Whilst he's demanding what the garboil mea 〈…〉   

That tender heart whose chance it was to have▪  
Some one, that day who did much valour show,  
Who might perhaps have had him for his Slave:  
But 〈…〉 all Lots had fate pleased to bestow:  
He who his prisoner willingly would save,  
Lastly constrained to give the deadly blow,  
That sends him down to everlasting sleep:  
Turning his face, full bitterly doth weep.   

Ten thousand French that inwardly were well,  
Save some light hurts that any man might heal,  
Even at an instant, in a minute fell,  
And their own friends their deaths to them to deal,  
Yet of so many, very few could tell,  
Nor could the English perfectly reveal,  
The desperate cause of this disastrous hap.  
But even as Thunder killed them with a clap,   

How happy were those in the very height,  
Of this great Battle, that had bravely died,  
When as their boiling bosoms in the fight,  
Felt not the sharp steel thorough them to slide;  
But these now in a miserable plight,  
Must in cold blood this massacre abide,  
Caus▪ d by those Villains (cursed alive and dead,)  
That from the field the passed morning fled.   

When as the King to Crown his glorious day,  
Now bids his soldiers after all this toil,  
No forces found that more might them dismay)  
Of the dead French to take the general spoil,  
Whose heaps had well near stopped up every way,  
For e'en as Clods they covered all the soil,  
Commanding none should any one control,  
Catch that catch might, but each man to his dole.   

They fall to groping busily for gold,  
Of which abou● them 〈…〉 st●re,  
They find as much as w●ll their hands can hold,  
Wh●●ad but silver, him they counted po●re,  
Sc●●fes, Chains▪ an● Bracel●●s, were not to be told  
So rich as th●se ●● soldier's were before;  
Who got a Ring, would scarcely put it on,  
Except therein there were some Radiant stone.   

Out of rich sates the Noblest French they strip,  
An● leave their bodies naked on the ground,  
And each one fill his Knapsack, or his Scrip,  
W 〈…〉 some rare th●ng that on the Field i● found:  
About his business ●●t he ●●●bly Skip,  
T 〈…〉 upon him m●ny a c●u●ll wound:  
And where they found a French not outright slain●  
They 〈…〉 in a prisoner constantly retain.   

Who scarce a Shirt had but the day before,  
No● a whole S●●cking to keep out the cold,  
Hath a whole Wardrobe at commend in store)  
In th● French fashion flaunting it in gold,  
And in the ●auerne, in his C●ps doth roar,  
Chocking his Crowns and grows thereby so bo 〈…〉  
That proudly he a Captain's name asiumes,  
In his gilt Gorget with his tossing Plumes.  
Wagons and Carts are laden till they crack▪  
With Arms and Tents there taken in the field;  
For want of ●arridge on whose tops are pac●●,  
Ensigns, Coat-Armours, Targets, Spears, & Shields  
Nor need they convoy f●a●ing to be sacks;  
For all the country to King Henry yields,  
And the poor peasant helps along to bear,  
What late the goods of his proud Landlords were.   

A Horse well furnished for a present War:  
For a French Crown might any where be bought,  
But if so be that he had any scar,  
Though ne'er so small he valued was at naught;  
With spoils so sated the proud English are;  
Amongst the slain, that who for pillage sought,  
Except some rich Caparison he found,  
For a steel Saddle would not stoop to ground.   

And many a hundred beaten down that were,  
Whose wounds were mortal, others wondrous deep  
When as our English over▪ past t●ey hear▪  
And no man left a Watch on them to keep,  
〈…〉 to the Bushes, and the Ditches near,  
●pon their weak hands and their knees do creeps  
But for their hurts took a●re▪ and were undressed,  
They were found dead and buried with the rest▪   

Thus when the King saw that the coast was cleared▪  
And of the French who were not slain were fled,  
Nor in the field not any then appeared,  
That had the power again to make a head:  
This Conqueror exceedingly is cheered,  
Thanking his God that he so well had sped,  
And so towr'ds Calais bravely marching on,  
Leaveth sad France her losses to bemoan,   
FINIS. The Battle of Agin-Court.   

THE MISERIES OF QUEEN MARGARITE.  

I Sing a woman, and a powerful Queen,  
Henry the sixth, the King of England's Wife,  
The beauteous Margarite, whose  
misgoverned spleen  
So many sorrows brought upon her life▪  
As upon woman's never yet were seen,  
In the beginning of that fatal strife, 
The family of York sought under hand to promove their title about that time.   
(Th'●nlucky season) when the Yorkists saught,  
To bring the Line of Lancaster to naught.   

It was the time of those great stirs in France,  
Their ancient Right that th' English had regained,  
By the proud French attributing to chance,  
What by mere Manhood stoutly ours obtained, 
After the second conquest of France by Henry the ●ift.   
Their late-falne Ensigns laboured to advance,  
The Streets with blood of either Nation stained:  
These strive to hold, those to cast off the yoke,  
Whilst forts, & towns flew up to heaven in smoke   

The neighbouring Princes greatly pitying the● 
The Christian Princes seek to 〈…〉 a peace between 〈…〉 and France.   
The Christian blood in that long quarrel shed,  
Which had d●●●ur'd such multitudes of m●n.  
〈…〉 the full a●th could scarcely keep he● dead;  
Yet for ●ach English of her Nat●●●● ten:  
In zeal to 〈…〉 these neighbouring Princes l●d▪  
At Tours in Tourayne set them down a Diet,  
(Could it ●● don●▪ these clamorous fi●uds to quiet▪   

From th'emperor there Am 〈…〉 e,  
The Kings of Denmark, Hungary, and Spain,  
And that each thing the ●p●ly might contrive,  
And both the King there largely might complain,  
The Duke of O●l●ance for the French doth strive,  
To show his grievance; William Poole again,  
The Earl of Suffolk do●h ●o● England st●●d,  
Who steered the state than ●i●● a powerful hand   

For eighteen months they ratify a peace, 
A 〈…〉 18 months.   
Betwixt these proud Realm's▪ which Suffolk doth pursue  
With all his powers, with hope still to increase,  
The same expired, that it should soon renew,  
For by his means if so th● wars might cease, 
Poo●e in this time of ●eac●●●●our●th ●●●onclud● a Mar●●age betwixt th● Lady Margarire and the King his Master.   
●e had a plot of which they never knew,  
To his intent, if all things went aright,  
he'll make the dull world to admire his might,   

For having seen fair Margarite in France,  
(that time's brightst beauty) being then but young,  
Her piercing eyes with many a subtle glance,  
His mighty heart so forcibly had stung,  
As made him think if that he could advarce, 
Poole taken with the ex●●●ding 〈…〉 ●y of the Princess.   
This nortall wonder, only that among,  
His rising Fortunes should the greatest prove,  
If to his Queen, he could advance his love,   

Her eyes at all points Armed with those deceits,  
That to her sex are natural every way,  
Which with more Art, she as enticing baits,  
For this great Lord doth with advantage lay,  
As he again that on her bosom waits,  
Had found that there, which could he come to sway  
He would put fair as ever man did yet,  
Upon the height of Fortunes wh●ele to sit.   

Love and Ambition spur h●● in such sort,  
As that (alone t'accomplish h●● desire,  
To fall with Phaeton he would think it sport,  
Though he should set the Vnl●●●s● on ●ire,  
Nor recks he what the world of him report,  
He must scorn that, who will dare to aspire,  
For through the air his wings him way shall make  
Though in his fall the frame of heaven he shake.   

Reyner descended from the Royal stem 
He had only the title of these Kingdoms without any l●●●lyhoo●   
Of France, the Duke of An●o●, styled King  
Of Naples, Sicily, and jerusalem,  
Although in them he had not any thing,  
But the poor title of a Diadem;  
Seing by Suffolk greater hopes to spring;  
Puts on his Daughter that great Lord to please, 
Margarite Duk Reyner's Daughter.   
Of England's Counsels who kept all the keys.   

But strange encounters strongly him oppose,  
In his first entrance to this great Design,  
Those men were mighty that against him rose,  
And came upon him with a Countermine,  
That he must now play cunningly, or lose▪  
Cunning they were against him that combine,  
Plot above plot, doth strain aloft to tower▪  
The conflict great, 'twixt policy and power,   

For Humphrey Duke of Gloster, styled the good, 
A 〈…〉 of a 〈…〉 Amba 〈…〉 our with ●●e ●●●● of 〈…〉 only daughter.   
England's Protector sought a match to make,  
●●th a fair Princess, of as Royal blood,  
The Daughter of the Earl of Arminake,  
And h●● crowned Nephew▪ but stout Suffolk stood▪  
Still for his Mistress, nor will her forsake,  
But make her Henry's Queen in spite of all:  
Or she shall rise, or Suffolk swears to fall.   

By the French faction when she up is cried; 
The high praises of the Princess Margarites beauty.   
Of all Angellique excellence the Prime,  
Who was so dull that her not Deified,  
To be the only Masterpiece of time:  
The praise of her extended is so wide,  
As that thereon a man to heaven might climb:  
All tongues and ears enchanted with delight,  
When they do talk, or hear of Margarite.   

And those whom Pool about his Prince had placed 
Poole● followers placed about the King to work ●● own ends.   
And for his purpose taught the tricks of Court,  
To this great King, and many a time had graced,  
To make his ears more apt for their report,  
●auing the time most diligently traced,  
●nd saw these things successively to sort:  
Strike in a hand and up together bear,  
To make fair Margarite Music in his ear.   

Anjou a Duchy, maine a Country great, 
The provinces of France given to Duke Reyner for 〈…〉 Daughter.   
Of which the English long had been possessed▪  
●nd Mauns a city of no small receit,  
●o which the Duke pretended interest:  
●or the conclusion▪ when they came to treat,  
●nd things by Poole were to the utmost pressed,  
Are to Duke Reyner reudred up to hold,  
To buy a Helen, thus a Troy was sold.   

When of an Earl, a marquis Poole is made, 
Poole created first from an Earl, Marque 〈…〉 and after Duke of Suffolk.   
●hen of a marquis is a Duke created,  
●or he at east in Fortune's lap was laid,  
●o glorious actions wholly consecrated:  
Hard was the thing that he could not persuade,  
●n the King's favour he was so instated;  
Without his Suffolk who could not subsist,  
So that he ruled all things as he list.   

This with a strong astonishment doth strike, 
The people exceedingly r●pin● for the giving a●ay of the Provinces.   
●h'amazed world which knew not what to say,  
What living man but did the act mislike,  
●f him it did not utterly dismay,  
●hat what with blood was bought at push of pike,  
Got in an age, given in an hour away:  
Some largely speak, and some again are dumb,  
Wondering what would of this strange world become   

As when some dreadful Comet doth appear,  
Athwart th● h● a●ē tha● throws his threatening light  
The peaceful people that at quiet were,  
Stand with wild g●z●s wondering at the sight,  
Some War, some Plague's, so 〈…〉 fa●●in greatly fear▪ 
A Simile.   
Some falls of Kingdoms, or of 〈…〉 of might:  
The grieved people thus their judgements spend  
Of these strange Actions what should be the end▪   

When Suffolk Procurator for the King, 
S●ffolke Procurator for the King.   
Is s●●p'd for France, t'●spouse the beauteous Bride▪  
And fitted to the full of every thing▪  
Followed with England's Gallant●y and pride,  
(As fresh as is the bravery of the Spring) 
The marriage solem●●zed●●● the city of Towers.   
Coming to Towers, there sumpt●o●sl▪ affide:  
This one, whose like no age had seen before,  
Whose eyes out-shone the jewels that she wore   

Her reucrent Parents ready in the place,  
As one●ioy'd this happy day to s●e,  
The King and Queen the Nuptials there to grace▪ 
The great concourse to honour the Solemnisation.   
On them three Dukes as then attendants be,  
Seven Earls 〈…〉 Barons in their equipace,  
And twenty Bishops▪ wh●●●● that only she,  
Like to the Ro●● morning towards the rise,  
Cheers all the Church, as it doth cheer the ski●●   

T●●umpha●l Arches the glad Town doth raise,  
And salts and Tur●●ys are 〈…〉 at Court,  
Conceited Masks, 〈…〉 Banq●e●s, witty plays,  
〈…〉 them many a pretty sport,  
●o●ts write Prothalamions in their praise,  
●ntill men's ears were cloyed with the report,  
Of either sex, and who doth not delight, 
Margaret in French signifies a Days●e   
To wear the daisy for Queen Margarite.   

The Triumphs ended, he to England goes  
With this rich Gem allotted him to keep,  
〈…〉 ill entertained with most sumptuous shows, 
The Queen bravely entertained in passing through Normandy.   
●n passing through Normandy to Dip▪  
Where like the Sea the concourse daily flows,  
●or her departure whilst sad France doth weep:  
And that the ships their crooked Anchors weighed,  
By which to England she must be conveyed.   

And being fitted both for Wind and Tide, 
The King stayeth for the 〈…〉 at Port●mouth.   
Out of the Harbour flies this goodly Fleet,  
●nd for fair Portsmouth their strait course they plyd,  
Where the King stayed his lovely Bride to meet;  
●onder she comes when as the people cried,  
Busy with Rush●s strev●ing every street,  
The brainless Vulgar little understand,  
The Horrid plagues that ready were to La●d.   

Which but to soon allseeing heaven foretold, 
Great and fearful Tempests at the coming in of the Quern.   
For she was scarcely safely put a Shore,  
●●t that the skies (o wondrous to behold)  
O'erspread with lightning hideously doth roar,  
The furious winds with one another scold,  
Never such Tempests had been seen before,  
With sudden floods whose villages were drowned  
Steeples with earthquaks tumbled to the ground.   

When to their purpose things to pass were brought  
And these two braveambitious spirits were me  
The Queen and Duke now frame their working though  
Into their hand● the Sovereignty to get:  
For soon they found the King could not be wrought  
Up to their ends, nature so low had set,  
His humble heart; that what they would obtain  
'tis they must do'●, by colour of his Reign.   

And for they found the grieved commons grutch  
A● this which Suffolk desperately had done,  
Who for the Queen had parted with so much,  
Thereby yet nothing to the Realm had won,  
And those that spurred the people on, were such,  
As to oppose them openly begun;  
Therefore by them some great ones down must go  
Which if they missed of, they themselves must so▪   

York then which had the Regency in France, 
The Duke of Your 〈…〉 discharged of hi● Regency in France, and the Duke of Somerset in h●● place.   
They force the King, ignobly to displace,  
Thereto the Duke of Summerset t'advance,  
Their friend, and one of the Lancastrian Race;  
For they betwixt them turned the wheel of Chan●●  
'tis they cry up 'tis they that do abase,  
He's the first man they purposed to remove,  
The only Minion of the people's love.   

This opened wide the public way whereby,  
Ruin rushed in upon the troubled Land,  
Under whose weight it happened long to lie,  
Quite overthrown with their il-guiding hand;  
For their Ambition looking over-hie,  
Could in no measure aptly understand,  
Upon their heads the danger that they drew,  
Whose force too soon, they, and their faction knew   

For whilst this brave Prince was employed abroad,  
Th'affairs of France his mind up wholly taken,  
But being thus disburdened of that load,  
Which gave him leave into himself to look,  
The course he ran in, evidently showed,  
His late Allegiance that he off had shaken,  
And under hand his Title set on foot,  
To pluck their Red-Rose quite up by the root,   

Thus having made a Regent of their own,  
By whom they mean great matters to effect,  
For by degrees, they will ascend the throne,  
And but their own all aid they else neglect,  
As with a tempest he to ground is blown,  
On whom their rage doth any way reflect;  
Which good Duke Humphrey first of all must taste  
Whose timeless death intemperately they haste.   

This Henry's Uncle, and his next of blood, 
A Character of the Duke of Gloucester▪   
Was both Protector of the Realm, and King,  
Whose meekness had instiled him the Good,  
Of most especial trust in every thing;  
One to his Country constantly that stood,  
As Time should say, I forth a man will bring,  
So plain and honest, as on him I'll rest,  
The age he lived in, as the only best▪   

This grave Protector who both Realms had sway  
Whilst the King's nonage his sound counsels craved  
In his great wisdom when he throughly weighed,  
How this French Lady here herself behaved,  
To make her Game again, how Suffolk played,  
The Realms from ruin, hoping to have saved,  
Lost his dear life within a little space.  
Which overthrew the whole Lancastrian race▪   

This Prince▪ who still dared stoutly to oppose,  
Those whom be saw▪ all but their own to hate,  
Then found the league o his inveterate foes,  
To come upon him wi●h the power of Fate,  
And things to that extremity still rose,  
The certain sign of the declining State,  
As that their Faction every day grew strong,  
Perceived his virtues like to suffer wrong.   

Fierce Margarits malice propped with mighty me 
The greatest persons of the Queen's Fa●●●●●.   
Her darling Suffolk, who her forward drew,  
Proud Somerset of France the Regent then,  
And Buckingham his power too well that knew,  
The Cardinal Bewfort, and with him again,  
Yorks great Arch-Prelate, to make up the crew,  
By accusations doing all their best,  
From the good Duke all Government to wrest▪   

Who then compel the peaceful King to call,  
Parliament their grievances to hear,  
〈…〉 the Duke that to enforce his fall,  
〈…〉 y might have something that might Colour be●●  
●ut than they doubt his answer, and withal,  
●he murmuring people they far more do fear,  
As their own lives, who loved him, therefore they,  
Must cast to make him secretly away,   

And therefore with the Parliament proceed, 
A Parliamentat Saint Edmunds-Bury.   
●aint▪ Edmunds-bury the appointed place,  
Whereas they meant to do the fatal deed,  
Which with much quickness should decide the case  
The cruel manner soon they had de●reed,  
And to the Act they hasten them apace,  
On this good Prince their purpose ro effect,  
Then, when the people nothing should suspect.   

No sooner was this great assembly met, 
The Duke of Gloster arrested by the high Marshal of England.   
●ut the high Marshal doth the Duke arrest,  
And on his person such a guard they set,  
That they of him were certainly possessed,  
His servants were from their attendance let,  
And either sent to prison or suppressed; 
The Duke murdered.   
So that their Lord lef● in this piteous plight,  
Laid in his bed, was strangled in the night.   

Then give they out, that of mere grief he died,  
To cover what they cruel, had done,  
But this black deed, when once the day descried,  
The frantic people to his Lodging run,  
●ome rail, some curse, yea little children chide, 
The p●●p●● mutiny.   
Which forced that faction the fair streets to shun,  
Some wish proud Suffolk sunk into the ground,  
Somebid a plague the cruel Queen confound.   

Thus their Ambition would not let them see,  
How by his death they hastened their decay▪  
Nor let them know that this was only he,  
Who kept the Yorkists evermore at bay,  
But of this man they must the murderers be, 
The death o● the Duke was the utter 〈…〉 row of the house of L●●caster.   
Upon whose life their safety only lay,  
But his dear blood, them nothing could suffice,  
When now began Queen Margarites Miserie●▪   

In either Kingdom all things went to wrack▪  
Which they had thought they could have made to thy 〈…〉 
The affairs of England fall t● ruin●●pon the death of the Duke.   
His noble Counsels when they came to lack,  
Which could them with facility contrive,  
Nor could they stay them in their going back,  
One mischief still another doth revive;  
As heaven had sent an host of horrors out:  
Which all at once encompassed them about.   

Out fly the Irish, and with sword and fire, 
The Irish rebel▪   
Vnmercied havoc of the English made,  
They discontented here at home conspire,  
To stir the Scot the borders to invade:  
The faithless French then having their desire,  
To see us thus in Seas of troubles wade,  
In every place outrageously rebel, 
The French ●re up in A 〈…〉 s.   
As out of France the English to expel.   

The sturdy Normans with high pride in flamed,  
Shake off the yoke of thei● subjection quite.  
Nor will with patience hear the English named,  
Except of those that speak of them in spite,  
But as their foes them publicly proclaimed, 
The Norman revolt.   
And their Alyes to open Arms excite;  
In every place thus England's right goes down,  
Nor will they leave the English men a Town.   

Newcastle, Constance, Maleon, and Saint lo, 
Town●● in Normandy yielded to th' 〈…〉 enemy. There had been a form●▪ contract between the King and th' 〈…〉 Earl of Arminacks only Daughter but being by▪ the Duke oh 〈…〉 Suffolk annulled, cause 〈…〉 ●he Earl ●●● after to be ● vowed even 〈…〉 ●● the Englis 〈…〉   
With Castel-Galliard, Argenton, and Roan,  
P●nteu-de-mer with Forts and Cities more,  
Than which that Country stronger holds had none,  
Set open their gates and bad the English go,  
For that the French should then possess their own,  
And to the Armies up the Forts they yield,  
And turn the English out into the Field.   

And that great Earl of Arminacke again,  
A puistant peer, and mighty in estate,  
Upon just cause, who took in high disdain,  
To have his Daughter so repudiate,  
(His countries bordering upon Aquitane,)  
Pursues the English nation with such hate,  
As that he entered with his Armed powers,  
And from that Duchy, drove all that was o●rs, 
The commons charg●●he Duke of Somerset▪ with th●▪ loss● of Normand▪    

Th'enraged commons ready are to rise,  
Upon the Regent, to his charge and laid,  
That from his slackness and base cowardice,  
These Towns were lost, by his neglect of aid,  
Then follow Suffolk with confused cries,  
With Maine, and Anjou, and do him ●pbrayd,  
And vow his life shall for their losses pay,  
Or at the stake their goods and lives to lay.   

In th'open Session and Articulate, 
Articles of Treason put into the Parliament against the Duke's o● Somerset ●nd Suffolk.   
S●uen ●●uerall Treasons urged against them both,  
As most p 〈…〉 tious members of the State,  
Which was confirmed by the commons oath,  
So that the King who sa 〈…〉 the people's hate,  
(In his ownself though he were very loath)  
●o both the houses la●●ly doth assent,  
To ●et on Suffolk five years' banishment. 
The Duke of Suf●olke●an●●●ea for sine y●●res.    

His Sovereign Lady Suffolk thus must leave,  
And she her servant to her soul so dear,  
Yet must they both conceal what they conceive,  
Which they would ●ot if any h●lpe there were,  
Yet of all comfort they cannot bereave,  
Her, but his hope her pensive heart doth cheer,  
That he in France shall have his most resort,  
And live securely in her Father's Court.   

His mighty mind nor can this doom molest,  
But kicks the earth in a disda●n●full scorn,  
If any thing do corrosive his breast  
I● was, that he was in base England borne,  
He cursed the King and Kingdom, but he blessed,  
The Queen, but if in any thing forlorn,  
'twas that he should her happ● presence miss,  
The endless Sum of all his earthly bl●sse▪   

His Sentence scarce in Parliament had passed,  
But that the rascal multitude arise, 
The extreme hate the people had to the Duke.   
Pluck down his houses, lay his Lordship's waist,  
And search how they his person may surprise,  
That he from England instantly must hast,  
Coue●'d by night, or by some strange disguise,  
And to some small Port secretly retire,  
And there some poor Boat for his passage hire,   

From Harwitch Haven, and embarked for France, 
This ship was (as our histories report) called the Nicholas o● th● tower, a ship that belonged to the Duke of Excest●r, of whom ●n● Water was the Captain.   
As he for Calais his strait course doth steer,  
●O here behold a most disastrous chance,)  
A man of War the Seas that scoured there,  
One at his actions that still looked asc●nce,  
And to this Duke did deadly hatred bear,  
After a long chase took this little Cra●e,  
Which he supposed him safely should convey.   

And from the fisher taking him by force,  
He under Hatches straightly him bestowed,  
And towards his country steering on his course,  
He runs his vessel into Dover road,  
Where railing on him without all remorse,  
Him from the ship to all the people show●●,  
And when no more they could the Duke de●●●e,  
They cut his head off on the Cock-boat-side.   

Suffolk thus dead and Summerset disgraced,  
His title York more freely might prefer,  
The Commons love, when cunningly to taste,  
Lest overweening he perhaps might err,)  
He first suborns a villain that embraced,  
The Nobler name of March borne Mortimer, 
The sub●●ll policy of the Duke of York.   
Which in the title of the house of York,  
Might set the monstrous multitude a work,   

His name was Cade, his native country Kent,  
Who, though of birth, and in estate but poor,  
Yet for his courage he was eminent, 
The character of jack Cads.   
(Which the wise Duke well understood before,)  
He had a mind was of a large extent,  
The sign whereof on his bold brow he bore,  
Stern of behaviour, and of body strong,  
Witty, well spoken, cautilous, though young.   

But for th● Duke his title must derive, 
Deriving his title from Philip the only Daughter and heir of Lyonel Duke of Clarence the third son of Ed the 3 wedded to Edmund Mortimur Earl of March.   
Out of the blood which bear that honoured name,  
Therefore must cast and cunningly contrive,  
To see how people relished the same,  
And if he found it fortuned to thrive,  
Then at the mark he had a further aim,  
To show himself his title good to make,  
And raise him friends and power, his part to take   

All opposition likewise to prevent,  
The crafty Duke his meaning doth conceal,  
And Cade doth rise t'inform the government,  
And base abuses of the Public Weal,  
To which he knew the commons would consent,  
Which otherwise his Treason might reveal:  
Which rightly took, for by this colour he,  
Drew twenty thousand on his part to be.   

From Sussex, Surry, and from Kent that rose,  
Whom hope of spoil doth to this Act persuade,  
Which still increase his Army as it goes,  
And on Black Heath his Rendavous he made,  
Where in short time it to that vastness grows,  
●s it at once the Kingdom would invade,  
And he himself the Conquest could assure,  
Of any power King Henry could procure.   

And did in fight that general force defeat,  
Sent by the King that Rebel to pursue,  
When under colour of a framed retreat,  
He made as though he from the Army flew, 
The Stafford● slain by th● Rebels▪   
The slaughter of the soldiers must be great,  
When he those Staffords miserably slew,  
Captains select and chosen by the Queen,  
To lead the powers that should have wreaked her teen.   

When for a Siege he to the city came,  
Assaults the Bridge with his emboldened power,  
And after oft repulsed takes the same,  
Makes himself Master of the town and Tower, 
jack Cade takes London▪   
Doing such things as might the Devil shame,  
Destroys Records, and Virgins doth deflower,  
Robs, ransacks, spoils, and after all this stir,  
Lastly beheaded the Lord Treasurer,   

These things by York being plotted underhand,  
Wise as he was, as one that had not known,  
Ought of these Treasons, hasts to Ireland,  
To tame those 
* The Vulgar▪  Kern, rebellious that were grown,  
He knew it was not in the barren Sand,  
That he this subtle poisonous seed had sown,  
Which came it on (as very well it might)  
It would make way for his pretended right.   

Whilst these rebellions are in England broached,  
As though the Fa●es should enujo●sly conspire,  
Our utter Ruin; which too fast approached,  
About our ears, was Aquitaine a fire,  
Their Conquest so upon our Towns encroached,  
That Charles the French King then had his desire.  
To see these troubles tire us here within,  
That he the whilst in France from us might winn●   

To add to Margarites miseries again, 
The Valiant Talbot slain.   
Talbot in France so bravely that had done:  
Who many a year had awed proud Aquitaine,  
And many a Fort, and famous Battle won,  
At Shatiloon (O endless grief) was slain,  
With the Lord Lyle his over valiant Son,  
When all the Towns that he had got before,  
Yielded, nor would for England be no more,   

York in the nike from Ireland coming in,  
Finding the Kingdom cumbered in this wise,  
Thinks with himself 'twere time he did begin,  
But by no means he 'gainst the King must rise,  
O such a thought in any man were sin,  
But that he would proud Summerset surprise,  
Yet wanting strength 'gainst the whole state to stand  
He bears his business with a moderate hand,   

And first to mighty Salisbury doth sue,  
And his son Warwick, and doth them entreat, 
Richard Nevil the Father, and Richard Nevil the son.   
With equal eyes they would be pleased to view,  
His rightful Title: these two Nevil's great,  
●● power, and with the people, whom he knew,  
Deadly the Duke of Somerset to hate,  
By his large offers he doth win at last,  
In his just quarrel to cleave to him fast.   

Thus his Ambition having strongly backed,  
With these two fatal firebrands of War;  
To his desires, there very little lacked,  
He and the Earls all three so popular,  
To advance himself he no occasion slacked,  
●or nought he sees him from his ends to bar,  
'tis no small tempest that he needs to fear,  
Whom two such Collumnes up betwixt them bear.   

And by their strengths encouraged doth not stick  
The others actions boldly to o'relooke,  
And for the season that the King was sick,  
Upon himself the Regency he took,  
●or now his hopes upon him came so thick,  
His entrance doors from off the hinges shook,  
●e with a nod the Realm seemed to direct,  
Who's he but bowed, if this great Prince but becked   

And in the Queen's great chamber doth arrest, 
The Duke of Somerset arrested.   
Great Summerset, and sendeth him to ward,  
And all his followers suddenly suppressed,  
Such was the number of his powerful guard,  
With the proud Queen, this Prince as proud contests  
●or for her frown one friend of hers he spared,  
Luck's on his side, while such stand by to bet,  
he'll throw at all that any one dares set,   

THe Queen who saw, which way the faction we  
And that these wrongs must still reflect on he  
The Duke of York to her destruction bend,  
Thought with herself it was full time to stir,  
And if his plots she ever would prevent,  
Must with the wisest of her friends confer,  
Their busy brains and must together beat,  
To lessen him▪ like else to grow too great.   

His pride a while yet patiently endure,  
The Kings▪ recovery only to attend,  
Of which themselves they hardly could assure,  
Who once they thought had hastened to his end, 
The King re●●uired of a dangerous sickness.   
But when they found his Physic to procure,  
His former health, then doth the Queen extend,  
Her utmost strength, to let the world to know,  
Queen Margarite yet must not be mastered so,   

With smiles and kisses when she woos the King  
That of his place the Duke he would discharge,  
Which being done, the next especial thing,  
She doth the Duke of Summerset enlarge, 
The Queen prevailing against the Duke of York.   
And him of Calais gives the governing,  
Whither his friends she caused him to imba●dge,  
Doubting the love and safeguard of the Town,  
Thus doth the Queen turn all things upside dow●   

Which so incensed the angry Duke to ire,  
With those two Earls upon his part that take,  
Kindling in all that fierce revenge full fire,  
Which the dear blood of Summerset must slake,  
〈…〉 at into Wales they instantly retire: 
The Duke of York 〈…〉 seth an army in the Marches of Wales.   
〈…〉 and in the Marches up an Army make,  
And there by Oath were to each other tide,  
By dint of sword the quarrel to decide.   

And whilst these Lords be busied in the West,  
Of Marchmen mustering a rebelling Band,  
henry again his Southern people pressed:  
●nd settles there their forces to withstand:  
Then Bows and Bills were only in request:  
●uch rage and madness doth possess the Land,  
Set upon spoil, on either part they were,  
Whilst the Weal▪ public they in pieces tear.   

On either part when for this War prepared,  
●pon their March they at Saint Alban met,  
Where drums and Ensigns one the other dared, 
The first Battle at Sa●●● Alban.   
Whilst they in order their Battalions set,  
●nd with his fellow every soldier shared,  
Bravely resolved to death to pay his debts:  
When if that ever horror did appear,  
On th' English earth, it certainly was there,   

That day the Queenes-loued Somerset was slain  
There took the stout Northumberland his end:  
There Staffords blood the pavement did distain: 
Humphrey Earl of Stafford, eldest son to the Duke of Buckingham.   
There Clifford fell, King Henry's constant friend,  
The Earl of Warwick who brought on the Main:  
All down before him to pale Death doth send,  
Antwessell, Bapthorpt, Zouch, and Curwen, all,  
King Henry's friends before the Yorkists fall,   

Whilst this distressed miserable King,  
Amazed with such fury of the fight,  
And peril still his person menacing:  
His living friends enforced to take their flight,  
He as a needless and neglected thing▪  
In a poor Cottage hides him out of sight: 
The King crept into a poor Cottage   
Who found by York was as a prisoner led,  
Though with mild words the Duke him coforted   

And of his person being thus possessed  
They in his name a Parliament procure,  
For with his Regal power they will invest  
Themselves, supposing to make all things sure,  
That if their violent actions should be pressed,  
In after time they better might endure,  
The censuring, the worst, and so prevent,  
To show them done by Act of Parliament,   

And cause the King to take into his hands, 
The lawless ●surpation of the York●st●▪   
What to the Crown did anciently pertain,  
Besides all Honours▪ Offices and Lands,  
Granted since the beginning of his Reign;  
And not a Fee, though ●e'r so little stands;  
And are called in, and let who will complain,  
And all his friends from counsel are removed,  
None must sit there, but those of them beloved,   

The silly King a cipher set aside▪  
What was in him, that in great York was not▪  
Amongst themselves all places they divide, 
Salisbury made Ch 〈…〉   
And to be Chancellor Salisbury hath got,  
He is the man must take the Law to guide, 
Warwick Captaive of Ca●●●ce.   
And Calais falls to warlike Warwick's lot,  
And not a man at these must look awry.  
They make an Act their acts to justify.   

This done the Duke had more to do then this,  
Something it seemed more secretly to lurk,  
In which such power (though from appearance) is,  
As yet once more would fret the Duke of York,  
And let him know, he of his ends might miss;  
For now the Queen doth set her wits to work.  
To play the Game that must renown her skill,  
And show the Law that rested in her will.   

And from the root of Summerset late slain,  
Another stem to stand for her arose,  
Henry for Edmond▪ of his Father's strain, 
Henry Beufo●● Duke of Summerset, after the decease of his▪ father Edmond.   
(One of whose life she knew she could dispose)  
Of a strong judgement, and a working brain,  
Great Buckingham and Excester are those,  
She means to work by, and by these restore,  
Her to that height from whence she fell before.   

These were the men to whom she trusted most,  
To whom that faction much despite had done,  
For at Saint Alban Summerset had lost,  
His loved Sire, and Buckingham his Son:  
And Excester pursued from Coast to Coast;  
From them enforced to Sanct'ary to run: 
The Duke of Excester taken out of the Sanctuary a● Westminster.   
Fetched thence by them▪ and to cold Pumfret sent,  
And in a dungeon miserably penned.   

Equal in envy, as in pride and power,  
With every aid to their disignement fraught,  
Taking their turns at every fitting hour;  
They on the Kings much easiness so wrought,  
As that they seemed him wholly to devour,  
Until to pass their purposes they brought,  
Lifting up still his spirit that was so poor,  
Once more to do as he had done before.   

For which at Greenwich he a Council held, 
The Duke of York, the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick put out of office.   
Where with th'opinion of those friends supplied,  
Those three which late with glorious titles swelled,  
Are from their several places put aside;  
Yet more to seek their safety are compelled,  
At this prodigious turning of the tide:  
For now the wind was strangely come about,  
And brings them in who lately were shut out.   

The cruel Queen and cunningly had cast, 
The Queen had plotted to have the Duke murdered at Coventry,   
At Coventry to cause them to appear,  
With show to pardon all that had been past,  
If they (but then) would their Allegiance swear▪  
Which had they done, that day had been their last  
For she had plotted to destroy them there:  
Of which forewarned, immediately they fled,  
Which then their safety only promised.   

Yet whilst one wrong, thus from another rose,  
'twixt them at last a meeting was ordained,  
All former strife and quarrels to compose,  
Which but too long betwixt them had remained,  
Which to the world though handsomely it shows,  
Yet in plain truth, all was but merely feigned,  
To outward seeming, yet are perfect friends,  
" But devilish folk, have still their devilish ends.   

And in procession solemnly they go,  
In general joy one smiling on the other,  
A Yorkist and Lancastrian make up two, 
A solemn procession in Paul's by both the faction●.   
Envy and malice, brother, like to brother,  
●n mind far sundered, although coupled so,  
Bloody revenge, and in their breasts they smother;  
Ill's the procession (and fore runs much loss,)  
" Wherein men say, the Devil bears the Cross.   

These Rites of peace religiously performed,  
To all men's thinking the enraged Queen,  
At Warwick's greatness inwardly yet stormed, 
The Queen inwardly g●uching at Warwick's greatness▪   
▪ Which every day still more and more was seen,)  
Against the King, who Calais so had Armed,  
As it his own inheritance had been,  
Which town she saw that if he still should hold▪  
That she by him must hourly be controlled.   

For which his murder she pursued so fast,  
As that she soon and secretly had laid,  
〈…〉 h to assault him as the streets he passed, 
Warwick in peril to hau● been slain▪ passing th● street.   
As if his brave name had not brought him aid,  
He of her vengeance had been sure to taste,  
The Tragic Scene so furiously was played,  
That he from London was enforced to fly,  
Like a rough ●e● her malice grew so hie,   

And towards the Duke his speedy journey takes▪  
Who then at Middleham made his most abode,  
Which Salisbury his habitation makes,  
Whereas their time together they bestowed,  
Whose courages the Earl of Warwick wakes,  
When he to them his sudden danger showed,  
With a pale visage, and doth there disclose,  
Her brands set on him both in wounds & blow   

This wrong in counsel when they had discussed,  
And weighed the danger wherein still they were,  
Continual Treasons shrouded in their trust,  
Nor other hopes else likely to appear,  
They find that this might make a war seem just,  
And give their cause up to the world so clear,  
To rise in Arms when they resolve at last,  
To raise them force, and wisely thus forecast,   

To muster up their Tenants and their friends,  
Not as a War upon the land to bring,  
Nor to advance their own sinister ends,  
Nor wrong a Subject in the smallest thing,  
Only to guard them (as their case then stands)  
Till they had showed their grievance to the King,  
And give their power to Salisbury to guide,  
That wi●h the King the business should decide   

With this distinction Salisbury is sent▪  
Warwi●ke to Calais (with what ha●● he may,)  
By his much speed a mischief to prevent,  
Fearing the Town might else be given away,  
The Duke of York by general consent,  
●t Middleham Castle they allot to stay;  
To raise a second power (if need should be)  
To reinforce them, or to set them free.   

The Queen who heard by such as were her own)  
With that false Earl how those of Cheshire sided,  
●s in short time how powerful he was grown,  
Thinks with herself the shire might be divided,  
●f that her love to some of them were known,  
Which easily might be, were her pleasure guided,  
By some such person, of whose valour they,  
Had an opinion, which she thus doth lay.   

Causing the King to give a large command,  
To james Lord Awdley, powerful in those parts,  
To Raise him force those Rebels to withstand;  
●uch to their Sovereign as had loyal hearts,  
And to make Captains over every band▪  
Men of the best blood, as of best deserts,  
Which he so laboured till that he had brought,  
That th'half of one house 'gainst the other fought   

So that two men arising from one bed, 
The men of Cheshire spanton the quarre●●.   
Falling to talk, from one another fly:  
This wears a white Rose, and that wears a Red;  
And this a York, that Lancaster doth cry:  
He wished to see that Awdley well had sped:  
He prays again to prosper Salisbury:  
And for their farewell when their leaves they take  
They their sharp swords at one another shake.   

This fire in every family thus set,  
Ou● go the Brown bills with the well strung bow●  
Till a●▪ Blore heath these boy strous soldiers met, 
The 〈…〉   
For there ●● chanced the Armies then to close,  
This 〈…〉 not live if that he strove to let;  
Never such friends yet ere became such foes,  
With downright strokes they at each other ●●  
No word for Cheshire was, but kill and slay,   

The Son (as some report) the Father slew, 
A great 〈…〉   
In opposition as they stoutly stood,  
The Nephew seen the Uncle to pursue,  
Bathing his sword in his own natural blood,  
The Brother in his brother's gore imbrue  
His guilty hands, and at this deadly food:  
Kinsman kills Kinsman, and together fall,  
As hellish fury had possessed them all.   

There noble Tutch●t the Lord Audl●y died, 
The Lord A 〈…〉   
(Whose Father won him such renown in Franc●  
And many a Cheshire Gentleman beside,  
Fell at this field by wars uncertain chance:  
These miseries Queen Margarite must abide,  
Whilst the proud Yorkists do themselves advance  
And poor King Henry on a pallet lay,  
And scarcely asked which side had got the day   

Thus valiant Audl●y at this Battle slain,  
And all those friends to the Lancastrians lost:  
Cheshire by her such d●mage to sustain:  
So much dear blood had this late Conflict cost:  
Wherefore the grieved Queen with might & main  
Labours for life to raise a second Host:  
No● time therein she meaneth to foreslow,  
Either she'll get all, or will all forgo.   

And whilst their friends them forces gathering were▪  
The neighbouring Realms of this great business ring,  
The Duke & those, that to his part adhere,  
proclaimed Traitors; pardon promising,  
To those at Blore that Arms did lately bear:  
●o they would yet cleave to their lawful King,  
Which drive in many to their part again,  
To make their full, they York●sts in their wane.   

York who perceived the puissant Host prepared,  
With his dear Nevil's, Counsels what to do,  
●or it behooved him to make good his guard,  
With both their strengths and all too little too,  
●nd in the Marches he no labour spared  
●o win his friends along with him to go:  
With expedition which he could not g●t,  
On the King's side the Commons were so set.   

And being to meet so absolute a power,  
〈…〉 t wanting much his party good to make;  
〈…〉 d Henry's proclamations every hour:  
〈…〉 s Soldiers win their General to forsake,  
〈…〉 sides the storm which raised this sudden shower:  
〈…〉 m all in sunder likely was to shake:  
He saw his safety to consist in flight,  
Thus e'er he wist, o'rmastred in his might,   

All on the spur for li●● away they post,  
Their homes too ●●● nor there they might abide▪ 
E●●●rd Earl of March, eldest son to ●●● Duke t●● Ea 〈…〉 and Warwick.   
The thre●●●aue Earls soon reached the western coa 〈…〉  
〈…〉 whence to Calais their strait course they pli 〈…〉  
The Duke to Wales being there befriended most:  
Yet for more safety, he ●o Ireland hide:  
So others ship themselves from every bay,  
And happiest he that soonest could get away,   

As when a Rout of raue'nous wolves are met▪  
T'assey●● some Herd the desert p●sturing near, 
A Simile.   
T●● watchful Clowns which over them are set,  
Of● taught before their tyranny to fear.  
With dogs, with st●u●s, and shouts together g 〈…〉  
No● never leave till they their cattle clear:  
So the King's power the Yorkists still pursue,  
Which like▪ those wolves before those Herds m● fl 〈…〉   

They gone the King at Coventry begun, 
A Parliament at 〈…〉   
A Parliament, by good advice, wherein,  
The Duke of York, with th'earl of March his so 〈…〉  
With Sal●bury and Warwick who had been  
Conspirators, much mischief and had done,  
And by whose help ●e happed so much to win:  
He there attaints▪ of Treason, and bestows,  
All that was theirs, upon his friends, their foes,   

When now those Earls in Calais still that 〈…〉  
The charge whereof proud Warwick on him too 〈…〉  
In their intended business never slept:  
Nor yet their former enterprise forsook,  
In t' Henry's Counsels who had those that crept,  
And did each day his actions overlook,  
From whom as their advertisements still are,  
So they their strengths accordingly prepare.   

And in mean time the Kingdom to embroil,  
That with less noise their friends might raise an host,  
They plague the seas with Piracy and spoil:  
And rob the havens all along the Coast:  
They ne'er take pity of their Native soil:  
For that they knew this would avail them most,  
That whilst the State was busied there about▪  
Arms might be raised within, by those without.   

And slaughtering many that were set toward,  
Th'especial Ports; th'unwieldy Anchors weighed,  
Of the King's ships, whose fraught as prise they shared  
And them to Calais carefully conveyed,  
With their sto●n● Fleet, and his great Navy dared,  
As late by land, so now by Sea they swayed:  
All in Combustion, and their bloody rage,  
Nor Sea, nor Land, can possibly assuage.   

Then have they Forces raised for them in Kent,  
Their next and most convenien place to land,  
(Where should the adverse power their hopes prevent  
In Dover Road yet were their ships at hand)  
And by their Posts still too and fro that went,  
They certainly were let to understand,  
That Kent was surely theirs, and only stayed▪  
To rise in Arms the Yorkists▪ power to aid,   

When Falconbridge, who second Brother was  
To Salisbury, they send away before,  
To see no ships should out of Sandwich pass,  
To hinder them from coming to the shore,  
There of Munition took a wondrous Mass,  
Heaped in that Town, that with abundant store,  
He Armed many at their coming in,  
Which on their side would scarcely else have been▪   

That they no sooner settled were on land, 
The men of Kent rise with the Torkists.   
But that in Arms th'rebellious Kentish rose,  
And the Lord Cobham with a mighty band,  
With their Calicians presently doth close,  
That now they swayed all with a powerful hand,  
And in small time so great their Army grows,  
From Sussex, Surry, and those parts about,  
That of her safety, London well might doubt,   

But yet at last the Earies she in doth let,  
To whom the Clergy coming day by day,  
From further shears them greater forces get,  
When towards Northampton making forth their way  
Where the sad King his Army down had set,  
And for their coming only made his stay,  
With all the force his friends could him afford,  
And for a fight with all things fitly stored   

Who in his march the Earl doth oft molest,  
(By their Vauntcurrers hearing how he came)  
In many a strait, and often him distressed,  
By stakes and trenches that his Horse might lame,  
But the stout Yorkists still upon them pressed: 
The name of Warwick fearful to hu enemies.   
And still so fearful was great Warwick's name,  
That being once cried on, put them oft to flight  
On the King's Army till at length they light.   

When th'earl of March them in the pride of blood  
His Virgin valour on that day bestows,  
And furious Warwick like a raging flood,  
Bears down before him all that dare oppose,  
Old Salisbury so to his tackling stood,  
And Fauconbridge so says amongst his foes,  
That even like leaves, the poor Lancastrians fall,  
And the proud Yorkists bear away the Ball.   

There Humphrey Duke of Buckingham expired, 
A great pa●● of the Nobility slain at Nerthampton   
King Henrys comfort and his causes friend,  
There Shrewsbury (even of his foes admired,  
For his high courage) his last breath doth spend,  
Brave Beamout there, and Egremount lay tired  
To death, there▪ Lucy had his luckless end,  
And many a noble Gentleman that day,  
Weltering in gore, on the wild Champion lay,   

The wretched King, as Fortune's only son,  
His soldiers slain, and he of all forsaken,  
Left in his Tent; of men the most forlorn;  
(The second time) a prisoner there is taken;  
The woeful Queen out of the Battle borne,  
In a deep swound; and when she doth awaken,  
Nothing about her hairs, but howls, and cries,  
Was ever Queens like Margarites miseries?   

YOrke coming in from Ireland●n ●n the end,  
And to his hands thus finds the Battle won●  
By the high Prowess of his faithful friend,  
Great Warwick, and that valiant March his son,  
H●s present hopes the former so transcend,  
That the proud Duke immediately begun,  
By his bold Actions to express his thought,  
Through so muc● blood, which he so long had sought▪   

The Kings Commandment daring to deny,  
His Sovereign Lord being called to wait upon, 
The Duke of Yorke● insolence.   
And on his Fortune bears himself so hi●,  
That he in State presumes t'ascond his Throne;  
From the King's lodgings puts his ●●●u●n●s by,  
And placeth in them such as were his own:  
So infinitely insolent the grows,  
As he the Crown at pleasure would dispose,   

When he procures a Parliament with speed,  
In which himself Protector he doth make,  
And only Heir apparent to succeed,  
The King▪ when death him from the world doth take  
And what had been at Coventry decreed,  
He there Annuls, from him and his to shake  
The servile yoke of all subjection quite,  
Down goes the red Rose, and up goes the white▪   

And he with Fortune that this while doth sport,  
Seeing the Southern▪ to him still were sure;  
Thinks to the North, if he should but resort,  
He to his part the Northern should procure,  
Seeking all ways his greatness to support;  
Nor would an equal willingly endure:  
Down into Yorkshire doth to Sandall ride,  
Whose lofty scyte well suited with his plied.   

The vexed Queen whose very soul forgot, 
The Quee●● impatient ● the Duke's pride.   
That such a thing as patience it had known,  
And but she found her friends forsook her not,  
As mad as ever Hecuba had grown,  
Whilst both her wrongs, and her revenge were hot,  
Her mighty mind so down could not be thrown,  
But that once more the bloody set she'll play,  
With York, ere so he bear the Crown away.   

And down to Sandall doth the Duke pursue,  
With all the power her friends could her provide,  
Led by those Lords that ever had been true,  
And had stood fast upon King Henry's side,  
With that most valiant and selected crew,  
This brav'st of Queens, so well her business plied,  
That coming soon to Sandals lofty sight,  
Into the Field she dares him forth to fight▪   

And for this Conflict there came on with her,  
Her hope Prince Henry, her dear only Son,  
Stout Somerset, and noble Excester,  
Dukes that for Margarite mighty things had done,  
Devon and Wilt▪ Earles using to confer,  
With this wise Queen, when danger she would shun,  
Undaunted Clifford, Rosse in war up brought,  
Barons as brave as ere in battle fought▪   

When this stout Duke who in his Castle stood, 
The Dukes oft 〈…〉 ruin.   
With Salisbury (who beat them all at Blore,)  
Both which were fleshed abundantly with blood,  
In those three But a●les they had won before,  
Thought in their pride, it would be ever Flood,  
No● 'gainst Queen Margarite that they needed more  
For they ●d▪ Fortune chained with them about,  
Th●t of the●● conquest none but fools could doubt.   

And for the Field soon Marshalling their force,  
All poor delays they scornfully defy,  
Nor will the Duke stay for those troops of Horse,  
With which his Son him promised to supply,  
Inspite of Fate they'll give their foe the worse,  
On their own valour they so much rely,  
And with five thousand marshalled well they come,  
Meaning to charge the Queen's main Battle home.   

But in her Host she having those that were▪  
Expert in all the Stratagems of War,  
To fight with him do cause her to forbear,  
Till from his Castle she had got him far,  
Whilst in an ambush she had placed there,  
Wiltshire and Clifford with their strengths to bar,  
Him from his home, in offering to retire,  
Or wound his back even as they would desire,   

When to't they fell upon an easy plain,  
At the hill foot, where furiously they fought,  
Upon both sides where there were many slain:  
But for the Queen, four to his one had brought:  
The Duke of York for all his pride was fain.  
Back to recoil were he was finely caught,  
For Wilt and Clifford that in Ambush were,  
The Van thus routed, overthrew the Rear.   

Where York himself, who proudly but of late,  
With no less hope than of a kingdom fed,  
Upon this field before his Castle gate,  
Mangled with wounds on his own earth lay dead,  
Upon whose body Clifford down him sat,  
Stabbing the corpses, and cutting off his head,  
Crowned it with paper, (and to wreak his teen)  
Presents it so to his victorious Queen,   

His Bastard Uncles both courageous Knights,  
Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer so sped,  
Hall, Hastings▪ Nevil▪ who in sundry Eights,  
Had showed their valour, on the field found dead:  
And Salisbury amongst these Tragic sights,  
Who at Blore-heath so much dear blood had shed, 
The E●rle ●● Salisbury b●● heade●▪   
Taken alive, to Pomfret sent with speed,  
And for their bloods, himself there made to bleed   

Some climb up Rocks, through hedges other run  
Their foes so roughly execute their rage,  
Where th'earl of Rutland the Duke's youngest son, 
The end of young Rutland.   
Then in his childhood and of tender age,  
Coming in hope to see the Battle won,  
Clifford whose wrath no rigour could assuage.  
Takes, and whilst there he doth for mercy kneel,  
In his soft bosom sheaths his sharpened steel.   

Edward of March, the Duke his Father slain,  
Succeeding him▪ whilst things thus badly sort,  
Gathering an Army, but yet all in vain,  
To aid his Father, for he came too short,  
Hearing that Pembroke with a Warlike train,  
Was coming towards him, touched with the report,  
His valiant Marchers for the field prepares,  
To meet the Earl, if to approach he dares.   

jaesper by birth half Brother to the King,  
On bright Queen Katherine got by Owen Tether▪  
Whom Henrys love did to this Earldom bring,  
And as from Wales descended sent him thither,  
And of South-wales gave him the governing,  
Where in short time he got an Host together,  
Cleaving to Henry who did him prefer,  
As an Ally to th'House of Lancaster.   

Upon their March when as they lastly mer,  
near to the Cross that Mortimer is named, 
The Battle ●● Morti●●●s Cross.   
Where they in order their Battalions set,  
The Duke and Earl with equal rage inflamed,  
With angry eyes they one the other threat▪  
Their deadly Arrows at each other aimed:  
And there a fierce and deadly fight begin,  
A bloodier Battle yet there had not been▪   

The Earl of Ormond, an Associate then,  
With this young Tudor, for the King that stood▪  
Came in the Vanguard with his Irish men▪  
With Darts, and Skeins▪ those of the British blood  
With Shafts and Gleaves them seconding again,  
And as they fall, still make their places good,  
That it amazed the marchers to behold,  
Men so ill armed upon their Bows so bold.   

Now th' Welsh and Irish so their weapons wield,  
As though themselves they conquerors meant to c●l  
Then are the Marchers masters of the field,  
With their brown Bills the Welshmen so they maul,  
Now th'▪ one▪ now th'other likely were to yield,  
These like to fly, than those were like to fall,  
Until at length (as fortune pleased to guide)  
The Conquest turned upon the Yorkists side.   

Three Suns were seem that instant to appear, 
Three s●n●ey seen▪ at one time.   
Which soon again shut up themselves in one,  
Ready to buckle as the Armies were,  
Which this brave Duke took to himself alone,  
His drooping hop●s which somewhat seemed to cheer  
By his mishaps▪ near lately overthrown.  
So that thereby encouraging his men,  
Once more he sets the white Rose up again.   

Pembroke, and Ormond, save themselves by slight,  
Four thousand soldiers of both Armies dead,  
But the great loss on the Lancastrians light,  
So ●ll the ●riends of poor King Henry sped;  
Where Owen Tudor taken in the flight,  
This young Earl's father by Queen Katherine's bed 
Owen Tudor● end.   
At Hereford not far away from thence,  
Where others with him died for their offence.   

THis while the Queen, the goal at Sandal gain  
Leads on towards London her victorious H●  
Whose blades she shows, with blood of Yorkists stained  
Nor of her Conquest can she leave to boast,  
But to her side, whilst lucky fortune leaned,  
Come, what can come, she means to clear the co●●  
Of those she knew in Yorks revenge would rise▪  
Found she not means, their Forces to surprise.   

And at Saint Alban finding on her way,  
john Duke of Norfolk, and her devilish foe:  
Fierce Warwick who there with an Army lay,  
Which two, deceased York when he should go 
King Henry left before to the keeping of the Duke of Norfolk, and the Earl of Warwick.   
To Sandall, left them as his only key,  
To keep King Henry (which they not foreslow)  
Lest by the Queen & hers he might be wroug▪  
T'annull their late past Parliament for nought▪   

For which to Counsel, calling up her Lords,  
Well to consider what was to be done,  
Who cheer her up with comfortable words,  
And would in no wise she her▪ way should shun:  
For they would make her entrance with their swo●  
Here what was lost, might here again be won,  
Assuring her their minds them strongly gave▪  
That of this Field the glory she should have.   

And soon their Army ordering for the grow 〈…〉  
Whereof a view they e●'ry way do take:  
When for Assault they bid their Trumpets sound,  
And so their entry on the Town they make:  
●ut coming to the market place they found,  
● shower of shafts, as from a cloud it broke,  
Which back again made them so fast to bear,  
As that their Van, was like to rout their Rear,   

But thus repulsed, another way they prove,  
How in upon their enemy to get,  
Which makes their foes, that they their force remove  
To stop that passage wherein they were set,  
●hat whilst, they▪ shafts into each other shove,  
●or a long while it was an even bet,  
Death being thus dealt, and both so deeply in,  
Whether proud Warwick, or the Queen should win   

But by the Queen constrained to recoil,  
●heir ground from them they absolutely won,  
When they the Yorkists miserably spoil,  
●nd in with them on their main Battle run:  
Which being greatly straitened by the soil,  
●hey could not do what else they might have done: 
The Queen getteth the day at Saint Alban.   
Through thick & thin, o'er hedge & ditch that take,  
And happiest he the greatest haste could make.   

Whilst Warwick cries, ye Southern cowards stay,  
●nd once more turn your faces to your foes,  
●is fear, not danger doth ye thus dismay:  
● prove the former fortune of your Bows,  
●hinke but upon the late-wonne glorious day,  
●ot in this place; the fame whereof you lose,  
By your base flight; but he his breath might spare  
He might as well have called upon the Air▪   

Scattered like sheep by wolves that had been scared 
The Yorkists Army discomfited at this second Batt●ll at Saint Alban   
So run the Yorkists; which, when Norfolk saw,  
He calls to Warwick scarcely then prepared,  
Himself out of this danger to withdraw:  
My Lord (quoth he) you see that all is marred:  
Fortune hath sworn to keep us in her awe:  
Our lives are gone if longer here we stay,  
Lose not yourself, though we have lost the d●   

And for they found the Foe came on so fast,  
The King by them to this lost battle brought,  
And under guard in his pavilion placed,  
theyare forced to leave (which late they little though  
For there were those which made them make such has●  
They could not stay to have their Sovereign sought 
King Henry of no account   
But since the Battle had such ill success,  
That lost, they thought their loss of him the less●   

The foe thus fled, they quickly found the King,  
From whom a speedy messenger is sent,  
His Wife and Son, away to him to bring,  
Who with their Lords arriving at his Tent, 
The King ●●et● with the Queen and her ●●●●●   
Where after many a fall, and many aspring,  
Of tears of joy upon each other spent,  
With strict embraces they each other strain,  
No one had need a gladness there to feign.   

Like as you see when Partridges are flown,  
(In Falconers terms which we the Covey call) 
〈…〉   
By the sharp Hawk, and into thickets thrown,  
There drops down one, there doth another fall,  
●et when they hear the questing Spaniels gone,  
They in the evening get together all▪  
With pretty iugging and each other greet.  
Glad as it were they once again should meet.   

But the fierce Queen, her full revenge to take,  
Of those she thought the Yorkists well that meant.  
●he stout Lord Bonvile for King Henry, sake, 
The cruelty of the Queen   
●nd Thomas Kerrill, a brave Knight of Kent,  
Who the King's Guard strove ever long to make,  
●ll threatening peril thereby to prevent,  
And for their safety had his Sovereign word,  
That cruel woman putteth to the sword.   

This well might warn great Warwick not to trust  
●oo much to Fortune, which so soon reveals,  
●er whorish lightness, like an Averse gust,  
●nd on the sudden makes him strike his Sails,  
Which when he most believed her to be just,  
●is forward hopes then most of all she fails  
All his accounts, and teach him thus to sum,  
▪ None overcomes, but may be overcome,   

Some think that Warwick had not lost the day,  
●ut that the King into the Field he brought,  
●or with the worse, that side still went away, 
King Henry most 〈…〉   
Which had King Henry with them when they fought  
●pon his birth so sad a curse they lay,  
●s that he never prospered in aught,  
The Queen won two, amongst the loss of many▪  
Her husband absent, present, never any▪   

But whilst herself with further hopes she fed,  
The Queen still watchful, wisely understands,  
That Warwick late, who at Saint Alban fled▪  
(Whereas his heels served better than his hands)  
Had met the Duke of York, and made a head,  
Of many fresh, and yet unfought-with bands,  
At Chippingnorton for more forces stayed,  
From whence towards London they their mar● had lay● 
The Londoners deny the Queen victual for her Army.    

And for she saw the Southern to adhere,  
Still to the Yorkists, who again relied,  
Much on their aid, as London she doth fear,  
A small relief which lately her denied,  
She can (at all conceive) no comfort there,  
With any succours, nor to be supplied,  
But to the North her speedy course directs,  
From whence fresh aids she every day expect●   

Not four days march yet fully on her way, 
The Duke of York entereth London with applause of the people.   
But York to London with his Army comes,  
And near the walls his Ensigns doth display,  
Deaffing the city with his clamoorus Drums,  
His Title so the multitude doth sway,  
That for his soldiers they provide him Sums,  
And those provisions they Queen Margarite o●  
Taken from hers, they on the Duke bestowed.   

The Gates set open to receive him in,  
They with applause his gracious entrance greet,  
His presence so the People's hearts doth win,  
That they come flocking in from every street,  
Kneeling before him, as he Crowned had been,  
And as he road along they kissed his feet,  
Whilst good King Henry towards the North is gone,  
The poor Lancastrians damned by every one.   

Whither (at once) do presently repair,  
The spiritual Lords, & Temporal, who would have,  
Him take the Crown, who far more ready are,  
●o give, than he their suffrages to crave:  
The Commons take him so into their care,  
Upon his name that dotingly they rave,  
And being asked who should their Sovereign be,  
They cry King Edward and no man but he.   

Thus to his height this puissant Prince they heave,  
The seat Imperial; where then sitting down,  
Their fealty they force him to receive,  
Which on his head might firmly fix his Crown,  
And in his hand the Regal Sceptre leave:  
Edward the fourth proclaimed in every Town, 
Edward m●● King by the suffrage of the Commons▪   
With all the pomp that they could think upon,  
They then adorn his Coronation.   

THis news too quickly in Queen Margarites ear,  
What by the Lords at London had been done,  
Even at the point to fall into despair,  
Ready she was on her own death to run;  
With her fair fingers ●ents her golden hair,  
Cursing that hour when first she saw the Sun.  
With rage she faints; reviving and doth call,  
Upon high heaven for vengeance on them all,   

To aid her right yet still excites her friends,  
By her fair speech enchanted (as by charms)  
Scarce any man on any Lord depends,  
That follows her, that riseth not in Arms:  
The spacious North such plenteous succour sends,  
That to her side the soldiers come in swarms:  
Thus day by day she addeth more and more,  
To that full Army, which she had before.   

Not long it was but Edward understood,  
Of this great power prepared in the North,  
When he to make his Coronation good,  
Calls to his aid his friends of greatest worth,  
With whom then rising like a raging flood: 
King Edward 〈…〉 from 〈…〉 to 〈…〉   
This forward King breaks violently forth,  
That with the help of Tributary flows,  
Extends his breadth still onward as he goes.   

Nor Henry's Army needed to be sought,  
For every man could tell him where it lay,  
In twelve days march which Edward easily rough  
Without resistance keeping on his way,  
Near fifty thousand in his Host he brought,  
Whose brandished Ensigns seemed to brave the day  
And under Pomfret his proud Tents he pight▪  
Providing hourly for a deadly fight.   

Of Henrys Host, when they who had command,  
On whom the Queen imposed had the care,  
Great Somerset, and stout Northumberland,  
And Clifford, whom no danger yet could dare:  
The walls of York first having throughly maned,  
There placed the King, when quickly they prepare,  
To range their Battle which consisted then,  
Of threescore thousand valiant Northern men.   

From Edward's Host the Lord Fitzwater went, 
The Lord Fitzwater and Bastard Nevil slama   
And valiant Nevil, Warwick's Bastard brother,  
At Ferry-bridge the passage to prevent,  
From coming over Eyre, to keep the other;  
'Gainst whom the adverse, the Lord Clifford sent,  
Who taking night his enterprise to smother:  
The dawn yet dusky, passing through a Ford,  
Puts them, and all their soldiers to the sword▪   

At the shrill noise, when Warwick coming in,  
And finds his Brother and Fitzwater dead,  
Even as a man distracted that had been:  
Out of his face the lively colour fled, 
Warwick ●●w●● to re●snge his brother's death.   
●oth cruel Clifford thus (quoth he) begin,  
For every drop of blood that he hath shed,  
This day I'll make an enemy to bleed,  
Or never more in Battle let me speed.   

And to the King returning in this mood,  
〈…〉 Liege (quoth he) all mercy now defy,  
●elay no longer to revenge their blood;  
Whose mangled bodies breathless yonder lie:  
●nd let the man that means King Edward's good,  
〈…〉 and fast to Warwick, who no more shall fly:  
Resolved to win, or bid the world a due, 
Warwick's de●●era●e ●●● s●luti●●   
Which spoke, the Earl his sprightly courser s●●e▪   

This resolution so extremely wrought,  
Upon King Edward that he gave command, 
No quarter ●e●t at Towton.   
That on his side who willingly not fought,  
Should have his leave, to quit him out of hand;  
That every one should kill the man he caught,  
To keep no Quarter, and who meant to stand,  
In his just cause, rewarded he would see,  
This day he'll rise, or this day ruined be.   

When near to Towton on the spacious plain▪ 
Towton field.   
These puissant Armies on Palme-Sunday me▪  
Where down right slaughter angry heaven doth rain●  
With clouds of rage the Element is set:  
The wind●s breath fury, and the earth again,  
With the hot gore of her own Natives wet,  
Sends up a smoke▪ which makes the mall so mad,  
Of neither part that mercy could be had.   

One horrid sight another doth appall:  
One fearful cry another doth confound,  
Murders so thick upon each other fall,  
That in one shriek another's shriek is drowned,  
Whilst blood for blood ●ncessantly doth call,  
From the wide mouth of many a gaping wound;  
Slaughter so soon grows big, that commn to birt●  
The monstrous burden overloads the earth▪   

This bloody Tempest ten long hours doth last▪  
Whilst neither side could to itself assure  
The victory; but as their lot was cast,  
With wounds and death they stoutly it endure,  
Until the valiant Yorkists at the last,  
Although in number near ten thousand fewer:  
In their long fight their forces manage so,  
That they before them lay their conquered foe.   

Courageous Clifford first here fell to ground,  
Into the throat with a blunt Arrow struck: 
A miserable defect of the Queen's friends.   
Here Westmoreland received his deadly wound:  
Here died the stout Northumberland that stuck  
Still to his Soneraigne; Wells, and Dacres found,  
That they had lighted on King Henrys luck:  
Trowluph & Horn, two brave commanders dead  
Whilst Summerset and Excester were fled.   

Thirty two thousand in this battle slain, 
The greatest slaughter in all that ciui●● War.   
Many in strayts lie heaped up like a wall 〈…〉  
The restlye scattered round about the plain,  
And Cock a River, though but very small,  
Filled with those flying doth so deeply stain,  
The River Wharfe, int'which this Cock doth fall,  
As that the fountain which this flood doth feed,  
Besides their blood, had seemed for them to bleed.   

King Henrys hopes thus utterly forlorn,  
By the late loss of this unlucky day:  
He feels the Crown (even) from his temples torn,  
On his sword point, which Edward bears away:  
And since his fall the angry Fates had sworn,  
He finds no comfort longer here to stay:  
But leaving York, he post to Berwick goes,  
With's Queen & Son, true partners in his woes▪   

The King for Scotland, and for France the Queen, 
The King and Queen forced to forsake the Land   
Divided hence, since them thus Fortune thwarts,  
Before this time there seldom had been seen,  
Two to be severed with so heavy hearts,  
The Prince their son then standing them between,  
Their song is sorrow▪ and they bear their parts:  
He to the King of Scots, to get supplies▪  
She to the French King, and her Father flies.   

Which well might show a Prince's slippery state,  
For when she hither at the first came in,  
England and France did her congratulate,  
Then in two battles she had Conqueror been,  
Seeming to tread upon the Yorkists hate,  
As from that day she had been borne to win:  
Now to sail back with miseries far more,  
Then were her Triumphs landing here before.   

This cruel blow to the Lancastrians lent,  
At fatal Towton that Palme-Sunday fight,  
Where so much blood they prodigally spent,  
To France and Scotland as enforced their flight,  
Lifts up the Yorkists to their large extent,  
And Edward now to see his Crown set right,  
Pro●d in his spoils, to London doth repair,  
And re-annoynted mounts th'imperial Chair,   

Where he a speedy Parliament doth pass,  
T'annull those Laws which had been made before▪  
'Gainst his succession, and dissolve the Mass,  
Of Treasons heaped on his, them to restore:  
Whereby King Henry so much lessened was,  
As after that he should subsist no more,  
Little then thinking Lancaster again,  
Now but an exile over him should reign.   

Where he attaints as Traitors to his Crown, 
The Earl of Oxford and ●● Son attainted.   
john Earl of Oxford and h●s valiant son,  
A●brey De Vere, with whom likewise went down  
Mountgomery, Terrill, Tudenham who were done,  
To death; so Heaven on Henry seems to frown,  
And Summerset King Edward's wrath to shun,  
Himself submitting is received to grace,  
Such is Queen Margarites miserable case.   

Henry in Scotland▪ the sad Queen the while,  
Is left to France, to Lewis there to sue,  
To lend her succour; scorning her exile,  
In spite of Fate she will the war renew, 
Queen Margarit a woman of an ●ndainted spirit.   
She will tempt Fortune till again she smile▪  
In such a pitch her mighty spirit still flew;  
That should the world oppose her, yet that strength,  
She hopes shall work up her desires at length.   

And with five thousand valiant Volunteers,  
Of native French, put under her command,  
With Arms well sitted she towards Scotland steers  
With which before she possibly could land,  
The wrath of Heaven upon this Queen appears, 
The Queen in every enterprise most unfortunate.   
And with fierce Tempests strive her to withstand,  
The winds make war against her with her Foe,  
Which Joined together work her overthrow.   

Her Forces thus infortunatly lost,  
Which she in Scotland hoped to have increased,  
And in this tempest she herself so tossed,  
As never Lady; yet she hear not coast,  
But since she found her enterprise thus crossed,  
She to the Scottish her fair course addressed,  
Nor would desist till she had raised again,  
Ten thousand valiant well-appointed men.   

And in upon Northumberland doth break,  
Rowzing the Siuggish villages from fleepe,  
Bringing in Henry though a help but weak,  
But leaves her Son in Berwick safe to keep;  
Her rattling Drums so rough a language speaks, 
Queen Margarite raiseth ● new Army.   
The ruffling Scots, and all the Country sweep;  
Which rumour run so fast with through the air,  
That Edward thought it shook his very Chair.   

And Somerset received to grace before,  
With Sir Raulph Percy from that fatal day, 
S●me that ●ad submitted themselves to King Edward ●e●olt at king Henrys coming.   
At Towton; found each minute more and more,  
How sad ● fate on the Lancastrians lay,  
Y●● hoping now King Henry to restore,  
Who they supposed had new found out the way,  
Revolt from Edward, and in Henrys name,  
Call in their friends, to aid him as he came.   

THis noise of War arising from the North,  
In Edward's ears re-ecchoing bids him stir,  
And rumour ●ells him if he made not forth,  
Queen Margarite comm'n he must resign to her,  
For they were Captains of especial worth,  
On whom she did this mighty charge confer,  
For that her Ensigns she at large displayed,  
And as she came, so still came●n her aid,   

For which his much loved Montacute he sends,  
With England's valiant Infantry his Pheres:  
To whose wise guidance, he this War commends,  
His soldiers expert picked in sundry shears,  
His utmost strength King Edward now extends,  
Which he must do, or dragged down by the ears,  
From his lategotten, scarsely-setled Thro●e,  
And on his shoulders she remount thereon.   

And Montacute had scarcely marched away,  
But he himself sets forward with an Host,  
And a strong Navy likewise doth purvey, 
Kin Edward provideth to resist Queen Margarites coming in.   
To scour the Seas and keep the British coast,  
Fearing from France fresh succours every day,  
To aid Queen Margarit which perplexed him most  
For he perceived his Crown sat not so sure,  
But might be shaked should she her Powers procure▪   

Now is the Northfild with refulgent Arms,  
Edward's and English Scots Queen Margarit brings,  
The Norths co 〈…〉 this ●reat concourse warms  
Their Quarrel 〈…〉 f two great Kings,  
Which oft b 〈…〉 wrought each others harms,  
And from that R 〈…〉 horror daily springs,  
And though 〈…〉 odd ●●ey both had spent before  
Yet not so much, but that there must be more.   

At Hegly-heath their skirmishes begin, 
The Conflict at Hegly-More.   
Where two bold Barons Hungerford and Resse,  
With Sir Ralph Percy, he who had lately been▪  
Leagued with King Edward, but then gotten lose,  
(Strives by all means to expiate that sin)  
To the Lancastrian faction cleaves so close,  
That when those Barons from that conflict fly,  
In Henrys right, he bravely dares to dye.   

Which leads along as Tragical an Act,  
As since the Wars had ever yet been played,  
For Montacute b'ing fortunately backed,  
By brave King Edward's coming to his aid:  
As of their force King Henry little lacked,  
The plain called Livells where the scene was laid: 
The Bot●aile▪ of Exh●●.   
Not far from Exham near to Dowills' flood,  
That day discolloured with Lancastrians blood,   

There struck they battle, Bowmen Bowmen plied▪  
Northern to Southern, slaughter ceaseth all;  
Long the Fight lasted e'er that either side,  
Could tell to which the Victory would fall:  
But to the Yorkists fortune is so tie,  
That she must come when they shall please to call,  
And in his Cradle Henry had the curse,  
That where he was, that side had still the worse.   

This luckless day by the Lancastrians lost,  
Was Summerset surprised in his flight,  
And in pursuing of this scattered Host,  
On Mullins, Rosse, and Hungerford they light,  
Which this days work e'er long full dear cost▪ 
Queen Margarites 〈…〉 goes still ●●●wrack●.   
●nd with these Lords were taken many a Knight,  
Nor from their hands could Henry hardly shift,  
Had not his guide been as his Horse was swift.   

Still must Queen Margarites miseries endure,  
This Mass of sorrow marked out to sustain:  
For all the aids this time she should procure,  
Are either taken, put to flight, or slain;  
Of nothing else she can herself assure,  
That she will leave her losses to complain:  
For since she sees that still her friends go down,  
She will curse Fortune if she do not frown.   

Henry to fly to Scotland back is fain, 
King Henry and the Quean ●●●●   
●o get to France, the woeful Queen is glad,  
●here with her Son enforced to remain,  
●ill other aids might thence again be had;  
●o them that hard necessities constrain,  
●o set them down that it doth make me sad,  
Never so thick came miseries I ween,  
Upon a poor King▪ and a woeful Queen.   

This done King Edward▪ his strong Army sends  
●o take those Castles which not long before,  
●ad been delivered to King Henrys friends,  
Which he by sieges makes them to restore,  
●nd on the borders watchfully attends,  
●o Henry's aid that there should come no more,  
But o behold as one ordained to ill,  
The Fate that follows hapless Henry still▪   

At Hegly-heath their skirmishes begin, 
The Conflict at Hegly-More.   
Where two bold Barons Hungerford and Rosse,  
With Sir Ralph Percy, he who had lately been,  
Leagued with King Edward, but then gotten lose,  
(Strives by all means to expiate that sin)  
To the Lancastrian faction cleaves so close,  
That when those Barons from that conflict fly,  
In Henrys right, he bravely dares to dye.   

Which leads along as Tragical an Act,  
As since the Wars had ever yet been played,  
For Montacute b'ing fortunately backed,  
By brave King Edward's coming to his aid:  
As of their force King Henry little lacked,  
The plain called Livells where the scene was laid: 
The Bot●aile. of Exham.   
Not far from Exham near to Dowills' flood,  
That day discolloured with Lancastrians blood,   

There struck they battle, Bowmen Bowmen plied  
Northern to Southern, slaughter ceaseth all;  
Long the Fight lasted e'er that either side,  
Could tell to which the Victory would fall:  
But to the Yorkists fortune is so tie,  
That she must come when they shall please to call,  
And in his Cradle Henry had the curse,  
That where he was, that side had still the worse.   

This luckless day by the Lancastrians lost,  
Was Summerset surprised in his flight,  
And in pursuing of this scattered Host,  
On Mullins, Rosse, and Hungerford they light,  
Which this days work e'er long full dear cost; 
Queen Margarites perty goes still to ● wrack.   
And with these Lords were taken many a Knight,  
Nor from their hands could Henry hardly shift,  
Had not his guide been as his Horse was swift.   

Still must Queen Margarites miseries endure,  
This Mass of sorrow marked out to sustain:  
For all the aids this time she should procure,  
Are either taken, put to flight, or slain;  
Of nothing else she can herself assure,  
That she will leave her losses to complain:  
For since she sees that still her friends go down,  
She will curse Fortune if she do not frown.   

Henry to fly to Scotland back is fain, 
King Henry and the Queen par●.   
To get to France, the woeful Queen is glad,  
There with her Son enforced to remain,  
Till other aids might thence again be had;  
So them that hard necessities constrain,  
To set them down that it doth make me sad,  
Never so thick came miseries I ween,  
Upon a poor King, and a woeful Queen.   

This done King Edward, his strong Army sends  
To take those Castles which not long before,  
Had been delivered to King Henrys friends,  
Which he by sieges makes them to restore,  
And on the borders watchfully attends,  
To Henry's aid that there should come no more,  
But o behold as one ordained to ill,  
The Fate that follows hapless Henry still,   

For out of some deep melancholy fit, 
King Henry▪ coming dis, guised into England, is discovered and taken prisoner.   
Or otherwise, as fall'n into despair,  
Or that he was not rightly in his wit,  
Being safe in Scotland and still succoured there;  
Upon the sudden he abandons it,  
And into England Idly entering, where  
He is surprised, and (in his enemy's power)  
Is by King Edward shut up in the Tower.   

This hap had Henry, who when he was borne, 
King Henry was borne the greatest of Christian Kings.   
Of Christian Kings the greatest then alive,  
Now he the Crown full forty years had worn,  
Doth all his Regal Sovereignty survive;  
Of all men living and the most forlorn,  
So strange a thing can destiny contrive:  
So many sundry miseries as he,  
No King before, had ever lived to see.   

To hear all this Queen Margarite must end●  
Yet sadly to her father's Court cozened,  
And now King Edward held himself secure,  
When things fell out so fitly to his mind,  
But when of rest he did himself assure,  
Upon a sudden rose so rough a wind,  
In his strong hand, which shook his Sceptre more 〈…〉  
Then all the storms that ere had blown before   

For then in mind to league himself with Fr 〈…〉 
The policy of King Edward.   
Which he perceived would be the surest way,  
His questioned Title highly to advance:  
And at his need should serve him for a key,  
●o open him their policies; whose chance,  
●as then in casting, and the next to play,  
For Margarite still the French King Lewis pressed,  
For second aids, nor would she let him rest,   

Wherefore he sends a marri'ge to entreat,  
●ith beauteous Bona (with whose rich report,  
●ame was oppressed with, and a task too great)  
●he French Queens sister, and with her in Court, 
Warwick sent into France to entreat for a marriage betwixt King Edward and Bona the French Queen's sister. The Duchess of Bedford after john her husband's decease was w●dded●●▪ Sir Richard Wooquile. Knight, whos● daughter ●●● Lady was.   
●arwicke the man chose forth to work the feat,  
●●● is sent thither in such sumptuous sort,  
And in short time so well his business plies,  
That she was like to prove an English prize,   

In the mean while this youthful King by chance  
coming to Grafton where the Duchess lay,  
●hen styled of Bedford; his eye haps to glance,  
〈…〉 her bright Daughter the fair Widow Grace,  
〈…〉 se beauties did his senses so entrance,  
〈…〉 stole his heart so suddenly away,  
That must he lose his Crown, comeweale, come woe,  
She must be his, though all the world say no,   

Her looks like Lethe make him to forget,  
●on what business he had Warwick sent,  
〈…〉 this Lady he his love so set,  
〈…〉 at should his Crown from off his head be rend,  
●his rebellious people rise, to let,  
●s choice of his, they should it not prevent,  
For those pure eyes his bosom that had pierced,  
Had writ alaw there, not to be reversed,   

What less amends this Lady can I make, 
Her husband slain at Saint Alban on the ●●●g● part.   
For her dear husband in my quarrel slain;  
Then lawful marri'ge which for justice sake,  
I must perform (quoth he) lest she complain,  
For a just Prince, so me the world shall take:  
Soothing himself up in this amorous vain,  
With his affections in this sort doth play,  
Till he a Queen made the fair Lady Grace.   

This Act of Edward's come to Warwick's ear,  
And that the sequel showed it to be true,  
In his stern eyes, it easily might appear,  
His heart too great for his straight bosom grew,  
He his Commission doth in piecemeal ●eare,  
Breaks the broad Seal, and on the ground it th●  
And prays blessed heaven may curse him if that ●  
For this disgrace revenged would not be,   

Have I (quoth he) so lifted thee 〈…〉 
〈…〉 King 〈…〉   
That to thy greatuesse I the scorn am grown,  
Have I for thee adventured been so oft▪  
In this long War, as to the world is known,  
And now by thee thus basely am I scoffed,  
By this disgrace upon me thou hast thrown:  
If these thy wrongs unpunished slightly pass,  
Hold Warwick base, and fall'n from what he was,   

Know 'ttwas the nevil's forty Title stood,  
Else long e'er this, laid lower than the ground,  
And in thy cause my Father shed his blood,  
None of our house, for thee, but bears a wound,  
And now at last to recompense this good,  
〈…〉 for me this Guerdon hast thou ●ound;  
〈…〉 proud head, this h●d shall pluck thy crown,  
Or if thou stand then 〈…〉 Warwick down.   

Yet he to England peaceably repairs, 
Warwick deeply di●●●●bles his dis 〈…〉.   
And with a smooth brow smother● his intent,  
And to the King 〈…〉 the French affairs,  
●● what in Court had passed there since he went:  
His spleen he for a fitter season spares,  
〈…〉 he the same more liberally might vent:  
Calm was his countenance, and his language fair  
But in his breast a deep revenge he bore.   

Mean while Queen Margarit (a poor exile hears,)  
How things in England (in her absence) went,  
〈…〉 half burst heart, which but a little cheers:  
●●● from her head she felt the Crown was rend,  
●et though fare off a little glimpse appears,  
● seeming hope▪ and though it faintly lent,  
It might hau● said had not the F●●es said no,  
These storms at home, might her some profit blow.   

〈…〉 hears how Warwick cunningly had wrought,  
〈…〉 Duke of 
a George second brother to King Edward, and by him 〈…〉 Duke of Clarence.  Clarence from his brother's side,  
●●● that brave Youth at Calais having caught,  
●●● eldest daughter had to him affide,  
How to rebel, the 
b Warwick by his Agents had stirred up this rebellion in the North, he himself being at Calli●●, th● it might s●●●● not to be done by him, they had to their Captains, Henry Fitz-Hugh Henry Nevil and Sir john Coniers.  Northern men were brou●  
And who by Warwick pointed was their guide▪  
A● on the 
c The Earl of Penbroke and h●● brother Richard Herbert overthrown at Banbury field  W●l●h he had a mighty hand,  
By Edward raised those rebels to withstand,   

Of new 
d These R●b●ls had to their Captain one whom they termed Robin of Rids dale.  Rebellions at Northampton raised,  
And to despite the King, what they had done,  
How they at Grafton the Earl 
The Earl Rivers was Father to the Lady Grace, than Queen of England.  Rivers seized,  
And Sir john Wooduile his most hopeful Son,  
Who with their heads could hardly be appears▪ d,  
And of the fame by puissant Warwick won:  
Who having taken 
f The Earl takes the King prisoner at ●●lney in Warwickeshir●, entering open this camp 〈…〉 the ●●ght.  Edward in his Tent,  
His King his prisoner into York●shir● sent.   

Then hears again how Edward had escaped▪  
And by his friends a greater power had got,  
How he the men of 
g They had to their Captain Robert W●lls, sonn● to the Lord W●lles, T 〈…〉 field.  Lincolnshire entrapped,  
Who near to Stamford paid a bloody shot,  
And when the Earl his course for Calais shaped,  
When England lastly grew for him to hot,  

h The Lord Vaucleere a Gascoigne borne.  Vaucleere who there his Deputy he put,  
The Ports against his late grand Captain shut.   

Lastly, she hears that he at 
i A known Port Town of Normandy  Deep arrives▪  
And lately come to 
k A Town where the French King lay.  Amboyes to the Court,  
●●ereas King Lewis to his utmost strives,  
●o entertain him in most Princely sort:  
When the wise Queen her business so contrives,  
That she comes thither, small what though her port,  
Yet brings along the sweet young Prince her son●e,  
To prove what good with Warwick might be done   

Wen both in 
l 〈…〉  Court, and presence of the King,  
Their due respect to both of them that gave,  
●● willed them in so pertinent a thing,  
That they the like should of each other have▪  
The tears began from both their eyes to spring,  
That each from other Pity see●'d to crave,  
In graceful manner when the grieved Queen,  
Thus to that great Earl, gently breathes her spleen.   

Warwick, saith she, how merciless a Foe, 
The Queene● speech to the Earl in the sour following Stanza's▪   
●●st thou been still to my poor child and me,  
●hat villain York which hast advanced so,  
Which never could have risen but for thee,  
●hat Valour thou on Edward didst bestow,  
● hadst thou showed for him, thou here dost see,  
Our Damask Roses had adorned thy Crest,  
And with their wreathes thy ragged Staffs been dressed.   

First at Saine Alban, at Northampto● then,  
〈…〉 fatal Towt●n that most fearful fight,  
〈…〉 many, nay, what multitudes of men,  
〈…〉 fierce Warwick slain and put to flight;  
O if thy Sword that ever stood for ●en,  
Had but been drawn for Henry and his right,  
He should have built thee Trophies every wh●●  
Wrought with our Crown▪ supported by th● Be●●   

What glory had it won the Nevil's name,  
To have upheld the right succeeding race,  
Of that fifth Henry, he that was of ●ame,  
The only Minion; whom thou now dost trace, 
Barron falcon bring was brother to Richard Ne●●ll Earl of Salisbury, and Richard Earl of Warwick, & john marquis Moun●acute were Sons to the said Earl.   
But Salisbury the first against us came▪  
Then Falconbridge, and Mount●cute, o base,  
To advance a ●ra●tor to his sovereign thus,  
But to our Cr●●ne your name is ominous,   

How many a brave Peer thy too-neere Allies▪  
(Whose loss the Babe that's yet unborn shall ●●e,  
Have▪ made themselves a willing Sacrifice;  
In our just quarrel who it rightly knew,  
Whose blood 'gainst York and his adherents cr●es  
(Whom many a sad cu●se ever shall pursue:)  
O Warwick▪ Warwick, expiate this gilt,  
By shedding their● for whom our blood was 〈…〉   

When in like language, this great Earl again  
Regreets the Queen, and woes her to forbear,  
Of former gree●e one thought to ●ntertaine▪ 
Warwick's reply in the two following Stanza's.   
Things are not now quoth he, as once they were,  
To talk of these past help, it is in vain,  
What though it ease your heart; & please your ea●●  
This is not it▪ no▪ ●t must be our Swords,  
Must right our wrongs (dear Lady) not our w 〈…〉   

Madam (quoth he) by this my vexed heart,  
On Edward's head, which oft hath wished the Crown  
●t but Queen Margarit cleave to Warwick's part,  
●his hand that heaved him up shall hew him down,  
●nd if from Henry, Richard Nevil start,  
Upon my house let Heaven for ever frown,  
Of back the Crown to this young Prince i'll bring,  
Or not be Warwick if he be not King,   

When they accord, Prince Edward should affy, 
Prince Edward affyed to Anne the Earl of Warwick's daughter.   
Anne the Earl's Daughter, to confirm it more,  
By Sacrament themselves they strictly tie,  
By Arms again King Henry to restore,  
Or in the Quarrel they would live and dye,  
〈…〉 ptising likewise in the oath they swore,  
That th'earl and Clarence should Protectors be,  
When they King Henry and the Prince should free.   

When soon great Warwick into England sends, 
Warwick makes preparation for a ●●w War.   
●o warn his friends that they for War prepare,  
●●g Henrys Title, and to them commends,  
●●at they should take his cause into their care,  
●ow is the time that he must try his friends,  
●hen he himself 'gainst Edward must declare;  
And when much strife amongst the commons rose,  
Whom they should aid, and whom they should oppose.   

Furnished with all things well be fitting War,  
● great King Lewis to Queen Margarite lent,  
●arwicke (whose name Fame sounded had so far,  
〈…〉 t men with Wonder viewed him as he went,  
Of all men living the most popular,) 
Warwick so famous that he was seen with wonder.   
Thought every hour to be but idly spent,  
On England's troubled earth until he were,  
To view the troops attending for him there.   

And in his Army took with him along,  
Oxford, and Pembroke, who had been destroyed▪  
By Edward, sworn now to revenge their wrong,  
By Burgoyne the French Admiral convoyed,  
At whose A●iue the shores with people throng:  
At sight of Warwick, and so overjoyed,  
That every one, a Warwick, Warwick cries,  
Well may the Red-Rose by great Warwick ri●●   

Like some black cloud, which hover lately hu 〈…〉  
Thrust on at last by th'winds impetuouspower,  
The groves and fields, comes raging in among,  
As though both fowls and flocks it would devour 
A Simile.   
That those abroad make to the shelters strong,  
To save themselves from the outrageous shower;  
Softly the Yorkists before Warwick's Drums,  
Like a stern Tempest roaring as he comes,   

When Edward late who wore the costly Crown,  
Himself so high and on his Fortunes bore,  
Then heard himself in every place cried down,  
And made much less, than he was great before,  
Nor dares he trust himself in any Town,  
For in the In-lands as along the shore,  
Their Proclamations him a Traitor make,  
And each man charged against him Arms to tak●   

For which the Washes he is forced to wade, 
Warwick driveth King Edward out of the Kingdom.   
And in much peril lastly gets to Lin,  
To save himself such shift King Edward made,  
For in more danger he had never been,)  
Where finding three Dutch Hulks which lay for trade,  
●he great'st of them he hires to take him in;  
Richard his brother, Hastings his true friend,  
Scarce worth one sword their person● to defend.   

When Warwick now the only Prince of power,  
Edward the fourth out of the Kingdom fled,  
Commands himself free entrance to the Tower,  
And sets th'imperial wreath on Henrys head, 
Warwick takes Ki● Henry the T 〈…〉   
Brings him through London to the Bishop's bower,  
By the applanding people followed,  
Whose shrill re-ecchoing shouts resounds from far,  
A Warwick, Warwick, long live Lancaster,   

And presently a Parliament they call, 
King Edward and his adherents ai●ai●ted by act of Parliament.   
In which they attaint King Edward in his blood,  
The lands and goods made forfeitures of all,  
That in this quarrel, with proud York had▪ stood,  
Their friends in their old honours they install,  
Which they had lost now by an act made good,  
entail the Crown, on Henry and his heirs,  
The next on Clarence should they fail in theirs,   

Whilst Warwick thus King Henry doth advance,  
●ee but the Fate still following the sad Queen,  
●uch Stormes and Tempests in that season chance,  
●efore that time as seldom had been seen,  
That twice from Sea she was forced back to France,  
As angry Heaven had put itself between  
Her and her joys, and would a witness be,  
That naught but sorrow, this sad Queen must see   

This might have lent her comfort yet at last,  
So many troubles having undergone, 
Queen Margarite never sees any thing that might give her comfort.   
And having through so many perils past,  
T'have seen her husband settled on his Throne,  
Yet still the skies with clouds are overcast,  
Well might she hear, but of this sees she none,  
Which from far off, as flying news doth greet her  
Naught but mischance, when she comes in, must meet her,   

But all this while King Edward not dis●ay'd,  
His brother Charles of Burgundy so plies, 
The Duke of Burgundy brother in Law to King Edward, so was ●he 〈…〉 King Henry by his Grand mother being the daughter of john of Gaunt.   
That though the subtle Duke on both side played,  
Edward and Henry both his near Allies;  
Upon the Duke King Edward yet so laid,  
(Having his sister's furtherance, who was wise,)  
That Underhand▪ his strength he sorestores,  
As that he dared t'attempt the English shores.   

With fourteen Ships from th' Easterlings being hired,  
And four Burgonians excellently maned,  
After some time with storms and tempests tired,  
He near the mouth of Humber haps to land,  
Where though the Beacons at his sight were fired,  
Yet few or none his entrance do withstand,  
For that his friends had given it out before,  
He sought the Dukedom, and he would no more.   

Upon his march when forward as he came,  
Resolved to try the very worst of War, 
Torke yielded up to King Edward.   
He Summons York (where of he bore the name)  
To him her Duke, her Gates that doth unbarre,  
And coming next to Rocke-rear● Nottingham,  
Mountgomery, Borough, Harrington and Par, 
Succours●on●●●ing into Edward.   
Bring him their power▪ at Leicester again,  
Three thousand came, to Hastings that retain.   

To Coventry and keeping on his way,  
(Sets down his Army in the City's sight,) 
King Edward sets down h● Army beso● Coventry, daring Warwick to the field.   
Whereas that time the Earl of Warwick lay,  
To whom he sends to dare him out to fight,  
Which still the Earl deferrs from day to day,  
Perceiving well, that all things went not right,  
For with his succours Clarence came not in,  
Whom to suspect he greatly doth begin,   

And not in vain, for that disloyal Lord,  
Taking those forces, he had levied, leaves  
The Earl, and with his Brother doth accord, 
Clarence 〈…〉 his father in Law the Earl of Warwick.   
Which of all hope brave Warwick so bere●ue●●  
●hat now King Edward hopes to be restored,  
Which then too late the credulous Earl perceives,  
Edward towards London with an Army sped,  
To take the Crown once more from Henrys head.   

The Queen in France this woeful news that heard  
How far through England▪ Edward thus had past;  
As how by Glarence (whom she ever feared,)  
Warwick behindhand mightily was cast▪  
This most undaunted Queen her hopes yet cheered,  
By those great perils she had lately passed▪  
And from King Lewis doth three thousand pressed▪  
To aid her friends in England in distress,   

Whilst she is busy gathering up those aids,  
(In so short time) as France could her afford,  
Courageous Warwick basely thus betrayed,  
By Clarence lewdly falsifying his word,  
The most courageous Earl no whit dismayed, 
Warwick follows the King towards London.   
But trusting still to his successful Sword,  
Follows the King towards London march'● before,  
Each day his Power increasing more and more.   

But Edward by the Londoners let in,  
Who in their Gates his Army took to guard,  
Warwick this while that trifling had not been,  
But with a power sufficiently prepared,  
T'approach the City bravely doth begin,  
To dare the King, who lately him had dared,  
Who then from London his Armed forces leads, 
King Edward ●●ts ●●● of London 〈…〉.   
Towards where his march ambitious Warwick treads   

From London this, that from Saint Alban set,  
These two grand soldiers shouldering for the Crown,  
They in the midway are at Barnet met, 
The Armies meet at Bar●t.   
Where then they set their puissant Armies down,  
Warwick as near as ever he could get,  
But Edward only taketh up the Town;  
Betwixt whose ●ents a Heath called Gladmore lies,  
Where they prepare to act this bloody prize.   

With Drums and Trumpets they awake the day,  
●uffled in mists her lowering self that shows,  
To stop their madness doing all it may,  
showing what blood her light was like to lose:  
But hope of slaughter bears so great asway,  
That with the Sun their rage still higher grows,  
Full were their hands of death, so freely dealt,  
That the most mortal wounds, the least were felt.   

The adverse Ensigns to each other wave,  
(As 'twere) to call them forward to the field,  
The King the Earl, The Earl the King doth brave,  
Nor cares he for the 
* The Arms of England.  Leopards in his shield,  
And whilst one friend another strives to save,  
He's slain himself if not enforced to yield,  
In either Army there is not one eye,  
But is spectator of some Tragedy.   

Those wrongs the King had from the Earl received  
●●pulst the Kingdom only by his power,  
●●en to the height his powerful hand up heaved,  
●or full'reuenge in this unhappy hour,  
And by the King the Earl his hopes bereaved,  
sheltered by him from many a bloody shower,  
Spurs up revenge, and with that violent rage,  
That scarcely blood their fury could assuage.   

Warwick who sees his Soldiers had the worse, 
Warwick's high 〈…〉   
And at a near point to be put to flight,  
Throwing himself from o● his Armed Horse,  
Thrusts in on foot into the deadliest fight,  
Edward again with an unusual force,  
In his own person in the Army's sight,  
Puts for the Garland, which if now he lose,  
Warwick his Crown at pleasure would dispos●   

To Edward's side, but fortune doth incline,  
Warwick's high valour than was but in vain;  
His noble soul there destined to resign,  
Brave Montacute his valiant Brother slain; 
The Earl of Warwick & ●is brother marquis Montacute ●aine.   
Here Somerset (with them that did combine)  
Forced to fly, and Exceste● is fain,  
To save himself by Sanctuary; this day  
Edward's victorious, and bears all away,   

THis fatal field unluckily thus lost, 
●hat very day ●hat Warwick ●as slain the Queen ●ands.   
That very day so Destiny contrives,  
That the grieved Queen at Sea turmoiled and tossed,  
Near twenty days, in Weymouth Road arrives,  
Where scarcely landed, but Post after Post,  
Brings her this ill news, which so far deprives▪  
Her of all comfort, that she cursed and band,  
Those plaguy winds that suffered her to land:   

Wert thou (quoth she) so fortunate in fight, 
●he Queen's ●eech hea●ng of Warwick's defeat 〈…〉 the three ●ollowing ●anzaes.   
O noble Warwick, when thou wert our foe,  
And now thou stoodst in our indoubted right,  
And shouldst for Henry thy high valour show,  
Thus to be slain; what power in our despite,  
Watcheth from heaven upon our overthrow?  
Th'unlucky Stars have certainly made laws▪  
To mark for death the favourers of our cause,   

O what infernal brought that Edward back,  
〈…〉 late expelled by Warwick's powerful hand,  
Was there no way his rotten Ship to wrack▪  
Was there no Rock? was there no swallowing sand?  
And too, the wretched Subjects were so slack,  
To suffer him so traitorously to land;  
Surely whole heaven against us have conspired,  
Or in our troubles they had else been tired,   

Was I for this so long detained in France,  
From rageful Tempests, and reserved till now,  
That I should land, to meet with this mischance:  
●t must needs be the Powers have made a vow,  
Up to that height my sorrows to advance,  
That before mine all miseries shall bow:  
That all the sorrow mortals can surmise,  
Shall fall far short o● Margarites miseries.   

These words scarce spoke, her halfe-slaine heart to ease  
●t the least breath of comfort to prevent,  
●he next ill news, in rushing after these,  
●as that King Henry to the Tower was sent, 
'Cause of new sorrow to the Queen.   
As though itself (even) Destiny should please,  
〈…〉 wretched Margarites heavy discontent,)  
Thrunging so thick as like themselves to smother,  
Or as one ran to overtake another,   

Those scattered Troops from Barnet that escaped, 
The remnant of the Army which escaped a● Barnet resort to the Queen.   
●earing the Queen thus landed with her power,  
●ugh much dismayed with what had lately happed,  
〈…〉 Gore▪ drowned Gladmore in that bloody shower  
And fearing by the foe to be entrapped:  
Through untrod grounds▪ in many a tedious how●  
Flock to her daily, till that by her aid,  
Equal with Edward's they her Army made,   

When Somerset, and Devonshire came in, 
The Queen encouraged by her friends   
To the sad Queen, and bade her not despair,  
Though they of late infortunate had been,  
Yet there was help that Ruin to repair,  
What they had lost they hoped again to win,  
And that the way lay open yet, and fair,  
For that the West would wholly with her rise,  
Besides from Walls assured her of Supplies,   

And every day still adding to their Force,  
As on their Host towards Gloucester they guide,  
When Edward finding their intended course,  
Again for Battle strongly doth provide,  
Both Armies they supply with Foot and Horse,  
By both their friends, as they affect the side,  
And in their march at T●wkesbury they met, 
The Armies meet at Tukesbury.   
Where they in Order their Battalions set.   

Ill was her choice of this uneven ground, 
A place ill ●●osen on the Queen's part   
Luckless the place, unlucky was the hour,  
The Heavens upon her so extremely frowned,  
As on her head their plagues at once to power;  
As in a Deluge here her hopes were drowned,  
Here sees she death her faithful friends devour,  
The earth is filled with groans, the air with cry 〈…〉  
Horror on each side doth enclose her eyes,   

Never did death so terribly appear,  
〈…〉 e first their Arms the English learned to wield,  
●ho would see slaughter, might behold it here;  
〈…〉 the true shape upon this fatal field,  
〈…〉 vain was valour, and in vain was fear, 
A bloody battle.   
〈…〉 vain to fight, in vain it was to yield,  
In vain to fly; for destiny discussed,  
By their own hands, or others, die they must.   

Here her dear Devonshire noble Courtney died,  
●er faithful friend great Somerset here fell,  
●●lnes, Leukn●r, Hamden, Whittingham beside, 
The Queene● Army overthrown.   
O Margarite, who thy miseries can tell,  
●harp were those swords which made their wounds so, wide  
Whose blood the soy●e did with abundance swell,  
Other her friends into the Town that fled,  
Taken, no better than the former sped.   

But the amazing misery of all,  
〈…〉 heaven the great'st until the last had kept.  
〈…〉 it would say, that after this none shall  
〈…〉 mortal eyes be worthy to be wept,  
The Prince her son who sees his friends thus fall,  
And on each side their carcases lie heaped,  
Making away in this most piteous plight, 
Prince Edward taken prisoner. Upon the King's Proclamation of a great reward to him that could bring him 〈…〉   
〈…〉 s taken prisoner in his tardy flight,   

And forth by Cr●fts▪ before the con 〈…〉 or brought  
●is Proclamation clearing every doubt▪  
〈…〉 he youth's safety▪ living where he caught,  
〈…〉 a reward to him should bring him out,  
But when they once had found him whom they soug 〈…〉 
As also of the Prince's safety, Sir Richard Crosts is won to discover his prisoners. Prince Edward stabbed to death.   
Hearing his answers, Princely, wise, and stout,  
Those bloody brothers, Hastings and the rest,  
Sheathed their sharp poniards in his many br 〈…〉   

Queen Margarite thus of mortals most forlo 〈…〉  
Her son now slain, her army overthrown,  
Left to the world, as fortunes only scorn,  
And not one friend to whom to make her moan,  
(To so much woe was never woman borne)  
This wretched Lady wand'ring all alone,  
Gets to a homely Cell not far away,  
If possibly to hide her from the day. 
Queen Margarite gets into a poor Cell.    

But wretched woman quickly there bewrayed,  
She thence is taken and to Prison sent,  
Meanly attended, miserably arrayed,  
The people wondering at her as she went,  
Of whom the most malicious her vpbrayed,  
With good Duke Humphries death, her heart to rend  
Whilst her mild looks, and Graceful gesture drew▪  
Many a sad eye, her miseries to rue,   

Till by Duke Rayner Ransomed at last,  
Her tender Father, who a Prince but poor,  
Borrowed great Sums of Lewis, with much waist 
Lewis of France.   
Which for he was not able to restore,  
Province and both the Cicils, to him past, 
Duke Rayner ●●d●●th himself to rans 〈…〉 his Daughter.   
With fruitful Naples which was all his store;  
To bring her back from earthly joys exiled,  
The undone Father helps the undone Child.   

And though enlarged ere she could lean the land.  
〈…〉 king a long year of each short-lived hour,  
〈…〉 e here's that by Duke Richard's murdering hand, 
The Earl of Gloster after Richard the third.   
●he King her husband suffers in the Tower,  
As though high heaven had laid a strict command,  
Upon each star, some plague on her to pour:  
And until now that nothing could suffice,  
Nor give a period to her miseries.   
FINIS.   

NIMPHIDIA THE COURT OF FAIRY.  

Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell,  
Mad Rabelais of Pantagruell,  
A latter third of Dowsabell,  
With such poor trifles playing:  
Others the like have laboured at  
Some of this thing, and some of that,  
And many of they know not what,  
But that they must be saying,   

Another sort there be that will,  
Be talking of the Fairies still,  
Nor never can they have their fill,  
As they were wedded to them;  
No tales of them their thirst can slake,  
So much delight in them they take,  
And some strange thing they fain would make,  
Knew they the way to do them,   

Then since no Muse hath been so bold,  
Or of the Latter, or the old,  
Those Elvish secrets to unfold,  
Which lie from others reeding,  
●y active Muse to light shall bring,  
The court of that proud Fairy King,  
And tell there of the Revelling  
jove prosper my proceeding,   

And thou Nimphidia gentle Fay,  
Which meeting me upon the way,  
These secrets didst to me bewray,  
Which now I am in teiling:  
My pretty light fantastic maid,  
●here invoke thee to my aid,  
That I may speak what thou hast said,  
In numbers smoothly swelling,   

This Palace standeth in the air,  
By Negromancy placed there,  
That it no Tempests needs to fear,  
Which way so ere it bloweth,  
And somewhat Southward towered the Noon,  
Whence lies a way up to the Moon,  
And thence the Fairy can as soon,  
Pass to the earth below it.   

The Walls of Spider's legs are made,  
Well mortized and finely laid,  
He was the master of his Trade,  
It curiously that builded:  
The Windows of the eyes of Cats,  
And for the roof, instead of Slats,  
Is covered with the skins of Bats,  
With Moonshine that are guilded.   

Hence Oberon him (port to make,  
(Their rest when weary mortals take)  
And none but only Fairies wake,  
Descendeth for his pleasure.  
And Mab his merry Queen by night,  
Bestrids young Folks that lie upright,  
(In elder Times the Mare that height)  
Which plagues them out of measure.   

Hence Shadows, seeming Idle shapes,  
Of little frisking Elves and Apes,  
To Earth do make their wanton scapes,  
As hope of pastime hasts them:  
Which maids thinks on the Hearth they see,  
When Fires well near consumed be,  
Their dancing Hays by two and three,  
Just as their Fancy casts them,   

These make our Girls their sluttery rue,  
By pinching them both black and blue,  
And put a penny in their shoe,  
The house for cleanly sweeping:  
And in their courses make that Round,  
In Meadows and in Marshes found,  
Of them so called the Fairy ground,  
Of which they have the keeping.   

These when a Child haps to be got,  
Which after proves an Idiot,  
When Folks perceive it thriveth not,  
The fault therein to smother,  
●ome silly doting brainless Calf,  
●hat understands things by the half,  
●ay that the Fairy left this Aulfe,  
And took away the other.   

But listen and I shall you tell,  
● chance in Fairy that be fell,  
Which certainly may please you well,  
In Love and Arms delighting:  
Of Oberon that jealous grew,  
Of one of his own Fairy crew,  
Too well (he feared) his Queen that knew,  
His love but ill requiting.   

Pigwiggen was this Fairy Knight,  
One wondrous gracious in the sight  
Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night,  
He amorously observed;  
Which made King Oberon suspect,  
His service took too good effect,  
His sauciness and often checked,  
And could have wished him starved.   

Pigwiggen gladly would commend,  
●ome token to Queen Mab to send,  
●f Sea, or Land, him ought could lend,  
Were worthy of her wearing:  
●t length this Lover doth devose,  
● bracelet made of Emmotts eyes,  
● thing he thought that she would prise,  
No whitt her state impairing.   

And to the Queen a letter Writes,  
Which he most curiously end●es,  
Con●●ring her by all the rites,  
Of love, she would be pleased,  
To meet him her ●●ne Servant, where  
They might without suspect or fear,  
Themselves to one another clear,  
And have their poor hearts cased.   

At mid night the appointed hour,  
And for the Queen a firing Bower.  
(Quoth he) is th●t fair Cowslip flower,  
On Hipcut hill that groweth,  
In all your ●raynether's not a Fay,  
That ever went to gather May,  
But she hath made it in her way,  
The tallest tuere that groweth.   

When by Tom Thum a Fairy Page,  
He sent it, and doth him engage,  
By promise of a mighty wage,  
It secretly to carry:  
Which done the Queen her maids doth call,  
And bids them to be ready all,  
She would go see her Summer Hall,  
She would no longer tarry,   

Her Chariot ready strait is made,  
Each thing therein is sitting laid,  
That she by nothing might be stayed,  
For naught must her be letting,  
Four nimble Gnats the Horses were,  
Their Harnasses of Cossamere,  
Fly ●●n●ion her Chariottere,  
Up ●n the Coatch-boxe getting,   

Her Chariot of a Snails fine shell,  
Which for the colours did excel:  
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,  
So lively was the limming:  
The fear the soft wool of a Bee;  
The cover (gallantly to see)  
The wing of a pied butter-flee,  
I trow 'twas simple trimming.   

The wheels composed of Crickets bones,  
And daintily made for the nonce,  
For fear of rattling on the stones,  
With Thistle-downe they shod it;  
For all her Maidens much did fear,  
If Oberon had chanced to hear,  
That Mab his Queen should have been there,  
He would not have abode it.   

She mounts her Chariot with a trice,  
Nor would she stay for no advice,  
Until her Maids that were so nice,  
To wait on her were fitted,  
But ran herself away alone;  
Which when they heard there was not one,  
But hasted after to be gone,  
As she had been diswitted,   

Hop, and Mop, and Dryp so clear,  
Pip, and Trip, and Skip that were,  
To Mab their Sovereign ever dear:  
Her special Maids of Honour.  
Fib, and Tib and Pinck and Pin,  
Tickleman, and Quick and jill, and lin,  
Tit, and Nit, and Wap and Win,  
The Train that wait up on her,   

Upon a Grasshopper they got,  
And what with Amble and with Trot,  
For hedge nor ditch they spared not,  
But after her they hie them.  
A Cobweb over them they throw,  
To shield the wind if it should blow,  
Themselves they wisely could bestow,  
Lest any should espy them.   

But let us leave Queen Mab a while,  
Through many a gate, o'er many a style,  
That now had gotten by this wile,  
Her dear Pigwiggin kissing,  
And tell how Oberon doth far,  
Who grew as mad as any Hare,  
When he had sought each place with care,  
And found his Queen was missing.   

By grifly Pluto he doth swear,  
He rend his clothes and tore his hair,  
And as he runneth here and there,  
An acorn cup he greeteth;  
Which soon he taketh by the stalk,  
About his head he lets it walk,  
Nor doth he any creature balk,  
But lays on all he meeteth.   

The Tuscan Poet doth advance,  
The frantic Paladine of France,  
And those more ancient do enhance,  
Alcides in his fury;  
And others Aiax Telamonius,  
But to this time there hath been non,  
So Bedlam as our Oberon,  
Of which I dare assure you,   

And first encountering with a wasp,  
He in his arms the Fly doth clasp,  
As though his breath he forth would grasp,  
Him for Pigwiggin taking:  
Where is my wife thou Rogue, quoth he,  
Pigwiggen she is come to thee,  
Restore her, or thou diest by me,  
Whereat the poor Wasp quaking,   

Cries, Oberon, great Fairy King,  
Content thee, I am no such thing,  
I am a Wasp behold my sting,  
At which the Fairy started:  
When soon away the Wasp doth go▪  
Poor wretch was never frighted so,  
He though his wings were much too slow,  
O'er joyed, they so were parted,   

He next upon a Glow-worm light,  
(You must suppose it now was night,)  
Which for her hinder part was bright,  
He took to be a Devil.  
And furiously doth her. assail,  
For carrying fire in her tail,  
He thrashed her rough coat with his flail,  
The mad King feared no evil.   

O quoth the Glow-worm hold thy hand,  
Thou puissant King of Fairy land,  
Thy mighty strokes who may withstand,  
Hold, or of life despair I:  
Together than herself doth roll,  
And tumbling down into a hole,  
She seemed as black as any Coal,  
Which vexed away the Fairy.   

From thence he ran into a Hive,  
Amongst the Bees he letteth drive,  
And down their Combs begins to rive,  
All likely to have spoilt:  
Which with their Wax his face besmeared,  
And with their Honey daubed his Beard,  
It would have made a man afeard,  
To see how he was moiled,   

A new adventure him betides,  
He met an Ant, which he bestrides,  
And post thereon away he rides,  
Which with his haste doth stumble;  
And came full over on her snout,  
Her heels so threw the dirt about,  
For she by no means could get out,  
But over him doth tumble,   

And being in this piteous case,  
And all be▪ slurried head and face,  
On runs he in his Wild, goose chase,  
As here, and there he rambles,  
Half blind, against a molehill hit,  
And for a Mountain taking it,  
For all he was out of his wit,  
Yet to the top he scrambles,   

And being gotten to the top,  
Yet there himself he could not stop,  
But down on th'other side doth chop,  
And to the foot came tumbling:  
So that the Grubs the rain that bred,  
Hearing such turmoil over head,  
Thought surely they had all been dead,  
So fearful was the jumbling,   

And falling down into a Lake,  
Which him up to the neck doth take,  
His fury somewhat it doth slake,  
He calleth for a Ferry;  
Where you may some recovery note,  
What was his Club he made his Boat,  
And in his Oake● Cup doth float,  
As safe as in a Wherry.   

Men talk of the adventures strange,  
Of Don Quishot, and of their change,  
Through which he Armed oft did range,  
Of Sancha Panchas' travel:  
But should a man tell every thing,  
Done by this frantic Fairy King,  
And them in lofty Numbers sing,  
It well his wits might gravel.   

Scarce set on shore, but therewithal,  
He meeteth Pucke, which most men call,  
Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall,  
With words from frenzy spoken;  
Hoh, hoh, quoth Hob, God save thy grace,  
Who dressed thee in this piteous case,  
He thus that spoilt my sovereigns' face,  
I would his neck were broken;   

This Pucke seems but a dreaming dolt,  
Still walking like a ragged Colt,  
And oft out of a bush doth bolt,  
Of purpose to deceive us,  
And leading us makes us to stray,  
Long Winter's nights out of the way,  
And when we stick in mire and clay,  
Hob doth with laughter leave us.   

Dear Pucke (quoth he) my Wife is gone,  
As ere thou lov'st King Oberon,  
Let every thing but this alone,  
With vengeance, and pursue her.  
Bring her to me alive or dead,  
Or that vild thief, Pigwiggins head,  
That villain hath defiled my bed,  
He to this folly drew her.   

Quoth Puck, My Liege I'll never lin,  
But I will through thick and thin,  
Until at length I bring her in,  
My dearest Lord ne'er doubt it:  
Through Brake, through Brier,  
Through Muck, through Mire,  
Through Water, through Fire,  
And thus goes Pucke about it,   

This thing Nimphidia over hard,  
That on this mad King had a guard,  
Not doubting of a great reward,  
For first this business broaching;  
And through the air away doth go,  
Swift as an Arrow from the Bow;  
To let her Sovereign Mab to know,  
What peril was approaching.   

The Queen bound with Love's powerfulst charm,  
Sat with Pigwiggin arm in arm,  
Her merry May des that thought no harm,  
About the room were skipping:  
A Humblebee their Minstrel played,  
Upon his Hobby; every Maid  
Fit for this Revels was arrayed,  
The Hornpipe neatly tripping.   

In comes Nimphidia, and doth cry,  
My Sovereign for your safety fly,  
For there is danger but too nigh,  
I posted to forewarn you:  
The King hath sent Hobgoblin out,  
To seek you all the fields about,  
And of your safety you may doubt,  
If he but once discern you.   

When like an uproar in a Town▪  
Before them every thing went down,  
Some tore a Ruff, and some a Gown,  
'Gainst one another justling:  
They flew about like Chaff i'th' wind,  
For hast some left their Masks behind,  
Some could not stay their Gloves to find,  
There never was such bustling.   

Forth ran they by a secret way,  
Into a brake that near them lay;  
Yet much they doubted there to stay,  
Lest Hob should hap to find them:  
He had a sharp and piercing sight,  
All one to him the day and night,  
And therefore were resolved by flight,  
To leave this place behind them,   

At length one chanced to find a Nut,  
In th'end of which a hole was cut,  
Which lay upon a Hazel root,  
There scattered by a Squirrel,  
Which out the kernel gotten had;  
When quoth this Fay dear Queen be glad,  
Let Oberon be ne'er so mad,  
I'll set you safe from peril.   

Come all into this Nut (quoth she)  
Come closely in, be ruled by me,  
Each one may here a chooser be,  
For room ye need not wrestle.  
Nor need ye be together heaped;  
So one by one therein they crept,  
And lying down they sound slept.  
As safe as in a Castle,   

Nimphidia that this while doth watch,  
Perceived if Pucke the Queen should catch▪  
That he would be her over-match,  
Of which she well bethought her;  
Found it must be some powerful Charm,  
The Queen against him that must arm,  
Or surely he would do her harm,  
For throughly he had seek her.   

And listening if she ought could hear,  
That her might hinder, or might fear:  
But finding still the coast was clear,  
Nor creature had descried her;  
Each circumstance and having scanned,  
She came thereby to understand,  
Puck would be with them out of hand,  
When to her Charms she hide her.   

And first her Ferne seed doth bestow,  
The kernel of the Messletowe:  
And here and there as Pucke doth go,  
With terror to affright▪ him,  
She Nightshade straws to work him ill,  
There with her vervain and her Dill,  
That hindereth Witches of their will,  
Of purpose to despite him.   

Then sprinkles she the juice of Rue,  
That groweth underneath the You:  
With nine drops of the midnight dew,  
From Lunary distilling:  
The Molewarps brain mixed therewithal;  
And with the same the Pismyres gall,  
For she in nothing short would fall;  
The Fairy was so willing.   

Then thrice under a Briar doth creep,  
Which at both ends was rooted deep,  
And over it three times she leepe;  
Her Magic much availing:  
Then on Porserpina doth call,  
And so upon her Spell doth fall,  
Which here to you repeat I shall,  
Not in one tittle failing,   

By the crooking of the Frog;  
By the howling of the Dog;  
By the crying of the Hog,  
Against the storm arising;  
By the Evening Curphewe Bell,  
By the doleful dying knell,  
O let this my direful Spell,  
Hob, hinder thy surprising,   

By the Mandrake's dreadful groans,  
By the Lubricans sad moans:  
By the noise of dead men's bones,  
In Charnel houses rattling:  
By the hyssing of the Snake,  
The ru●●ing of the fire-Drake,  
〈…〉 charge thee thou this place forsake,  
Nor of Queen Mab be prattling.   

By the Whirlwinds hollow sound,  
By the thunder's dreadful stound,  
●ells of spirits under ground,  
I charge thee not to fear us:  
By the Screech-owl's dismal note,  
By the Black Night-ravens throat,  
〈…〉 charge thee Hob to tear thy Coat  
With thorns if thou come near us.   

〈…〉 o spell thus spoke she stepped aside,  
〈…〉 and in a Chink herself doth hide,  
〈…〉 see thereof what would betide,  
For she doth only mind him:  
〈…〉 hen presently she Pucke espies,  
〈…〉 and well she marked his gloating eyes,  
〈…〉 owe under every leaf he pries,  
In seeking still to find them.   

But once the Circle got within,  
The Charms to work do strait begin,  
And he was caught as in a Gin;  
For as he thus was busy,  
A pain he in his Headpiece feels,  
Against a stubbed ●ree he reels,  
And up went poor Hobgoblins heels,  
Alas his brain was dizzy,   

At length upon his feet he gets,  
Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets,  
And as again he forward sets,  
And through the Bushes scrambles:  
A stump doth trip him in his pace,  
Down comes poor Hob upon his face,  
And lamentably tore his case,  
Amongst the Briers and brambles.   

A plague upon Queen Mab, quoth he,  
And all her maids where ere they be,  
I think the Devil guided me,  
To seek her so provoked;  
Where stumbling at a piece of Wood,  
He fell into a ditch of mud,  
Where to the very Chin he stood,  
In danger to be choked.   

Now worse than e'er he was before:  
Poor Puck doth yell, poor Puck doth roar,  
That waked Queen Mab who doubted sore,  
Some Treason had been wrought her.  
Until Nimphidia told the Queen,  
What she had done, what she had seen,  
Who then had well-near cracked her spleen,  
With very extreme laughter.   

But leave we Hob to clamber out:  
Queen Mab, and all her Fairy rout,  
And c●me again to have about,  
With Oberon yet madding:  
And with Pigwiggin now distrought,  
Who much was troubled in his thought,  
That he so long the Queen had sought,  
And through the fields was gadding.   

And as he runs he still doth cry,  
King Oberon I thee defy,  
And dare thee here in Arms to try,  
For my dear Lady's honour:  
For that she is a Queen right good,  
In whose defence I'll shed my blood,  
And that thou in this jealous mood  
Hast laid this slander on her,   

And quickly Arms him for the Field,  
A little Cockleshell his shield,  
Which he could very bravely wield:  
Yet could it not be pierced:  
His Spear, a Bend both stiff, and strong,  
And well-near of two Inches long;  
The Pyle was of a Horseflies tongue,  
Whose sharpness nought reversed.   

And puts him on a Coat of Male,  
Which was of a Fish's scale,  
That when his Foe should him assail,  
No point should be prevailing:  
His Rapier was a Hornets sting,  
It was a very dangerous thing:  
For if he chanced to hurt the King,  
It would be long in healing.   

His Helmet was a Beetles head,  
Most horrible and full of dread,  
That able was to strike one dead,  
Yet did it well become him;  
And for a Plume a Horse's hair,  
Which being tossed with the air,  
Had force to strike his Foe with fear,  
And turn his weapon from him.   

Himself he on an Earwig set,  
Yet scarce he on his back could get,  
So oft and high he did coruct,  
Ere he himself could settle:  
He made him turn, and stop, and bound,  
To gallop, and to troth the Round,  
He scarce could stand on any ground,  
He was so full of mettle.   

When soon he met with Tomalin,  
One that a valiant Knight had been,  
And to King Oberon of Kin;  
Quoth he thou manly Fairy.  
Tell Oberon I come prepared,  
Then bid him stand upon his guard;  
This hand his baseness shall reward,  
Let him be ue'r so wary,   

Say to him thus, that I defy,  
His slanders and his infamy,  
And as a mortal enemy,  
Do publicly proclaim him;  
Withal, that if ● had mine own,  
He should not wear the Fairy Crown,  
But with a vengeance should come down,  
Nor we a King should name him.   

This Tomalin could not abide,  
To hear his Sovereign vilefide:  
But to the Fairy Court him hide;  
Full furiously he posted:  
With every thing Pigwiggen said:  
How tit●e to the Crown he laid,  
And in what Arms he was arrayed,  
As how himself he boasted.   

'twixt head and foot, from point to point,  
He told th'arming of each joint,  
In every piece, how neat and acquaint,  
For Tomalin could do it:  
How fair he sat, how sure he rid,  
As of the courser he bestrid,  
How Managed, and how well he did,  
The King which listened to it,   

Quoth he, go Tomalin with speed,  
Provide me Arms provide my Steed,  
And every thing that I shall need,  
By thee I will be guided:  
To straight account call thou thy wit,  
See there be wanting not a whit,  
In every thing see thou me fit,  
Just as my foes provided.   

Soon flew this news through Fairy land,  
Which gave Queen Mab to understand,  
The Combat that was then at hand,  
Betwixt those men so mighty:  
Which greatly she beg●n to ●●w,  
Perceiving that all Fairy kn●w,  
The first occasion from her grew,  
Of these affairs so weighty.   

Wherefore attended with her Maids,  
Through fogs, and mists, and damps, she wades,  
To Proserpina the Queen of shades,  
To treat that it would please her:  
The cause into her hands to take,  
For ancient love and friendship's sake,  
And soon thereof an end to make,  
Which of much care would ease her.   

A while, there let we Mab alone,  
And come we to King Oberon,  
Who Armed to meet his Foe is gone,  
For proud Pigwiggin crying:  
Who sought the Fairy King as fast,  
And had ●o well his journey's cast,  
That he arrived at the last,  
His puissant foe espying.   

Stout Tomalin, came with the King,  
Tom Thum doth on Pigwiggin bring,  
That perfect were in every thing,  
To single fights belonging:  
And therefore they themselves engage,  
To see them exercise their rage,  
With fair and comely equipage,  
Not one the other wronging.   

So like in Arms, these champions were,  
As they had been a very pair,  
So that a man would almost swear,  
That either had been either:  
Their furious Steeds began to nay,  
That they were heard a mighty way,  
Their staffs upon their rests they lay,  
Yet e'er they flew together;   

Their Seconds minister an oath,  
Which was indifferent to them both▪  
That on their Knightly faith and troth,  
No Magic them supplied:  
And sought them that they had no charms,  
Wherewith to work each others harms,  
But came with simple open arms,  
To have their causes tried.   

Together furiously they ran,  
That to the ground came horse and man,  
The blood out of their Helmets ran,  
So sharp were their encounters:  
And though they to the earth were thrown,  
Yet quickly they regained their own,  
Such nimbleness was never shown,  
They were two gallant mounters▪   

When in a second course again,  
They forward came with might and main,  
Yet which had better of the twain,  
The seconds could not judge it,  
Their shields were into pieces cleft,  
Their Helmets from their heads were reft,  
And to defend them nothing left,  
These Champions would not budge yet,   

Away from them their staffs they threw,  
Their cruel swords they quickly drew,  
And freshly they the sight renew;  
They every stroke redoubled:  
Which made Proserpina take heed,  
And make to them the greater speed,  
For fear lest they too much should bleed,  
Which wondrously her troubled▪   

When to th'infernal Styx she goes,  
She takes the Fogs from thence that rose,  
And in a Bag doth them enclose,  
When well she had them blended,  
She hies her then to Lethe spring,  
A bottle and thereof doth bring,  
Wherewith she meant to work the thing.  
Which only she intended.   

Now Proserpina with Mab is gone,  
Unto the place where Oberon  
And proud Pigwiggen one to one,  
Both to be slain were likely:  
And there themselves they closely hide,  
Because they would not be espied;  
For Proserpina meant to decide  
The matter very quickly.   

And suddenly untyes the Poke,  
Which out of it sent such a smoke,  
As ready was them all to choke,  
So grievous was the pother.  
So that the Knights each other lost,  
And stood as still as any post,  
Tom Thum, nor Tomalin could boast,  
Themselves of any other.   

But when the mist 'gan somewhat cease,  
Proserpina commandeth peace:  
And that a while they should release,  
Each other of their peril,  
Which here (quoth she) I do proclaim,  
To all in dreadful Pluto's name,  
That as ye will eschew his blame,  
You let me hear the quarrel,   

But here yourselves you must engage,  
Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage,  
Your grievous thirst and to assuage,  
That first you drink this liquor,  
Which shall your understanding clear,  
As plainly shall to you appear;  
Those things from me that you shall hear,  
Conceiving much the quicker,   

This Lethe water you must know,  
The memory destroyeth so,  
That of our weal, or of our woe,  
It all remembrance blotted:  
Of it 〈…〉 can you ever think,  
For th●y 〈…〉 sooner took this drink,  
But nought into their brains could s●nke,  
Of what ●ad them besotted.   

King O●eron forgotten ●ad,  
That ●e for ●●a●ousie ran mad:  
But of his Queen was wondrous glad,  
And asked how he came thither;  
Pigwiggen likewise doth forget,  
That he Queen Mab had ever met  
Or that they were so hard beset,  
When they were found together.   

Nor neither of them both had thought,  
That e'er they had each other sought,  
Much less that they a Combat fought,  
But such a dream were loathing;  
Tom Thum had got a little sup,  
And Tomalin●●arse ●●arse kissed the Cup,  
Yet had their brains so sure locked up,  
That they remembered nothing.   

Queen Mab and her light Maids the while,  
Amongst themselves do closely smile,  
To see the King caught with a wile,  
With one another jesting:  
And to t●e Fairy Court they went,  
With much i●y and merriment,  
Which thing was done with good intent,  
And thus I left them feasting.   
FINIS.   

THE QVEST OF CYNTHIA.  

WHat time the groves were clad in green,  
The fields dressed all in flowers,  
And that the sleeke-hayrd Nymphs were seen,  
To seek them Summer Bowers.   

Forth roved I by the sliding Rills,  
To find where Cynthia 〈…〉,  
Whose name so often from the hills,  
The Echoes wondered at.   

When me upon my Quest to bring,  
That pleasure might excel,  
The Birds strove which should sweetliest sing,  
The flowers which sweetest should smell.   

Long wand'ring in the Woods (said I)  
Oh whthers Cynthia gone?  
When soon the Echo doth reply,  
To my last word, go on.   

At length upon a lofty Fir,  
It was my chance to find,  
Where that dear name most due to her,  
Was carved upon the rind.   

Which whilst with Wonder I beheld,  
The Bees their honey brought,  
And up the carved letters filled,  
As they with gold were wrought,   

And near that trees more spacious root,  
Then looking on the ground,  
The shape of her most dainty foot,  
Imprinted there I found.   

Which stuck there like a curious seal,  
As though it should forbid,  
Us wretched mortals, to reveal,  
What under it was hid.   

Besides the flowers which it had pressed,  
Appeared to my view,  
More fresh and lovely than the rest,  
That in the meadows grew:   

The clear drops in the steps that stood,  
Of that delicious Girl,  
The Nymphs amongst their dainty food,  
Drunk for dissolved pearl,   

The yielding sand, where she had trod,  
Untouched yet with the Wind,  
By the fair posture plainly showed,  
Where he might Cynthi● find,   

When on upon my wayless walk,  
As my desires me draw,  
I like a madman fell to talk,  
With every thing I saw:   

I asked some Lillies why so white,  
They from their fellows were;  
Who answered me that Cynthia's sight,  
Had made them look so clear,   

I asked a nodding Violet why  
It sadly hung the head,  
It told me Cynthia late passed by,  
Too soon from it that fled:   

A bed of Roses saw I there,  
Bewitching with their grace,  
Besides so wondrous sweet they were,  
That they perfumed the place;   

I of a Shrub of those enquired,  
From others of that kind,  
Who with such virtue them inspired,  
It answered (to my mind▪)   

As the base Hemblocke were we such,  
The poisoned ' weed that grows,  
Till Cynthia by her good-luck touch  
Transformed us to a Rose,   

Since when those Frosts that winter brings,  
Which candy every green,  
Renew us like the Teeming Springs,  
and we thus fresh are s●ene.   

At length I on a Fountain light,  
whose brim with Pinks was plaited;  
The Bank with Daffodils dight,  
with grass like Sleeve was matted,   

When I demanded of that Well,  
What power frequented there;  
Desiring, it would please to tell  
What name it used to bear.   

It told me it was Cynthia's own,  
Within whose cheerful brims,  
That curious Nymph had oft been known,  
To bathe her snowy Limbs.   

Since when that water had the power,  
Lost Maidenheads to restore,  
And make one Twenty in an hour,  
of Esons Age before,   

And told me that the bottom clear,  
Now laid with many a fett  
Of seed-pearl, ere she bathed her there;  
Was known as black as jet,   

And when she from the water came,  
Where first she touched the mould,  
In balls the people made the same  
For Pomander, and sold.   

When chance me to an Arbour led,  
Whereas I might behold  
Two blessed Elizeums in one stead,  
The less the great enfold,   

The place which she had chosen out,  
Herself in to repose;  
Had they come down the gods nodoubt  
The very same had chose.   

The wealthy spring yet never bore,  
That sweet, nor dainty flower,  
That damasked not the chequered flore  
Of Cynthia's Summer Bower.   

The Birch, the Myrtle, and the Bay,  
Like friends did all embrace;  
And their large branches did display,  
To Canopy the place,   

Where she like Venus doth appear,  
Upon a Rosy bed;  
As Lillies the soft pillows were,  
Whereon she laid her head.   

Heaven on her shape such cost bestowed,  
And with such bounties blessed,  
No limb of hers but might have made  
A goddess at the least.   

The Flies by chance mesht in her hair,  
By the bright Radiance thrown,  
From her clear eyes, rich jewels were,  
They so like Diamonds shone.   

The meanest weed the soil there bare,  
Her breath did so refine,  
That it with Woodbynd durst compare,  
And beard the Eglantine.   

The dew which on the tender grass,  
The Evening had distilled,  
To pure Rose-water turned was,  
The shades with sweets that filled.   

The winds were hushed, no leaf so small,  
At all was seen to stir:  
Whilst turning to the waters fall,  
The small Birds sang to her.   

Where she too quickly me espies,  
When I might plainly see,  
A thousand Cupids from her eyes,  
shoot all at once at me▪   

Into these secret shades (quoth she)  
How dar'st thou be so bold,  
To enter, consecreate to me;  
Or touch this hallowed mould.   

Those words (quoth she) I can pronounce,  
Which to that shape can bring,  
Thee, which the Hunter had, who once  
Saw Diana in the spring,   

Bright Nymph again I thus reply,  
This cannot me affright:  
I had rather in thy presence dye,  
Then live out of thy sight.   

I first upon the mountains hie,  
Built Altars to thy name,  
And graved it on the Rocks thereby,  
To propagate thy Fame.   

I taught the Shepherds on the downs,  
Of thee to frame their Lays:  
'Twas I that filled the neighbouring Towns,  
With Ditties of thy praise.   

Thy colours I devised with care;  
Which were unknown before:  
Which since that, in their braided hair,  
The Nymphs and Silvans wore.   

Transform me to what shape you can,  
I pass not what it be,  
Yea what most hateful is to man:  
So I may follow thee,   

Which when she heard, full pearly floods  
I in her eyes might view:  
(Quoth she) most welcome to these Woods,  
Too mean for one so true,   

Here from the hateful world we'll live,  
A den of mere despite,  
To Idiots only that doth give,  
Which be her sole delight.   

To people the infernal pit,  
That more and more doth strive,  
Where only Villainy is wit:  
And Devils only thrive.   

Whose vildness us shall never awe:  
But here our sports shall be;  
Such as the golden world first saw,  
Most innocent and free.   

Of Simples in these Groves that grow,  
we'll learn the perfect skill;  
The nature of each Herb to know,  
Which cures, and which can kill.   

The waxen Palace of the Bee,  
We seeking will surprise,  
The curious workmanship to see,  
Of her full laden thighs.   

we'll suck the sweets out of the Comb,  
And make the gods repine:  
As they do feast in jove's great room,  
To see with what we dine.   

Yet when there haps a honey fall,  
we'll lick the sirupt leaves;  
And tell the Bees that theirs is gall,  
To this upon the Greaves,   

The nimble Squirrel noting here,  
Her mossy Dray that makes,  
And laugh to see the lusty Deer  
Come bounding o'er the brakes,   

The spider's Web to watch we'll stand,  
And when it takes the Bee,  
we'll help out of the Tyrant's hand,  
The Innocent to free.   

Sometime we'll angle at the Brook,  
The freckled Trout to take,  
With silken Worms, and bait the hook,  
Which him our prey shall make,   

Of meddling with such subtle tools,  
Such dangers that enclose,  
The Moral is that painted Fools,  
Are caught with silken shows.   

And when the Moon doth once appear,  
we'll trace the lower grounds,  
When Fairies in their Ringlets there,  
Do dance their nightly Rounds,   

And have a Flock of Turtle Doves,  
A guard on us to keep,  
As witness of our honest loves,  
To watch us till we sleep.   

Which spoke I felt such holy fires,  
To overspred my breast,  
As lent life to my chaste desires,  
And gave me endless rest.   

By Cynthia thus do I subsist,  
On earth Heavens only pride,  
Let her be mine, and let who list,  
Take all the world beside.   
FINIS.   

THE SHEPHERD'S SIRENA.  

DOrilus in sorrows deep,  
Autumn waxing old and i'll,  
As he sat his Flocks to keep,  
Underneath an easy hill;  
Chanced to cast his eye aside,  
On those fields, where he had seen,  
Bright Sirena, Nature's pride,  
Sporting on the pleasant green:  
To whose walks the Shepherds oft,  
Came her godlike foot to find,  
And in places that were soft,  
Kissed the print there left behind,  
Where the path which he had trod,  
Hath thereby more glory gained,  
Then in Heaven that milky road,  
Which with Nectar Hebe stained:  
But bleak Winters boisterous blasts,  
Now their fading pleasures chid,  
And so filled them with his wastes,  
That from sight her steps were hid.  
Silly Shepherd sad the while,  
For his sweet Syrena gone,  
All his pleasures in exile:  
Laid on the cold earth alone,  
Whilst his gamesome cur-tayld Cur,  
With his mirthless Master plays,  
Striving him with sport to stir,  
As in his more youthful days;  
Dorilus his Dog doth chide,  
Lays his well-tuned Bagpipe by,  
And his Sheephook casts aside,  
There (quoth he) together lie,  
When a Letter forth he took,  
Which to him Syrena writ,  
With a deadly downcast look,  
And thus fell to reading it.   

Dorilus my dear (quoth she)  
Kind companion of my woe,  
Though we thus divided be,  
Death cannot divorce us so:  
Thou whose bosom hath been still  
Th'only closet of my care,  
And in all my good and ill;  
Ever had thy equal share:  
Might I win thee from thy Fold,  
Thou shouldst come to visit me,  
But the Winter is so cold,  
That I fear to hazard thee:  
The wild waters are waxed high,  
So they are both deaf and dumb,  
Loved they thee so well as I,  
They would ebb when thou shouldst come,  
Then my coat with light should shine,  
●urer than the Vestal fire:  
Nothing here but should be thine,  
That thy heart can well desire:  
Where at large we will relate,  
From what cause our friendship grew,  
And in that the varying Fate,  
Since we first each other knew:  
Of my heavy p●ssed plight,  
As of many a future fear,  
Which except the silent night,  
None but only thou shalt hear;  
My sad heart it shall relieve,  
When my thoughts I shall disclose,  
For thou canst not choose but grieve,  
When I shall recount my Woes;  
There is nothing to that friend,  
To whose close uncrannied breast,  
We our secret thoughts may send.  
And there safely let it rest:  
And thy faithful counsel may  
My distressed case assist,  
Sad affliction else may sway  
Me a woman as it list:  
Hither I would have thee haste,  
Yet would gladly have thee stay,  
When those dangers I forecast,  
That may meet thee by the way,  
Do as thou shalt think it best,  
Let thy knowledge be thy guide,  
Live thou in my constant b●e●  
Whatsoever shall betide.   

He her letter having red,  
Puts it in his Scrip again,  
Looking like a man half dead,  
By her kindness strangely slain;  
And as one who inly knew,  
Her distressed present state,  
And to her had still been true,  
Thus doth with himself delate.   

I will not thy face admire,  
Admirable though it be,  
Nor thine eyes whose subtle fire,  
So much wonder win in me:  
But my marvel shall be now,  
(And of long it hath been so,)  
Of all woman kind that thou  
Wert ordained to taste of woe;  
To a beauty so divine,  
Paradise in little done,  
O that fortune should assign,  
Ought, but what thou well mightst shun,  
But my counsels such must be,  
(Though as yet I them conceal)  
By their deadly wound in me,  
They thy hurt must only heal,  
Could I give what thou dost crave,  
To that pass thy state is grown,  
I thereby thy life may save,  
But am sure to lose mine own,  
To that joy thou dost conceive.  
Through my he●●● the way doth lie,  
Which in two for thee must cleave,  
Lest that thou shouldst go awry,  
Thus my death must be a toy,  
Which my pensive breast must cover;  
Thy beloved to enjoy,  
Must be taught thee by thy Lover,  
Hard the choice I have to choose,  
To myself if friend I be,  
I must my Syrena lose,  
If not so, she looseth me.   

Thus whilst he doth cast about,  
What therein were best to do,  
Nor could yet resolve the doubt,  
Whether he should stay or go,  
In those Fields not far away,  
There was many a frolic Swain,  
In fresh Russets day by day,  
That kept Revels on the plain,  
Nimble Tom, surnamed the Tup,  
For his Pipe without a peer:  
And could tickle Trenchmore up,  
As 'twould joy your heart to hear,  
Ralph as much renowned for skill,  
That the Taber touched so well:  
For his Gittern, little Gill,  
That all other did excel,  
Rock and Rollo every way,  
Who still led the Rustic Ging,  
And could troll a Roundelay,  
That would make the Fields to ring,  
Collen on his Shawm so clear,  
Many a high▪ pitched note that had,  
●nd could make the Echoes near,  
●hout as they were waxen mad,  
Many a lusty Swain beside,  
●hat for nought but pleasure cared,  
●auing Dorilus espied,  
●nd with him knew how it fared,  
thought from him they would remove,  
●his strong melancholy fit,  
Or so, should it not behoove,  
Quite to put him out of's wit;  
Having learned a Song, which h●e,  
sometime to Sirena sent,  
●ull of jollity and glee,  
When the Nymph lived near to Trent,  
●hey behind him softly got,  
●ying on the earth along,  
●nd when he suspected not,  
●hus the jovial Shepherd's song,   

Near to the Silver Trent,  
Syrena dwelleth,  
●hee to whom Nature lent  
All that excelleth:  
●y which the Muses late,  
And the neat Graces,  
●aue for their greater state,  
Taken their places:  
twisting an Anadem,  
Wherewith to Crown her,  
●s it belonged to them  
Most to renown her.  
Cho: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music,  
Along let them bring her.   

Tagus and Pact●lus  
are to thee Debtor,  
Nor for their gold to us,  
are they the better:  
Henceforth of all the rest,  
be thou the River,  
Which as the daintiest,  
puts them down ever,  
For as my precious one,  
o'er thee doth travel,  
She to Pearl Paragon  
turneth thy gravel.  
Cho: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music  
along let them bring her,   

Our mournful Philomel,  
that rarest Tuner,  
Henceforth in Aperies  
shall wake the sooner,  
And to her shall complain,  
from the thick cover,  
Redoubling every strain  
over and over:  
For when my Love too long  
her chamber keepeth;  
As though it suffered wrong,  
the morning weepeth,  
●●o: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music,  
along let them bring her.   

Oft have I seen the Sun,  
to do her honour,  
Fix himself at his noon,  
to look upon her,  
And hath gilded every Grove,  
every Hill near her,  
With his flames from above,  
striving to cheer her,  
And when she from his sight  
hath herself turned,  
He as it had been night,  
In Clouds hath mourned:  
●●o: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her  
And with their Music,  
along let them bring her,   

The Verdant Meads are seeney  
when she doth view them,  
In Fresh and gallant Greene,  
strait to renew them,  
And every little Grass  
broad itself spreadeth,  
Proud that this bony Lass,  
upon it treadeth:  
Nor flower is so sweet  
In this large Cincture,  
But it upon her feet  
Leaveth some Tincture,  
Cho: On thy Bank  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swanes sing her,  
And with their Music  
along let them bring her.   

The Fishes in the Flood,  
when she doth Angle,  
For the hook strive a good  
Them to entangle;  
And leaping on the Land,  
from the clear water,  
Their Scales upon the sand  
lavishly scatter;  
Therewith to pave the mould  
whereon she passes,  
So herself to behold,  
as in her glasses.  
Cho: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music,  
along let them bring her,   

When she looks out by night,  
The Stars stand gazing,  
Like Comets to our sight,  
Fearfully blazing,  
As wondering at her eyes,  
with their much brightness,  
Which so amaze the skies,  
dimming their lightness,  
The raging Tempests are Calm,  
when she speaketh,  
Such most delightsome baume,  
from her lips breaketh.  
Cho: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music, etc.   

In all our Britain  
there's not a fairer,  
Nor can you fit any:  
should you compare her.  
Angels her eyelids keep;  
all hearts surprising,  
Which look whilst she doth sleep  
like the Sun's rising:  
She alone of her kind,  
knoweth true measure,  
And her unmatched mind  
is Heaven's treasure:  
Cho: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music,  
Along let them bring her.   

Fair Done and Darwine clear  
boast ye your beauties,  
To Trent your Mistress here  
yet pay your duties,  
My love was higher borne  
towards the full Fountains,  
Yet she doth Mooreland scorn,  
and the Peake Mountains;  
Nor would she none should dream,  
where she abideth,  
Humble as is the stream,  
Which by her slideth,  
Cho: On thy Bank,  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music  
along let them bring her,   

Yet my poor Rustic Muse,  
nothing can move her,  
Nor the means I can use,  
though her true Lover,  
Many a long Winter's night  
have I waked for her.  
Yet this my piteous plight,  
nothing can stir her,  
All thy Sands silver Trent  
down to the Humber,  
The sighs that I have spent  
Never can number.  
Cho: On thy Bank  
In a Rank,  
Let thy Swans sing her,  
And with their Music  
along let them bring her.   

Taken with this sudden Song,  
Lest for mirth when he doth look,  
His sad heart more deeply stung,  
Then the former care he took,  
At their laughter and amazed,  
For a while he sat aghast,  
But a little having gazed,  
Thus he them bespoke at last.   

Is this time for mirth (quoth he)  
To a man with grief oppressed,  
sinful wretches as you be,  
May the sorrows in my breast,  
●ight upon you one by one,  
●nd as now you mock my woe,  
●hen your mirth is turned to moan,  
May your like then serve you so.   

When one Swain among the rest,  
Thus him merrily bespoke,  
Get thee up thou arrant beast,  
Fits this season love to make?  
Take thy Sheephook in thy hand,  
Clap thy Cur and set him on,  
For our fields ti's time to stand,  
Or they quickly will be gone.  
Rougish Swinheards that repine,  
At our Flocks, like beastly Clowns,  
Swear that they will bring their Swine,  
And will wroote up all our Downs:  
They their Holly whips have braced,  
And tough Hazel goads have got;  
Sound they your sides will baste,  
If their courage fail them not,  
Of their purpose if they speed,  
Then your Bagpipes you may burn,  
It is neither Drone nor Reed  
Shepherd, that will serve your turn,  
Angry Olcon sets them on,  
And against us part doth take,  
Ever since he was outgone,  
Offering Rhymes with us to make,  
Yet if so our Sheephookes hold,  
Dear shall our Downs be bought,  
For it never shall be told.  
We our Sheep-walks sold for naught,  
And we here have got us dogs,  
Best of all the Western breed,  
Which though Whelps shall lug their Hogs,  
Till they make their ears to bleed:  
Therefore Shepherd come away;  
When as Dorilus arose,  
Whistles Cut-tayle from his play,  
And along with them he goes.   
FINIS.   

THE MOON- CALF.  Stultorum plena sunt omnia. 

Help neighbours help, for God's sake need▪  
come with speed,  
For of your help there never was such  
Midwives ma●▪ hast & dres ye as ye run,  
Either come quickly, or weare all undone,  
The World's in labour, her throws come so thick,  
That with the pangs she's waxed stark lunntick:  
But whither, whither, one was heard to cry:  
She that called thus, doth presently reply;  
Do ye not see in every street and place,  
The general world now in a piteous case,   

Up got the Gossips, and for very haste,  
Some came without shoes, some came all unlaced,  
As she had first appointed them, and found  
The World in labour, dropped into a swound;  
Wallowing she lay, like to a boisterous hulk,  
Dropsied with riots, and her big-swollen balk,  
Stuffed with infection, rottenness, and stench;  
Her blood so fired, that nothing might it quench,  
But the Asps poison, which stood by her still,  
That in her drought she often used to swill;  
Clothed she was in a Fool's coat, and cap,  
Of rich embroidered Silks, and in her lap,  
A sort of paper Puppets, Gauds and Toys,  
Trifles scarce good enough for Girls and Boys,  
Which she had dandled, and with them had played,  
And of this trash her only God had made.   

Out and alas (quoth one) the rest among,  
● doubt me Neighbours, we have stayed too long:  
Pluck off your Rings, lay me your bracelets by;  
Fall to your business, and that speedily,  
Or else I doubt, her spirits consume so fast,  
That e'er the birth, her strength will quite be passed:  
But when more wistly they did her behold,  
There was not one (that once) durst be so bold  
As to come near her, but stood all amazed,  
Each upon other silently and gazed:  
When as her belly they so big do see,  
As if a Tun within the same should be,  
And heard a noise and rumbling in her womb,  
As at the instant of the general doom:  
Thunder and Earthquakes raging, and the Rocks  
Tubling down from their scyts, like mighty blocks,  
Rolled from huge mountains, such a noise they make,  
As though in sunder heavens huge Axtree broke;  
They either Poles, their heads together pashed,  
And all again into the Chaos dashed;  
Some of slight judgement that were standing by,  
Said, it was nothing but a Timpany:  
Others said, sure she humane help did want,  
And had conceived by an Elephant;  
Or some Sea-monster, of a horrid shape,  
Committed with her by some violent rape:  
Others more wise, and noting very well,  
How her huge womb did past all compass swell,  
Said certainly (if that they might confess her)  
It would be found some Devil did possess her.   

Thus while they stood, and knew not what to do,  
Women (quoth one) why do you trifle so:  
I pray you think but wherefore ye came hither,  
Shall womb and burden perish both together:  
Bring forth the Birth-stoole, no, let it alone,  
She is so far beyond all compass grown:  
Some other new device us needs must stead,  
Or else she never can be brought to bed.  
Let one that hath some execrable spell,  
Make presently her entrance into hell: 
The Furies fetcha from hell to bring the World to ●●d.   
Call Hecate, and the damned Furies hither,  
And try if they will undertake together:  
To help the sick World; one is out of hand  
Dispatched for hell, who by the dread command  
Of powerful Charms, brought Hecate away,  
Who knowing her business from herself doth lay  
That sad aspect, she want to put on there,  
In that black Empire; and doth now appear,  
As she's Lucina giving strength and aid,  
In birth to women; mild as any Maid,  
Full of sweet hope her brow seemed, and her eyes  
Darting fresh comfort, like the morning skies. 
A description of the furies    

Then came the Furies with their bosoms bare,  
Save somewhat covered with their Snaky hair,  
In wreathes contorted, mumbling hellish Charms,  
Up to the elbows naked were their Arms,  
Megaera eldest of this damned Female Fiends,  
Gnawing her wrists, biting her finger's ends,  
Entered the first; Tisiphone the next,  
As to revenge her sister throughly vexed,  
In one hand bore a whip, and in the other,  
A long sharp knife; the third which seem to smother,  
Her manner of revenge, cast such an eye,  
As well near turned to stone all that stood by,  
Her name Allecto, which no plague doth rue,  
Nor never leaves them whom she doth pursue.   

The women pray the goddess now to stand,  
Auspicious to them, and to lend her hand  
To the sick World, which willingly she granted;  
But at the sight, as altogether daunted,  
From her clear face the sprightly vigour fled,  
And but she saw the Women hard bestead  
Out she had gone, not one glance back had shot,  
Till heaven or hell she o'er her head had got,  
Yet she herself retires, next to the door,  
The Gossips worse than e'er they were before,  
At their wit's end, know not which way to take,  
At length the World beginning to awake,  
Out of the trance, in which she lay as dead,  
And somewhat raising her unweeldy head,  
To bright Lucina called for help, that she,  
Now in her travel would propitious be,  
The Goddess not from feeling of her woe,  
Only to see with what the World might go,  
As she is draded Hicate, having power,  
Of all that keep hells ugly▪ Baleful Bower,  
Commands the Furies to step in and aid her,  
And be the Midwives, till they safe had laid her,  
To do whose pleasure as they were about,  
A sturdy Huswife pertly stepping out,  
Cries hold a while, and let the quean alone,  
It is no matter let her lie and groan:  
Hold her still to't we'll do the best we can,  
To get out of her, certainly the man,  
Which owns the Bastard, for there's not a Nation,  
But hath with her committed fornication:  
And by her base and common prostitution,  
She came by this unnatural pollution;  
There is a mean for women thus abused.  
Which at this time may very well be used:  
That in this case when people do desire,  
To know the truth, yet doubtful of the Sire,  
When as the woman most of life doth doubt her,  
In grievous throws; to those that are about her,  
He that is then at the last cast disclosed,  
The natural Father is to be supposed:  
And the just law doth faithfully decide,  
That for the nursing he is to provide:  
Therefore let's see, what in her pangs she'll say,  
Lest that this Bastard on the Land we lay:  
They liked her counsel, and their help denied,  
And bad her lie and languish till she died;  
Unless to them she truly would confess,  
Who filled her belly with this foul excess.   

Alas (quoth she) the Devil dressed me thus, 
●●e Moone●lfe beg ●t the devil.   
A midst my Riot, whilst that Incubus  
Wrought on my weakness, and by him beguiled,  
He only is the Father of the child.  
His Instrument my Apish imitation,  
Of every monstrous and prodigious fashion,  
Abused my weakness: women it was she,  
Who was the Bawd betwixt the Fiend and me:  
That this is true, it on my death I take,  
Then help me women even for pities sake, 
The prodigious signs that foreran the birth of the Mooncalf.    

When ominous signs to show themselves began,  
That now at hand this monstrous birth foreran:  
About at noon flew the affrighted Owl,  
And dogs in corners set them down to howl:  
Bitch's and Wolves these fatal signs among,  
Brought forth most monstrous & prodigious young  
And from his height the earth refreshing Sun,  
Before his hour his golden head doth run,  
far under us, in doubt his glorious eye,  
Should be polluted with this Prodigy,  
A Panic fear upon the people grew,  
But yet the cause, there was not one that knew,  
When they had heard this; a short tale to tell,  
The Furies strait upon their business fell,  
And long it was not ere there came to light,  
The most abhorred, the most fearful sight,  
That ever eye beheld, a birth so strange,  
That at the view, it made their looks to change;  
Women (quoth one) stand off, and come not near it  
The Devil if he saw it, sure would fear it;  
For by the shape, for aught that I can gather,  
The child is able to affright the Father;  
Out cries another, now for God's sake hide it,  
It is so ugly we may not abide it:  
The birth is double, and grows side to side,  
That humane hand it never can divide; 
A description of the Moon▪ Calf.   
And in this wondrous sort as they be Twins;  
Like Male and Female they be Androgines,  
The Man is partly Woman, likewise she  
Is partly Man, and yet in face they be,  
Full as prodigious, as in parts; the Twin,  
That is most man, yet in the face and skin,  
Is all mere woman, that which most doth take  
From weaker woman: Nature seems to make  
A man in show, thereby as to define,  
A Fem'nine man, a woman Masculine;  
Before bred, nor begot: a more strange thing,  
Than ever Nile yet into light could bring,  
Made as Creation merely to despite,  
Nor man, nor woman, scarce Hermophradite,  
Africa that's said, Mother of Monsters is,  
Let her but show me such a one as this,  
And then I will subscribe (to do her due)  
And swear, that what is said of her is true,  
Quoth one, 'tis monstrous, and for nothing fit,  
And for a Monster, quick let's bury it:  
Nay quoth another, rather make provision.  
If possibly, to part it by incision,  
For were it parted, for aught I can see,  
Both man, and woman it may seem to be:  
Nay quoth a third, that must be done with cost,  
And were it done, our labour is but lost,  
For when w'have wrought the utmost that we can,  
he's too much woman, and she's too much man;  
Therefore, as'tis a most prodigious birth,  
Let it not live here to pollute the earth:  
Gossip (quoth th'last) your reason I deny,  
'tis more by law, than we can justify;  
For Syer, and Dam, have certainly decreed▪  
That they will have more comfort of their seed:  
For he begot it, and 'twas borne of her,  
And out of doubt, they will their own prefer:  
Therefore good women, better be advised,  
" For precious things should not be lightly prized,  
This Moon-Calfe borne under a lucky Fate,  
May powerful prove in many a wealthy State,  
And taught the tongues about some few years hence  
As now weare all tongue, and but little sense:  
It may fall out for any thing you know,  
This Moon-Calfe may on great employments go:  
When learned men for noble action fit.  
Idly at home (unthought of once) may sit;  
A Bawd, or a Projector he may prove,  
And by his purse so purchasing him love,  
May be exalted to some thriving Room,  
Where seldom good men suffered are to come:  
What will you say, hereafter when you see  
The times so graceless and so mad to be;  
That men their perfect humane shape shall fly,  
To imitate this Beast's deformity:  
Nay, when you see this Monster, which you now  
Will hardly breathe upon the earth allow;  
In his caroche with four white Freezelands drawn,  
And he as pied and garish as the Pawn,  
With a set face; in which as in a book,  
He thinks the World for grounds of state should look,  
When to sun greater one, whose might doth awe him  
He's known a verier jade, than those that draw him,  
Nay at the last, the very kill sight,  
To see this Calf (as virtue to despite)  
Above just honest men his head to rear,  
Nor to his greatness may they once come near,  
Each ignorant Sot to Honour seeks to rise;  
But as for virtue who did first device  
That title a reward for, he's to be,  
As most contemned and despised she,  
Goes unregarded, that they who should own her,  
Dare not take notice ever to have known her;  
And but that virtue, when she seemeth thrown  
Lower than Hell, hath power to raise her own.  
Above the World and this her monstrous birth!  
She long e'er this had perished from the earth:  
Her Fautors banished by her foes so high,  
Which look so big as they would scale the sky:  
But seeing no help, why should I thus complain,  
Then to my Mooncalf I return again,  
By his dear Dam the World, so choicely bred,  
To whom there is such greatness promised;  
For it might well a perfect man amaze,  
To see what means the Sire and Dam will raise,  
T'exalt their Moon-Calfe, and him so to cherish,  
That he shall thrive, when virtuous men shall perish▪  
The Drunkard, Glutton, or who doth apply,  
Himself to beastly sensuality,  
Shall get him many friends, for that there be,  
Many in every place just such as he;  
The evil love them that delight in ill,  
Like have cleaned to their like, and ever will:  
But the true virtuous man (God knows) hath few,  
They that his strait and harder steps pursue,  
Are a small number, scarcely known of any;  
" God hath few friends, the Devil hath so many,   

But to return that ye may plainly see,  
That such a one he likely is to be,  
And that my words for truth that ye may try,  
Of the World's Babe thus do I prophesy,  
Mark but the more man of these monstrous Twins,  
From his first youth, how tow'rdly he begins,  
When he should learn, being learnt to leave the school  
This arrant Moon-Calfe, this most beastly fool,  
●ust to our English Proverb shall be seen,  
" Scarcely so wise at fifty, as fifteen:  
And when himself he of his home can free,  
He to the City comes, where then if he,  
And the familiar butterfly his Page,  
Can pass the Street, the Ordinary and Stage,  
It is enough, and he himself thinks then,  
To be the only absolut'st of men:  
Then in his Cups you shall not see him shrink,  
To the grand devil a carouse to drink.  
Next to his whore he doth himself apply,  
And to maintain his goatish luxury,  
●ates Capons Cooked at fifteen Crowns a piece,  
With their fat bellies, stuffed with Amber grease,  
And being to travel he sticks not to lay,  
His Post Caroches still upon his way:  
●nd in some six days journey doth consume,  
Ten pounds in Suckets and the Indian Fume:  
For his Attire, then Foreign parts are sought,  
He holds all vile in England that is wrought,  
And into Flanders sen●eth for the nonce,  
Twelve dozen of Shirts providing him at once,  
Laid in the seams with costly Lace that be,  
Of the Smock fashion whole below the knee,  
Then baths in milk, in which when he hath been,  
He looks like one for the preposterous sin,  
Put by the wicked and rebellious jews,  
To be a Pathique in a Malekind Stews.  
With the ball of's foot the ground he may not feel●  
But he must tread upon his toe and heel▪  
Doublet and Cloak, with Plush, and Velvet lined,  
Only his head. piece, that is filled with Wind,  
Rags, running Horses, Dogs, Drabs, Drink & dice,  
The only things that he doth hold in price:  
Yet more than these, naught doth him so delight,  
As doth his smooth-chinned, plump-thighed, Catamite  
Sodom for her great sin that burning sank,  
Which at one draught the pit infernal drank,  
Which that just God on earth could not abide,  
Hath she so much the Devils terrified:  
As from their seat, them well near to exile,  
Hath Hell new spewed her up after this while:  
Is she new risen, and her sin again,  
Embraced by beastly and outrageous men.  
Nay more he jests at Incest, as therein,  
There were no fault, counts sacrilege no sin:  
His blasphemies he useth for his grace;  
Wherewith he truth doth often times outface:  
He termeth virtue madness, or mere folly,  
He hates all high things, and profanes all holly.  
Where is thy thunder god, art thou asleep?  
Or to what suffering hand giv'st thou to keep  
Thy wrath and vengeance; where is now the strength  
Of thy Almighty arm, fails it at length?  
Turn all the Stars to Comets, to out stare  
The Sun at noontide, that he shall not dare  
To look but like a Glow-worm, for that he  
Can without melting these damnations see.   

But this I'll leave, lest I my pen defile:  
Yet to my Moon-Calfe keep I close the while,  
Who by some knave, persuaded he hath wit,  
When like a brave Fool, he to utter it,  
Dare with a desperate boldness roughly pass  
His censure on those books, which the poor Ass  
Can never reach to, things from darkness sought,  
That to the light with blood & sweat were brought:  
And takes upon him those things to control,  
Which should the brainless Idiot sell his soul,  
All his dull race, and he can never buy  
With their base pelf, his glorious industry;  
Knowledge with him is idle, if it strain  
Above the compass of his yestie brain:  
Nor knows men's worths but by a second hand,  
For he himself doth nothing understand;  
He would have something, but what 'tis he shows not  
What he would speak, nay what to think he knows not  
He nothingmore them truth & knowledge loathes  
And nothing he admires of man's but clothes.  
Now for that I thy dotage dare mislike▪  
And seem so deep, into thy soul to strike;  
Because I am so plain thou likd'st not me,  
Why know, poor Slave, I no more think of thee,  
Then of the Ordure that is cast abroad,  
I hate thy vice more than I do a Toad,  
Poor is the spirit that fawns on thy applause;  
Or seeks for suffrage from thy Barbarous jaws.  
Misfortune light on him, that aught doth way,  
Ye sons of belial, what ye think or say:  
Who would have thought whilst wit sought to advance,  
Itself so high, damned beastly ignorance  
Under the cloak of knowledge should creep in,  
And from desert should so much credit win:  
But all this poisonous froth Hell hath let fly,  
In these last days, at noble Poesy,  
That which hath had both in all times and places,  
For her much worth, so sundry sovereign graces;  
The language, which the Spheres and Angels speak,  
In which their mind they to poor Mortals break,  
By God's great power, into rich souls infused,  
By every Mooncalf lately thus abused:  
Should all hell's black inhabitants conspire,  
And more unheard of mischief to them higher,  
Such as high Heaven were able to affright,  
And on the noon stead bring a double night:  
Then they have done, they could not more disgrace her,  
As from the earth (even) utterly terace her:  
What Princes loved, by Peasants now made hateful,  
In this our age so damnably ingrateful:  
And to give open passage to her fall,  
It is devised to blemish her withal,  
That th'hideous braying of each Barbarous Ass,  
In Printed Letters freely now must pass,  
In Accents so untuneable and vile,  
With other Nations was might damn our Isle,  
If so our tongue they truly understood,  
And make them think our brains were merely m●a,  
To make her vile, and ugly to appear,  
Whose natural beauty is Divinely clear;  
That on the Stationer's Stall, who passing looks,  
To see the multiplicity of Books,  
That pester it, may well believe the Press,  
Sick of a surfeit spewed with the excess:  
Which breedeth such a dulness through the land,  
Mongst those one tongue which only understand,  
Which did they read those sinewy Poems writ,  
That are material relishing of wit:  
Wise policy, Morality, or Story,  
Well purtraying the Ancients and their glory,  
These blinded Fools, on their base Carrion feeding,  
Which are (in truth) made ignorant by reading,  
In little time would grow to be ashamed,  
And blush to hear these lousy Pamphlets named,  
Which now they study, naught but folly learning,  
Which is the cause that they have no discerning,  
The good from bad, this ill, that well to know,  
Because in ignorance they are nourished so:  
Who for this hateful trash should I condemn  
They that do utter, or Authorise them:  
O that the Ancients should so careful be,  
Of what they did impress, and only we  
Loosely at random, should let all things fly,  
Though 'gainst the Muses it be blasphemy:  
But yet to happy spirits, and to the wise,  
All is but foolish that they can devose,  
For when contempt of Poesy is proudest,  
Then have the Muses ever sung the loudest,   

But to my Calf, who to be counted prime,  
According to the fashion of the time,  
Him to associate some Buffoon doth get,  
Whose brains he still with much expense must whet,  
And ever bear about him as his guest,  
Who coming out with some ridiculous jest,  
Of one (perhaps) a god that well might be,  
If but compared with such an Ass as he,  
His Patron roars with laughter, and doth cry,  
Take him away, or presently I die,  
Whilst that Knave-foole which well himself doth know  
Smiles at the Coxcomb, which admires him so:  
His time and wealth, thus lewdly that doth spend,  
As it were lent him to no other end:  
Until this Mooncalf, this most drunken puff,  
Even like a Candle burnt unto the snuff:  
Fired with surfeit, in his own grease fries,  
Sparkles a little, and then stinking dies.  
The wealth his Father by extortion won,  
Thus in the spending helps to damn the Son,  
And so falls out indifferently to either,  
Whereby in hell they justly meet together;  
And yet the World much joys in her behalf,  
And takes no little pleasure in her Calf,  
Had this declining time the Freedom now,  
Which the brave Roman once did it allow:  
With wire and Whipcord ye should see her paid,  
Till the luxurious Whore should be afraid  
Of prostitution and such lashes given,  
To make her blood spirit in the face of Heaven;  
That men by looking upward as they go,  
Should see the plagues laid on her here below,   

But now proceed we with the other Twin,  
Which is most woman who shall soon begin  
To show herself; no sooner got the Teens,  
But her own natural beauty she disdains,  
With Oils and Broths most venomous and base,  
She plasters over her wellfavoured face;  
And those sweet veins by nature rightly placed,  
Where with she seemed that white skin to have laced  
She soon doth alter; and with fading blue,  
Blanching her bosom, she makes others new,  
Blotting the curious workmanship of nature;  
That e'er she be arrived at her full stature,  
ere she be dressed, she seemeth aged grown,  
And to have nothing on her of her own:  
Her black, brown, aburne or her yellow hair,  
Naturally lovely, she doth scorn to wear,  
It must be white to make it fresh to show,  
And with compounded meal she makes it so:  
With fumes and powderings raising such a smoke,  
That a whole Region able were to choke:  
Whose stench might fright a Dragon from his den;  
The sun yet ne'er exhaled from any Fen  
Such pestilentious vapours as arise,  
From their French powder and their Mercuries,  
Ireland, if thou wilt able be alone,  
Of thine own power to drive out thy Tyrone▪  
By heaping up a mass of Coin together▪  
Shear thy old Wolves, and send their Fleeces hither,  
Thy white Goat's hair, Wales, dearer will be sold,  
Then silks of Naples, or then Thread of gold,  
Our Water-dogs, and slands here are shorn;  
White haeyre so much of Women here is worn,  
Nay more than this, they'll any thing endure,  
And with large sums they stick not to procure  
Hair from the dead yea and the most unclean,  
To help their pride they nothing will disdain.  
Then in attiring her, and in her sleep,  
The days three parts she exercised doth keep,  
And in ridiculous visits she doth spend,  
The other fourth part to no other end;  
But to take note how such a Lady lies,  
And to glean from her some deformities,  
Which for a grace she holds and till she get,  
She thinks herself to be but counterfeit.  
Our Merchants from all parts 'twixt either Ind,  
Cannot get silk to satisfy her mind:  
Nor nature's perfectest pattern can suffice,  
The curious draughts for her embroideries:  
She thinks her ●onour utterly is lost,  
Except those things do infinitely cost,  
Which she doth wear; nor think they can her dre●●  
Except she have them in most strange excess,  
And in her fashion she is likewise thus,  
In every thing she must be monstrous:  
Her Picadell above her crown up bears,  
Her Farthingale is set above her ears:  
Which like a broad sail with the wind doth swell,  
To drive this fair Hulk headlong into hell.  
After again, note, and you shall her see,  
Shorne like a man, and for that she will be  
Like him in all, her congees she will make,  
With the man's curtsy, and her hat off take,  
Of the French fashion, and wear by her side,  
Her sharp Stillato in a Ribbon tide,  
Then gird he self close to the paps she shall,  
Shaped, breast and buttock, but no waste at all.   

But of this she Calf now to cease all strife,  
●le by example limb her to the life,  
Not long agone it was my chance to meet,  
With such a Fury, such a female spirit,  
As never man saw yet, except 'twere she,  
And such a one as I'may never see  
Again I pray: but where I will not name,  
For that the place might so partake her shame:  
But when I saw her rampant to transcend  
All womenhead, I thought her (sure) a friend,  
And to myself my thoughts suggested thus,  
That she was gotten by some Incubus,  
And so remembering an old woman's tale,  
As she sat dreaming o's a pot of Ale,  
●hat on a time she did the Devil meet,  
●nd knew him only by his cloven feet:  
●o did I look at hers, where she did go,  
●o see if her feet, were not cloven so▪  
Ten long-tongued Tapsters in a common Inn,  
When as the Guests to flock apace begin,  
When up-staire one, downe-staire another hies,  
With squeaking clamours, and confused cries;  
Never did yet make such a noise as she,  
That I dare boldly justify, that he,  
Who but an hour her loud clack can endure,  
May undisturbed, safely and secure,  
Sleep under any Bells, and never hear,  
Though they were rung the clappers at his ear,  
And the longest night with one sweet sleep be guile  
As though he dreamt of Music all the while.  
The very sight of her, when she doth roar,  
Is able to strike dumb the boldest Whore,  
That ever traded: she'll not stick to tell,  
All in her life that ever her befell;  
How she hath laid, with all degrees, and ages,  
Her Plowboys, Scullions; Lackeys, and some Pages▪  
And swear when we have said all that we can,  
That there is nothing worth a pin in man,  
And that there's nothing doth so please her mind,  
As to see Mares, and Horses, do their kind;  
And when she's Tipsy, how so e'er t'offend,  
Than all her speech to Bawdry doth intend:  
In women's secrets, and she'll name ye all  
Read to the Midwives at the Surgeons Hall.  
Were the poor Coxcomb, her dull husband de●●  
He that durst then this female Mooncalf wed▪  
Should quite put down the Roman which once leep●  
Into the burning Gulf, thereby to keep  
His Country from devouring with the flame:  
Thus leave we her, of all her sex the shame.   

Amongst the rest, at the World's labour there,  
For good old Women, most especial were,  
Which had been jolly Wenches in their days,  
Through all the Parish, and had borne the praise,  
For merry Tales: one Mother Redcap hight,  
And Mother Owlet somewhat ill of sight,  
For she had hurt her eyes with watching late;  
Them Mother Bumby a mad jocund Mate  
As ever Gossipped, and with her there came  
Old Gammer Gurton, a right pleasant Dame,  
As the best of them; being thus together,  
The business done for which they had come thither:  
Qaoth jolly Mother Redcap at the last,  
I see the night is quickly like to waste,  
And since the World so kindly now is laid,  
And the child safe, which made us all afraid:  
Let's have a night on't Wenches, hang up sorrow,  
And what ●leepe wants now, take it up to morrow,  
Stir up the fire, and let us have our Ale,  
And o'er our Cups, let's each one tell her Tale:  
My honest Gossips, and to put you in,  
I'll break the Ice, and thus doth mine begin.  
There was a certain Prophecy of old, 
Mother Redcap's tal●.   
Which to an I'll had anciently been told,  
That after many years were come and gone,  
Which then came out, and the set time came on;  
Nay, more it told the very day and hour,  
Wherein should fall so violent a shower;  
That it new Rivers in the earth should wear,  
And Dorps and Bridges quite away should bear:  
But where this I'll is, that I cannot show,  
Let them inquire that have desire to know:  
The Story leaves out that, let it alone;  
And Gossip with my Tale I will go on:  
Yet what was worse the Prophecy this spoke,  
(As to warn men defence for it to make)  
That upon whom one drop should chance to light,  
They should of reason be deprived quite,  
This Prophecy had many an Age been heard,  
But not a man did it one pin regard;  
For all to folly did themselves dispose,  
(On verier Calves the Sun yet never rose)  
And of their laughter made it all their Theme,  
By terming it the drunken Wizard's dream:  
There was one honest man amongst the rest,  
That bore more perfect knowledge in his breast;  
And to himself his private hours had kept,  
To talk with God, whilst others drunk or slept,  
Who in his mercy to this man revealed▪  
That which in justice he had long concealed  
From the rude Herd but let them still run on  
The ready way to their destruction.   

This honest man the Prophecy that noted,  
And things therein more curiously had quoted,  
Found all those signs were truly come to pass,  
That should fore▪ show this rain, and that it was  
Nearly at hand; and from his depth of skill,  
Had many a time forewarned them of their ill,  
●●d Preached to them this Deluge (for their good)  
●●to th'old world No did before the Flood,  
●●t lost his labour, and since 'twas in vain,  
●o talk more to those Idiots of the rain,  
●●e let them rest: and silent sought about,  
●here he might find some place of safety out,  
●o shrowded himself in, for right well he knew,  
●hat from this shower, which then began to brew,  
●●o roof of Tyle, or thatch he could come in,  
●ould serve him from being wet to the bare skin.  
●● length this man bethought him of a Cave,  
●● a huge Rock which likely was to save  
Him from the shower, upon a hill so steep,  
●s up the same a man could hardly creep;  
●o that except Noah's flood should come again,  
●●e never could be reached by any rain;  
●hither at length, though with much toil he clome  
listening to hear what would thereof become.   

It was not long e'er he perceived the skies  
●etled to rain, and a black cloud arise,  
●hose foggy grossness so opposed the light,  
●s it would turn the noone-sted into night,  
When the wind came about with all his power,  
●nto the tail of this approaching shower,  
And it to lighten presently began;  
Quicker than thought, from East to West that ran:  
The Thunder following did so fiercely rave,  
And through the thick clouds with such fury drove  
As Hell had been set open for the nonce,  
And all the Devils heard to roar at once:  
And soon the Tempest so outrageous grew,  
That it whole hedgerowes by th● roots up threw  
So wondrously prodigious was the weather,  
As heaven and earth had meant to go together:  
And down the shower impetuously doth fall,  
Like that which men the Hurricane call:  
As the grand Deluge had been come again,  
And all the world should perish by the rain,  
And long it lasted; all which time this man  
Hid in the Cave doth in his judgement scan,  
What of this inundation would ensue,  
For he knew well the Prophecy was true:  
And when the shower was somewhat overpast;  
And that the sky began to clear at last:  
To the Caves' mouth he softly put his ear,  
To listen if he any thing could hear:  
What harm this storm had done, and what became  
Of those that had been soused in the same,  
No sooner he that nimble Organ lent,  
To the Caves' mouth; but that incontinent  
There was a noise as if the Garden bears  
And all the Dogs together by the ears,  
And those of Bedlam had enlarged been,  
And to behold the baiting had come in:  
Which when he heard, he knew too well alas,  
That what had been foretell, was come to pass;  
Within himself good man, he reasoned thus:  
'tis for our sins, this plague is fall'n on us.  
Of all the rest, though in my wits I be,  
(I thank my Maker) yet it grieveth me,  
●o see my Country in this piteous case;  
●oe's me that ever they so wanted grace,  
●t when as man once casts off virtue quite,  
●nd doth in sin and beastliness delight,  
●e see how soon God turns him to a Sot:  
●o show myself yet a true Patriot,  
●e in amongst them, and if so that they  
●e not a cursed of God, yet, yet I may,  
●y wholesome counsel (if they can but hear)  
●ake them as perfect as at first they were,  
●nd thus resolved goes this good poor man down,  
●hen at the entrance of the neighbouring Town,  
●e meets 2 woman with her buttocks bate,  
●ot up a stride upon a wall eyed Mare,  
●orunne a Horse-race and was like to ride  
●uer the goodman; but he stepped aside;  
●nd after her, another that bestroad  
Horse of service, with a Lance she road,  
armed, and behind her on a Pillian sat  
●er frantic husband, in a broad brimmed Hat,  
Mask and Safeguard; and had in his hand,  
●●s mad Wife's Distaff for a ruding Wand:  
●arse from these mad folk, had he gone so far,  
●s strong man will easily pitch a Bar:  
●●t that he found a Youth in Tissue brave,  
● daintier man one would not wish to have)  
●as courting of a loathsome meazeled Sow,  
●●d in his judgement swore he must alow  
●●s the prime Beauty, that he ever saw,  
●●s was she sued to (by that prating Daw)  
Who, on a Dunghill in the loathsome gore  
Had farrowed ten Pigs scarce an hour before,  
At which this man in melancholy deep,  
Burst into laughter, like before to weep,  
Another fool, to fit him for the Wether,  
Had armed his heels with Cork his head with feather  
And in more strange and sundry colours clad,  
Then in the Rainbow ever can be had,  
Stalked through the streets, preparing him to fly,  
Up to the Moon upon an Embassy,  
Another seeing his drunken Wife disgorge  
Her pampered stomach, got her to a Forge,  
And in her throat the Feaverous heat to quench  
With the Smith's horn, was giving her a Drench:  
One his next neighbour haltred had by force,  
So frantic, that he took him for a Horse,  
And to a Pond was leading him to drink;  
It went beyond the wit of man to think,  
The sundry frenzies that he there might see,  
One man would to another married be:  
And for the Curate taking the Town Bull,  
Would have him knit the knot: another Gull  
Had found an Ape was chained to a Stall,  
Which he to worship on his knees doth fall;  
To do the like and doth his Neighbours get,  
Who in a Chair this ill-faced Munky set,  
And on their shoulders lifting him on high,  
They in Procession bear him with a cry,  
And him a Lord will have at least if not,  
A greater man; another sort had got  
●bout a Pedlar, who had lately heard,  
●ow with the mad men of this Isle it fared:  
●nd having nothing in his Pack but toys,  
●hich none except mere mad men, and fond boys  
●ould ever touch; thought verily that he  
●mongst these Bedlams, would a gainer be,  
●r else loose all: scarce had he pitched his pack,  
●re he could scarcely say, what do ye lack:  
●t that they thronged about him with their money,  
●s thick as Flies about a pot of honey:  
●●me of these Lunatics, these frantic Asses,  
●●ue him Spurryalls for his farthing Glasses:  
●here should you see another of these cattle,  
●i●e him a pound of silver for a rattle;  
●nd there another that would needsly scorse,  
●costly jewel for a Hobby▪ Horse:  
●r Bells, and Babies, such as children small,  
●e ever used to solace them withal:  
●hose they did buy at such a costly rate,  
●hat it was able to subvert a State;  
●hich when this wise and sober man beheld,  
●● very grief his eyes with tears were swelled.  
●s, that ere I saw this day (quoth he)  
●at I my Native countrymen should see  
● this state; when out of very zeal  
●●th to his native earth, and common weal,  
● thrust amongst them, and thus frames his speech.  
Dea●● Country▪ men, I humbly ye beseech,  
●are ●● a little, and but mark me well,  
●s, it ●● not long since first ye fell,  
Into this frenzy, these outrageous fits,  
Be not I pray ye so out of your wits:  
But call to mind th'inevitable ill  
Must fall on ye, if ye continue still  
Thus mad and frantic: therefore be not worse,  
Then your bruit beasts to bring thereby a Curse  
Upon your Nephews, so to taint their blood,  
That twenty Generations shall be wooed,  
And this brave Land for wit that hath been famed,  
The I'll of Idiots after shall be named:  
Your brains are not so crazed, but leave this riot,  
And 'tis no question, but with Temperate Diet,  
And counsel of wise men, when they shall see  
The desperate estate wherein you be:  
But with such medicines as they will apply,  
They'll quickly cure your grievous malady,  
And as he would proceed with his Oration,  
One of the chiefest of this bedlam Nation:  
Lays hold on him, and asks who he should be,  
Thou fellow (quoth this Lord) where had we thee,  
Comest thou to preach to us that be so wise,  
What wilt thou take upon thee to advise  
Us of whom all now underneath the sky,  
May well be seen to learn frugality:  
Why surely honest fellow thou art mad,  
Another standing by, swore that the had  
Seen him in Bedlam fourteen years ago:  
O quoth a third this fellow do I know,  
This is an arrant Coxcomb, a mere Dizzard,  
If ye remember, this is the same Vizard,  
Which took upon him wisely to fore tell  
The shower so many years before it fell:  
Whose strong effects being so strange and rare,  
Hath made us such brave creatures as we are:  
When of this Nation all the frantic Rout,  
〈…〉 ell into laughter the poor man about,  
〈…〉 some made mouths at him, others as in scorn  
With their forked fingers pointed him the Horn:  
They called him Ass, and Dolt, and bade him go  
〈…〉 'mongst such Fools, as he himself was, who  
〈…〉 old not teach them: at which this honest man,  
〈…〉 inding that naught, but hate and scorn he won  
〈…〉 'mongst these Idiots, and their beastly kind,  
〈…〉 he poor small remnant of his life behind,  
〈…〉 etermineth to Solitude to give. 
The morality of mother Redcaps tale.   
〈…〉 and a true Hermit afterward to live,   

The tale thus ended, Gossip by your leave;  
〈…〉 o'th' Mother Bumby, I do well perceive  
〈…〉 he moral of your Story, which is this;  
Correct me Dame, if I do judge amiss)  
〈…〉 first I'll tell you by this honest Ale,  
〈…〉 my conceit this is a pretty Tale;  
〈…〉 d if some handsome players would it take,  
(sure) a pretty interlude would ●ake,  
〈…〉 t to the Moral, this same mighty shower  
〈…〉 a plague sent by supernatural power,  
〈…〉 'pon the wicked: for when God intends  
〈…〉 lay a curse on men's ungodly ends,  
〈…〉 understanding he doth them deprive;  
〈…〉 hich taken from them up themselves they give  
〈…〉 beastliness, nor will he let them see▪  
The miserable estate wherein they be.  
The Rock to which this man for safety climbs,  
The contemplation is of the sad times  
Of the declining World; his counsels told  
To the mad Rout, to spoil and baseness sold,  
Shows that from such no goodness can proceed,  
Who counsels fools, shall never better speed.  
Quoth Mother Redcap, you have hit it right:  
(Quoth she) I know it Gossip, and to quite  
Your tale; another you of me shall have,  
Therefore a while your patience let me crave.   

Out in the North towards Greeneland far away,  
There was a Witch (as ancient Stories say)  
As in those parts there many Witches be:  
Yet in her craft above all other, she  
Was the most expert, dwelling in an I'll,  
Which was in compass scarce an English mile,  
Which by her cunning she could make to float  
Whither she list, as though it were a Boat:  
And where again she meant to have it stay,  
There could she fix it in the deepest Sea:  
She could sell Winds to any one that would  
Buy them for money, forcing them to hold  
What time she listed, tie them in a third,  
Which ever as the Sea-farer undid,  
They rose or scantled, as his Sails would drive,  
To the same Port whereas he would arrive:  
She by her Spells could make the Moon to stay,  
And from the East she could keep back the day,  
Raise Mists and Fogs that could Eclipse the light,  
And with the noone-sted she could mix the night  
Upon this I'll whereas she had abode,  
Nature (God knows) but little cost bestowed:  
Yet in the same, some Bastard creatures were,  
〈…〉 eldome yet seen in any place but there;  
Half men, half Goat there was a certain kind,  
〈…〉 such as we Satyrs purtrayed out do find,  
Another sort of a most ugly shape;  
A Bear in body and in face an Ape:  
Other like Beasts yet had the feet of Fowls,  
That Demy-Vrchins were, and Demy-Owles:  
Besides there were of sundry other sorts,  
But we'll not stand too long on these reports.   

Of all the rest that most resembled man,  
Was an o's worn ill-favoured Babian;  
Which of all other, for that only he  
Was full of tricks, as they are used to be  
Him in her craft, so seriously she taught,  
As that in little time she had him brought,  
That nothing could before this Ape be set,  
That presently he could not counterfeit;  
〈…〉 he learned him medicines instantly to make  
Him any thing whose shape he pleased to take:  
And when this skill she had on him bestowed,  
〈…〉 he sent him for intelligence abroad.  
Thus fully furnished, and by her sent out,  
〈…〉 ee went to practise all the World about,  
〈…〉 e like a jipsey oftentimes would go,  
〈…〉 ll kind of Gibb'rish he had learned to know,  
〈…〉 and with a stick, a short string and a noose,  
Would show the people tricks at fast and loose:  
〈…〉 ell folks their Fortunes, for he would find out  
By sly enquiry, as he went about,  
What chance this one he, or that she had proved  
Whom they most hated, or whom most they loved,  
And looking in their hands, as there he knew it,  
Out of his skill would counterfeit to show it:  
Sometimes he for a Mountebank would pass,  
And show you in a Crusible, or Glass;  
Some rare extraction, presently and run,  
Through all the cures that he therewith had done,  
An Aspic still he carried in a poke,  
Which he to bite him often would provoke,  
And with an oil when it began to swell,  
The deadly poison quickly could expel:  
And many times a juggler he would be,  
(A craftier knave there never was then he;)  
And by a mist deceiving of the sight,  
(As knavery ever falsifies the light)  
He by his active nimbleness of hand,  
Into a Serpent would transform a Wand,  
As those Egyptians, which by Magic thought,  
far beyond Moses' wonders to have wrought,  
There never was a subtlety devised,  
In which this villain was not exercised.   

Now from this Region where they dwelled, not 〈…〉  
There was a wise and learned Astronomer,  
Who skilful in the Planetary hours,  
The working knew of the Celestial powers,  
And by their ill, or by their good aspect,  
Men in their actions wisely could direct,  
And in the black and gloomy Arts so skilled,  
That he (even) Hell in his subjection held;  
He could command the Spirits up from below,  
And bind them strongly, till they let him know  
All the dread secrets that belonged them to,  
And what those did, with whom they had to do.   

This Vizard in his knowledge most profound,  
Sitting one day the depth of things to sound;  
For that the World was brought to such a pass,  
That it well near in a confusion was,  
For things set right, ran quickly out of frame,  
And those awry to rare perfection came:  
And matters in such sort about were brought,  
That States were puzzled almost beyond thought,  
Which made him think (as he might very well)  
There were more Devils than he knew in hell.  
And thus resolves that he would cast about  
In his best skill, to find the Engine out,  
That wrought all this, and put himself therein:  
When in this business long he had not been;  
But by the Spirits which he had sent abroad,  
And in this work had every way bestowed;  
He came to know this Fowl Witch, and her factor,  
The one the Plotter, and the other th'Actor,  
Of all these stirs, which many a State had spoiled,  
Whereby the World so long had been turmoiled,  
Wherefore he thought it much did him behoove,  
Out of the way this couple to remove;  
Or (out of question) half the World e'er long,  
Would be divided, hers, and his among,  
When turning over his most mystique books,  
●nto the secrets of his Art he looks,  
And th'earth, and th'air doth with his Magiques fill,  
That every place was troubled by his skill;  
Whilst in his mind he many a thing revolues,  
Till at the last he with himself resolves;  
One Spirit of his should take the Witches shape,  
Another, in the person of the Ape,  
Should be joined with him, so to prove by this,  
Whether their power were less or more than his;  
Which he performs, and to their task them sets,  
When soon that Spirit, the Witch that counterfeits,  
Watched till he found her far abroad to be,  
Into a place then of her home gets he:  
And when the Babian came the news to bring  
What he had done abroad, and every thing  
Which he had plotted, how their business went,  
And in the rest to know her dread intent,  
Where she was wont to call him her dear son,  
Her little play-feere and her pretty Bun:  
Hug him, and swear he was her only joy;  
Her very Hermes, her most dainty Boy,  
O most strange thing▪ she changed her wont cheer  
And doth to him most terrible appear:  
And in most fearful shapes she doth him threaten  
With eager looks, as him she would have eaten,  
That from her presence he was forced to fly,  
As from his death, or deadly enemy.  
When now the second which the shape doth take  
Of the Baboon, determining to make,  
The like sport with him, his best time doth watch,  
When he alone the cursed Witch might catch;  
And when her Factor farthest was remote,  
Then he began to change his former note,  
And where he wont to tell her pleasing stories,  
Full of their Conquests, Triumphs▪ and their glories,  
He turns his Tale, and to the Witch relates,  
The strange revolts of Tributary States,  
Things got back, which late they had for prize,  
With new discoveries of their policies;  
Disgusts and dangers that had crossed their cunning,  
With sad portents, their ruin still forerunning;  
That thus the Witch and the Baboon deceived  
Of all their hopes, of all their joys bereaved,  
As in deipaire do bid the world adieu,  
When as the Ape which weak and sickly grew,  
On the cold earth his scurvy caryion lays,  
And worn to nothing, ends his wretched days:  
The filthy Hag abhorring of the light,  
Into the North past Thule takes her flight,  
And in those deeps, past which no Land is found,  
Her wretched self she miserably drowned.   

The tale thus ended, mother Owl doth take  
Her turn, and thus to mother Bumby spoke;  
The tale our Gossip Redcap told before  
You so well ridled that there can no more  
Be said of it, and therefore as your due,  
What have you done for her, I'll do for you. 
The morality of mother Bumbyes' ●al●    

And thus it is, that same notorious Witch,  
Is the ambition men have to be rich,  
And Great, for which all faith aside they lay,  
And to the Devil give themselves away,  
The floating Isle where she is said to won,  
The various courses are through which they run,  
To get their ends, and by the Ape is meant,  
Those damned Villains made the instrument  
To their designs, that wondrous man of skill,  
Sound counsel is, or rather if you will,  
The Divine justice, which doth bring to ●ight,  
The wicked plots not reached by common ●ight,  
For though they never have so closely wrought,  
Yet to confusion lastly they are brought,  
Gossip, indeed, you have hit it to a hair,  
And surely your Morality is rare,  
Quoth Mother Bumby: Mother Owl replied,  
Come, come, I know I was not very wide,  
Wherefore to quit your Tales, and make them three  
My honest Gossips listen now to me.   

There was a man▪ not long since dead▪ but he  
Rather a Devil might accounted be:  
For judgement at her best could hardly scan,  
Whither he were more Devil, or more man;  
And as he was, he did himself apply  
T'all kind of Witchcraft, and black Sorcery:  
And for his humour naturally stood,  
To Theft▪ to Rapine, and to shedding blood,  
By those damned Hags with whom he was in grace,  
And used to meet in many a secret place:  
He learned an herb of such a wondrous power,  
That were it gathered at a certain hour,  
(For nature for the same did so provide,  
As though from knowledge gladly it to hide,  
For at Sunset itself it did disclose,  
And shut itself up, as the morning rose)  
That with thrice saying a strange Magic spell,  
Which but to him, to no man they would tell,  
When as so e'er that simple he would take,  
It him a War-woolfe instantly would make,  
Which put in practice he most certain proved,  
When to a Forest he himself removed,  
Through which there lay a plain and common road  
Which he the place chose for his chief abode,  
And there this monster set him down to theeve,  
Nothing but stolen goods might this fiend relieve;  
No silly woman, by that way could pass,  
But by this Wolf she surely ravished was,  
And if he found her flesh was soft and good,  
What served for Lust, must also serve for food,  
Into a Village he sometime would get,  
And watching there (as for the purpose set)  
For little children when they came to play,  
The fattst he ever bore with him away;  
And as the people oft were wont to rise,  
Following with Hubbubs and confused cries:  
Yet was he so well breathed, and so light,  
That he would still outstrip them by his flight:  
And making strait to the tall Forest near,  
Of the sweet flesh would have his junkets there.▪  
And let the Shepherds do the best they could,  
Yet would he venture oft upon the fold:  
And taking the fatt'st sheep he there could find:  
Bear him away, and leave the dogs behind:  
Nor could men keep, so much as Pig or Lamb,  
But it no sooner, could drop from the Dam,  
By hook or crook, but he would surely catch,  
Though with their weapons all the Town should watch,  
Amongst the rest there was a silly Ass,  
That on the way by Fortune chanced to pass,  
Yet (it was true) he in his time had been  
A very perfect man in shape▪ and skin:  
But by a Witch envying his estate,  
That had borne to him a most deadly hate,  
Into this shape he was transform'e, and so,  
From place to place, he wandered to and fro,  
And often times was taken for a stray,  
And in the Pinfold many a time he lay;  
Yet held he still the reason that he had  
When he was man, although he thus was clad  
In a poor asses shape, wherein he goes,  
And must endure what Fortune will impose.  
Him on his way this cruel Wolf doth take,  
His present pray determining to make,  
He brayed▪ and ro●'d to make the people hear:  
But it fell out, no creature being near,  
The silly Ass when he had done his best,  
Must walk the common way among the rest:  
When towards his den the cruel Wolf him tugs,  
And by the ears most terribly him lugs,  
But as God would, he had no list to seed,  
Wherefore to keep him till he should have need,  
The silly creature utterly forlorn,  
He brings into a Brake of Briers and Thorn,  
And so entangles by the mane and tail,  
That he might pluck, and struggle there, and hale,  
Till his breath left him, unless by great chance  
Some one might come for his deliverance.   

At length the people grievously annoyed  
By this vild Wolf, so many that destroyed,  
Determined a Hunting they would make,  
To see if they by any means could take  
This ravenous War Wolf: and with them they bring,  
Mastiffs, and Mongrels, all that in a string  
Could be got out, or could but lug a Hog,  
Ball, Eateall, Cuttaile, Blackfoot, Bitch, and Dog,  
Bills, Batts and Clubs, the Angry men do bear,  
The Women eager as their husbands were  
With Spits and Fireforks, swore if they could catch him,  
It should go hard but they would soon dispatch him  
This subtle Wolf by passengers that heard,  
What forces thus against him were prepared,  
And by the noise; that they were near at hand,  
Thinking this Ass did nothing understand,  
Goes down into a spring that was hard by,  
(Which the Ass noted) and immediately,  
He came out perfect man, his Wolves shape left,  
In which so long he had committed theft.  
The silly Ass, so wistly then did view him,  
And in his fancy so exactly drew him,  
That he was sure to own this thief again,  
If he should see him 'mongst a thousand men,   

This wolf turned man, him instantly doth shroud  
In a near thicket, till the boisterous crowd,  
Had somewhat past him, than he in doth fall  
Upon the Rear, not any of them all  
Makes greater stir, nor seems to them to be  
More diligent to find the Wolf than he:  
They beat each brake, and tuft o'er all the ground,  
But yet the War-Woolfe was not to be found:  
But a poor Ass entangled in the Briers,  
In such strange sort, as every one desires  
To see the manner, and each one doth gather,  
How he was fastened so, how he came thither,  
The silly Ass yet being still in hold,  
Makes all the means, that possibly he could,  
To be let loose, he hums, he kneels, and cries,  
Shaketh his head, and turneth up his eyes:  
To move their pity: that some said, 'twas sure  
This Ass had sense of what he did endure:  
And at the last amongst themselves decreed  
To let him lose; the Ass no sooner freed,  
But out he goes the company among,  
And where he saw the people thickst to throng,  
There he thrusts in, and looketh round about,  
Here he runs in, and there he rusheth out;  
That he was likely to have thrown to ground  
Those in his way, which when the people found,  
Though the poor Ass they seemed to disclaim,  
Followed him yet, to find what he should mean,  
Until by chance that he this Villain met;  
When he upon him furiously doth set,  
Fastening his teeth upon him with such strength,  
That he could not be loosed, till at length  
Railing them in, the people make a Ring,  
Struck with the wonder of so strange a thing;  
Whilst they are cadged contending whither can  
Conquer, the Ass some cry, some cry the man:  
Yet the ass dragged him, & still forward drew,  
Towards the strange spring, which yet they never knew  
Yet to what part the struggling seemed to sway,  
The people made a lane, and gave them way,  
At length the Ass had tugged him near thereto,  
The people wondering what he meant to do;  
He seemed to show them with his foot the Well,  
Then with an Asslike noise he seemed to tell  
The Story, now by pointing to the men,  
Then to the Thief, then to the spring again,  
At length waxed angry growing into passion;  
Because they could not find his demonstration,  
T'express it more, he leaps into thespring,  
When on the sudden, O most monstrous thing,  
To change his shape he presently began,  
And at an instant became perfect man,  
Recovering speech, and coming forth accused,  
The bloody murderer, who had so abused  
The honest people, and such harm had done;  
Before them all, and presently begun  
To show them in what danger he had been,  
And of this Wolf, the cruelty and sin;  
How he came changed again as he had proved:  
Whereat the people being strangely moved,  
Some on the head, some on the back do clap him,  
And in their arms, with shouts and kisses hap him,  
Then all at once upon the War-woolfe slew,  
And up and down him on the earth they drew;  
Then from his bones the flesh in Collops cut,  
And on their weapons points in Triumph put;  
Returning back with a victorious song,  
Bearing the man aloft with them along.   

Quoth Gammer Gurton, on my honest word,  
You have told a Tale doth much conceit afford:  
Good neighbour Owlet and as ye have done,  
Each one for other, since our Tales begun,  
And since our stand of Ale so well endures, 
The morality of mother Owlets tale.   
As you have morraled Bumbyes, I will yours,  
The fable of the Werewolf I apply,  
To a man, given to blood and cruelty,  
And upon spoil doth only set his rest;  
Which by a Wolveses shade lively est is expressed,  
The spring by which he gets his former shape,  
Is the evasion aft●r every rape,  
He hath to start by; and the silly Ass,  
Which unregarded, every where doth pass,  
Is some just soul, who though the world disdain,  
Yet he by God is strangely made the mean,  
To bring, his damned practices to light, 
Gammer Gurton's tale.    

Quoth mother Owlet you have hit the white,  
I thought as much quoth Gammer Gurton then,  
My turn comes next, have with you once again,  
A mighty Waste there in a country was,  
Yet not so great as it was poor of grass;  
'Twas said of old, a Saint once cursed the soil,  
So barren, and so hungry, that no toil,  
Could ever make it any thing to bear;  
Nor would aught prosper, that was planted there,  
Upon the earth, the spring was seldom seen,  
'Twas winter there, when each placeelse was green  
When Summer did her most abundance yield,  
That still lay brown, as any fallow field,  
Upon the same, some few trees scattering stood,  
But it was Autumn, ere they used to bud,  
And they were crooked, and knotty, and the leaves,  
The niggard sap so utterly deceives,  
That sprouting forth, they drooping hung the head  
And were near withered, ●re yet fully spread,  
No mirthful Birds the boughs did ever grace,  
Nor could be won to stay upon that place,  
Only the night▪ Crow sometimes you might see,  
Croaking to sit upon some Rampick-tree,  
Which was but very seldom too, and then  
●t boded great mortality to men;  
●s were the trees, which on that common grew,  
●o were the cattle starvelings, and a few,  
●sses, and Mules, and they were used to gnaw  
●he very earth to fill the hungry maw,  
When they fared best they fed on Ferne and brak,  
Their lean shrunk bellies cleaved up to their back,  
Of all the rest in that great Waste that went,  
Of those quick carrions, the most eminent,  
Was a poor Mule upon that common bred,  
●nd from his foaling further never fed,  
●he Summer well-near every year was past,  
●re he his ragged Winter coat could cast,  
●nd then the jade would get him to a tree,  
●hat had a rough bark, purposely▪ where he  
●ubbing his Buttocks, and his either side  
Would get the old hair from his starved hyde,  
●●d though he were as naked as my nail,  
●et he would whinny then, and wag the tail,  
● this short pasture one day as he stood,  
●eady to faint amongst the rest for food:  
●et the poor Beast according to his kind,  
●aring his nostril up into the Wind,  
sweet fresh feeding thought that he did vent,  
" (Nothing as hunger sharpeneth so the sent)  
For that not far there was a goodly ground,  
Which with sweet grass, so greatly did abound,  
That the fat soil seemed to be over fraught  
Nor could bestow the burden that it brought,  
Besides that bounteous nature did it stick,  
With sundry sorts of fragrant flowers so thick,  
That when the warm, and Balmy southwind blew  
The lushyous smells o'er all the region flew,  
Led by his sense, at length this poor jade found,  
This pasture (fenced though with a mighty Mound)  
A pale and quick set, circling him about,  
(That nothing could get in, nor nothing out)  
And with himself thus wittily doth cast,  
Well, I have found good pasture yet at last,  
If by some means accomplished it might be,  
Round with the ditch immediately walks he;  
(And long thought was, good luck ne'er comes too late)  
It was his chance to light upon a gate  
That led into it, (though his hap were good)  
Yet was it made of so sufficient wood,  
And every bar that did to it belong,  
Was so well jointed, and so wondrous strong  
Besides a greatlocke, with a double ward,  
That he thereby of entrance was debarred  
And thereby hard beset, yet though at length,  
" 'Twas done by sleight, that was not done by strength  
Fast in the ground his two fore-feets doth get,  
Then his hard Buttocks to the gate he set,  
And thrust, and shook, and laboured till at last,  
The two great posts, that held the same so fast,  
Began to loosen, when a gain he takes,  
Fresh foothold, and a fresh he shakes and shakes,  
Till the great Hinges to fly off he feels;  
And heard the gate fall clattering at his heels,  
Then nays and brays, with such an open throat,  
That all the Waste resounded with his note;  
The rest that did his language understand,  
Knew well there was some good to them in hand,  
And tag, & rag, through thick & thin came running  
Nor dale, nor ditch, nor bank nor bushes shunning;  
And so desirous to see their good hap,  
That with their thrunging they stuck in the gap.   

Now they bestir their teeth, and do devour,  
More sweetness in the compass of one hour,  
Then twice so many could in twice the time,  
For now the spring was in the very prime,  
Till pricked with plenty eased of all their lacks  
Their pampered bellies swollen above their backs,  
They tread and waddle all the goodly grass,  
That in the field there scarce a corner was,  
●eft free by them, and what they had not swallowed  
There they had dunged, and laid them down and wallowd,  
One with another they wouldly and play,  
And in the deep fog batten all the day,  
Thus a long while, this merry life they led  
●ill (even) like Lard their thickened sides were fed,  
●ut on a time the weather being fair,  
And season fit to take the pleasant air,  
To view his pasture the rich owner went,  
To s●e what grass the fruitful year had sent,  
Finding the feeding for which he had toiled,  
To have kept safe, by these vile cattle spoiled,  
He in a rage upon them sets his Cur,  
But for his bawling, not a beast would stir;  
Then whoots and shouts, and claps his hands, but 〈…〉  
Might as well move the dull earth, or a tree,  
As once but stir them, when all would not do,  
Last with his goad amongst them he doth go,  
And some of them he girdeth in the Haunches,  
Some in the flanks, that pricked their very patches  
But when they felt that they began to smart,  
Up on a sudden they together start,  
And drive at him as fast as they could ding,  
They flirt, they yerk, they backward fluce, and flin●  
As though the Devil in their heels had been,  
That to escape the danger he was in,  
He back and back into a quagmire by,  
Though with much peril, forced was to fly:  
But lightly treading there-upon doth shift,  
Out of the bog his cumbered feet to lift,  
When they the peril that do not forecast,  
In the stiff mud, are quickly stabled fast:  
When to the Town he presently doth fly,  
Raising the Neighbours with a sudden cry:  
With Cords and Halters that came all at once;  
For now the jades were fitted for the nonce:  
For by that time th'had sunk themselves so deep,  
That scarce their heads above ground they could kee●  
When presently they by the necks them bound,  
And so they led them to the common pound,  
Quoth Mother Redcap, right well have you done  
Good Gammer Gurton, and as we begun,  
So you conclude: 'tis time we parted now;  
But first of my morality allow.   

The common that you speak of here, say I, 
The morality of Mother Gurton's   
●s nothing else but want and beggary;  
●● the World common, and the Beasts that go  
Upon the same, which oft are famished so:  
●re the poor bred in scarcity; the Mule  
●he other cattle that doth seem to rule,  
●ome crafty fellow that hath slily found  
● way to thrive by: and the fruit full ground  
●● wealth, which he by subtlety doth win,  
●● his possession which not long hath been;  
●ut he with riot and excess doth waste,  
● For goods ill gotten do consume as fast;  
●nd with the Law they lastly do contend,  
●ill at the last the Prison is the end.  
Quoth Gammer Gurton, well yourself you quite,  
●y this the dawn usurped upon the night;  
●nd at the window biddeth them good day  
●hen they departed each their several way▪   
FINIS.   

ELEGIES UP ON SUNDRY OCCASIONS  

Of his Ladies not Coming to London.  

THat ten-yeres-traueled Greek returned from Sea,  
Ne'er joyed so much to see his Ithaca,  
As I should you, who are alone to me,  
More than wide Greece could to that wanderer be,  
The Winter winds still Easterly do keep,  
And with keen frosts have chained up the deep▪  
The Sun's to us a niggard of his Rays,  
But reveleth with our Antipodes;  
And seldom to us when he shows his head,  
Muzzled in Vapours, he strait hies to bed,  
In those bleak mountains can you live, where sno●  
Maketh the valles up to the hills to grow;  
Whereas men's breaths do instantly congeal,  
And attomed mists turn instantly to hail;  
Belike you think, from this more temperate cost,  
My sighs may have the power to thaw the frost,  
Which I from hence should swiftly send you thithe  
Yet not▪ so swift, as you come slowly hither  
How many a time hath Phebe from her wain,  
With Phoebus' fires filled up her horns again;  
She through her Orb, still on her course doth rang  
●ut you keep yours still, nor for me will change.  
●he Sun that mounted the stern Lion's back,  
●hall with the Fishes shortly dive the Bracke,  
●ut still you keep your station, which confines  
●ou, nor regard him travelling the signs,  
●hose ships which when you went put out to Sea,  
●oth to our Greeneland, and Virginia,  
●re now returned, and Customed have their fraught,  
●et you arrive not, nor return me aught.   

The Thames was not so frozen yet this year,  
●s is my bosom, with the chilly fear,  
Of your not coming, which on me doth light,  
●s on those Climes, where half the world is night.   

Of every tedious hour you have made two,  
●ll this long Winter here, by missing you,  
minute's are months, and when the hour is past,  
● year is ended since the clock struck last,  
When your remembrance puts me on the rack,  
●nd I should swoon to see an Almanac,  
●o read what silent weeks away are slid,  
●nce the dire Fates you from my sight have hid.   

I hate him who the first devisor was  
●f this same foolish thing, the Hour▪ glass,  
●nd of the Watch whose dribbling sands and wheel,  
●ith their slow strokes, make me too much to feel  
●our slackness hither, O how I do ban,  
●im that these dials against walls began,  
●hose Snayly motion of the moving hand,  
Although it go) yet seem to me to stand,  
●●though at Adam it had first set out,  
●●d had been stealing all this while about,  
And when it back to the first point should come,  
It shall be then just at the general Doom.   

The Seas into themselves retract their slows▪  
The changing Wind from every quarter blows,  
Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,  
The Stars rise to us, as from us they fall;  
Those Birds we see, that leave us in the Prime,  
Again in Autumn resalute our Clime,  
Sure, either Nature you from kind hath made,  
Or you delight else to be Retrograde.   

But I perceive by your attractive powers,  
Like an Enchantress you have charmed the hours  
Into short minutes, and have drawn them back,  
So that of us at London, you do lack,  
Almost a year, the Spring is scarce begun  
There where you live, and Autumn almost done  
With us more Eastward, surely you device,  
By your strong Magic, that the Sun shall rise,  
Where now it sets, and that in some few years,  
You'll alter quite the Motion of the Spheres,   

Yes, and you mean, I shall complain my love  
To gravelled Walks▪ or to a stupid Grove,  
Now your companions; and that you the while  
(As you are cruel) will sit by and smile,  
To make me write to these, while passers by,  
Slightly look in your lovely face, where I  
See Beauty's heaven, whilst silly blockheads, they  
Like laden Asses, plod upon their way,  
And wonder not, as you should point a Clown,  
Up to the Guards, or Ariadne's Crown;  
Of Constellations, and his dulness tell,  
he'd think your words were certainly a spell;  
Or him some piece from Crect, or Marcus show,  
In all his life which till that time ne'er saw  
Painting: except in Alehouse or old Hall  
Done by some Druzzler, of the prodigal.   

Nay do, stay still, whilst time away shall steal  
Your youth, and beauty, and yourself conceal  
From me I pray you, you have now enured  
Me to your absence, and I have endured  
Your want this long, whilst I have starved been  
For your short Letters, as you held it sin  
To write to me, that to appease my woe,  
I read over▪ those you writ a year ago,  
Which are to me, as though they had been made,  
Long time before the first Olimpiad.   

For thanks and ourt'sies sell your presence then  
To tattling Women, and to things like men,  
And be more foolish than the Indians are  
For Bells, for Knives, for Glasses, and such ware,  
That sell their Pearl and Gold, but here I stay,  
So would I not have you, but come away.    

To Master GEORGE SANDIS Treasurer for the English Colony in Virgina.  

FRiend, if you think my Papers may supply  
You, with some strange omitted Novelty,  
Which others Letters yet have left untold,  
You take me off before I can take hold  
Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea,  
For two months Voyage to Virginia,  
With news which now, a little some thing here,  
But will be nothing ere it can come there.   

I fear as I do Stabbing; this word, State,  
I dare not speak of the Palatinate,  
Although some men make in their hourly theme,  
And talk what's done in Austria, and in Beam,  
I may not so; what Spinola intends,  
Nor with his Dutch, which way Prince Maurice bend●  
To other men although these things be free,  
Yet (George) they must be my steries to me,   

I scarce dare praise a virtuous friend that's dead,  
Lest for my lines he should be censuted,  
It was my hap before all other men,  
To suffer shipwarcke by my forward pen:  
When King james entered: at which joyful time,  
I taught his title to this I'll in rhyme:  
And to my part did all the muses win,  
With high pitch Paeans to applaud him in:  
When cowardice had tide up every tongue,  
And all stood silent, yet for him I sung;  
And when before by danger I was dared,  
I kicked her from me, nor aiot I spared,  
Yet had not my clear spirit in Fortune's scorn,  
Me above earth and her afflictions borne;  
He next my God on whom I built my trust,  
Had left me trodden lower than the dust:  
But let this pass: in the extremest ill,  
Apollo's brood must be courageous still,  
Let Pies and Daws sit Dumb before their death▪  
Only the Swan sings at the parting breath.   

And (worthy George) by industry and use,  
Let's see what Lines Virginia will produce,  
Go on with Ovid as you have begun,  
With the first five books, let your numbers run,  
Glib as the former, so shall it live long,  
And do much honour to the English tongue:  
Entice the muses thither to repair,  
Entreat them gently, train them to that air,  
For they from hence may thither hap to fly,  
Towards the sad time which but to fast doth high,  
For Poesy is followed with such spite,  
By grovelling drones that never reached her height,  
That she must hence, she may no longer stay,  
The dreary fates prefixed have the day,  
Of her departure, which is now come on,  
And they command her straightway to be gone;  
That bestial heard so hotly her pursue,  
And to her succour, there be very few,  
Nay none at all, her wrongs that will redress,  
But she must wander in the wilderness,  
Like to the woman, which that holy john,  
Beheld in Pathm●s in his vision.   

As the English now, so did the stiffnecked jews,  
Their noble Prophets utterly refuse,  
And of those men such poor opinions had,  
They counted Esay and Ezechiel mad;  
When jeremy his Lamentations writ,  
They thought the Vizard quite out of his wit,  
Such sots they were, as worthily to lie,  
Locked in the chains of their captivity,  
Knowledge hath still her Eddy in her flow,  
So it hath been, and it will still be so.   

That famous Greece where learning flourished most,  
Hath of her Muses long since left to boast,  
Th'unlettered Turk, and rude Barbarian trades,  
Where Homer sang his lofty Iliads;  
And this vast volume of the world hath taught,  
Much may to pass in little time be brought.   

As if to Symptoms we may credit give,  
This very time, where in we two now live,  
Shall in the compass, wound the Muses more,  
Then all the old English ignorance before,  
Base Balatry is so beloved and sought,  
And those brave numbers are put by for naught,  
Which rarely read, were able to awake,  
Bodies from graves, and to the ground to shake  
The wand'ring clouds, and to our men at arms,  
'Gainst pikes and muskets were most powerful charms,  
That, but I know, ensuing ages shall,  
Raise her again, who now is in her fall;  
And out of dust reduce our scattered rhymes,  
Th'reiected jewels of these slothful times,  
Who with the Muses would misspend an hour,  
But let blind Gothish Barbarism devour  
These feverous Dog-days, blessed by no record,  
But to be everlastingly abhorred.   

If you vouchsafe rescription, stuff your quill  
With natural bounties, and impart your skill,  
In the description of the place, that I,  
May be come learned in the soil thereby,  
Of noble Wy●●● health, and let me hear,  
The Governor; and how our people there,  
Increase and labour, what supplies are sent,  
Which I confess shall give me much content;  
But you may save your labour if you please,  
To write to me aught of your Savages.  
As savage slaves be in great Britain here,  
As any one that you can show me there  
And though for this, I'll say I do not thirst,  
Yet I should like it well to be the first,  
Whose numbers hence into Virginia flew,  
So (noble Sandis) for this time adieu.    

To. my noble friend Master WILLIAM BROWNE, of the evil time.  

Dear friend, be silent and with patience see,  
What this mad times Catastrophe will be,  
The World's first wisemen certainly mistook  
Themselves, and spoke things quite beside the book●  
And that which they have said of God, untrue,  
Or else expect strange judgement to ensue.   

This I'll is a mere Bedlam, and therein,  
We all lie raving mad in every sin,  
And him the wisest most men use to call,  
Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all,  
He whom the master of all wisdom found,  
For a marked fool, and so did him propound,  
The time we live in, to that pass is brought,  
That only he a Censor now is thought:  
And that base Villain, not an age yet gone,)  
Which a good man would not have looked upon,  
Now like a God▪ with divine worship followed,  
And all his actions are accounted hollowed.   

This world of ours, thus runneth upon wheels,  
Set on the head, bolt upright with her heels,  
Which makes me think of what the Ethinck▪ told,  
Th'opinion the Pythagorists uphold,  
That the immortal soul doth transmigrate;  
Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,  
That those which at confused Babel were,  
And since that time now many a linger year,  
Through fools, and beasts, and lunatics have passed,  
Are here embodied in this age at last,  
And though so long we from that time be gone,  
Yet taste we still of that confusion.   

For certainly there's scarce one found that now,  
Knows what t'approve, or what to disallow,  
All arsey var●ey, nothing is it's own,  
But to our proverb▪ all turned upside down:  
To do in time, is to do out of season,  
And that speeds best, that's done the farth'st from reason  
he's highest that's low'st, he's surest in that's out,  
He hits the next way that goes farth'st about,  
He ge●●eth up unlike to rise at all,  
He slips to ground as much unlike to fall:  
Which doth enforce me partly to prefer,  
The opinion of that mad Philosopher,  
Who taught, that those al-framing powers above,  
(As ●is supposed) made man not out of Love  
To him at all, but only as a thing,  
To make them sport with, which they use to bring,  
As men do monkeys, puppets, and such tools,  
Of laughter; so men are but the Gods of fools,  
Such are by titles lifted to the sky,  
As wherefore no man knows, God scarcely why;  
The virtuous man depressed like a stone  
For that dull Sot to raise himself upon:  
He who ne'er thing yet worthy man durst do,  
Never durst look upon his country's foe,  
Nor durst attempt that action which might get  
Him fame with men: or higher might him set  
Then the base beggar (rightly if compared)  
This drone yet never brave attempt that dated,  
Yet dares be Knighted, and from thence dares grow,  
To any title Empire can bestow;  
For this believe, that impudence is now  
A Cardinal virtue, and men it allow  
Reverence, nay more, men study and invent,  
New ways▪ nay glory to be impudent.   

Into the clouds the Devil lately got,  
And by the moisture doubting much the rot,  
A medicine took to make him purge and cast;  
Which in short time began to work so fast,  
That he fell to't, and from his backside flew,  
A rout of rascal a rude ribald crew  
Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light,  
Upon the earth, but with a sudden flight,  
They spread this Isle, and as Deucalion once  
Over his shoulder back, by throwing stones  
They became men, even so these beasts became,  
Owners of titles from an obscure name.  
He that by riot of a mighty rent,  
Hath his late goodly Partrimony spent,  
And into base and wilful beggary run,  
This man as he some glorious act had done,  
With some great pension, or rich gift relieved,  
When he that hath by industry achieved  
Some noble thing, contemned and disgraced,  
In the forlorn hope of the times is placed,  
As though that God had carelessly left all  
That being hath on this terrestial ball,  
To fortunes guiding, nor would have to do  
With man, nor aught that doth belong him to,  
Or at the least God having given more  
Power to the Devil, than he did of yore,  
Over this world: the fiend as he doth hate  
The virtuous man; maligning his estate,  
All noble things, and would have by his will,  
To be damned with him using all his skill,  
By his black hellish ministers to vex  
All worthy men, and strangely to perplex,  
Their constancy, there by them so to fright,  
That they should yield them wholly to his might,  
But of these things I vainly do but tell,  
Where hell is heaven, and heaven is now turned he●,  
Where that which lately blasphemy hath been,  
Now godliness▪ much less accounted sin;  
And a long while I greatly marvelled why  
Buffoons and Bawds should hourly multiply▪  
Till that of late I construed it, that they  
To present thrift had got the perfect way,  
When I concluded by their odious crimes,  
It was for us no thriving in these times▪   

As men oft laugh at little Babes when they  
Hap to behold some strange thing in their play,  
To see them on the sudden strucken sad,  
As in their fancy some strange forms they had,  
Which they by pointing with their fingers show,  
Angry at our capacities so slow,  
That by their countenance we no sooner learn,  
To see the wonder which they so discern:  
So the celestial powers do sit and smile  
At innocent and virtuous men the while,  
They stand amazed at the world overgo,  
So far beyond imagination,  
With slavish baseness, that the silent sit  
Pointing like children in describing it.   

Then noble friend the next way to control  
These worldly crosses, is to arm thy soul  
With constant patience: and with thoughts as high  
As these below, and poor, winged to fly  
To that exalted stand, whether yet they  
Are got with pain, that sit out of the way  
Of this ignoble age, which raiseth none  
But such as think their black damnation  
To be a trifle; such, so ill, that when  
They are advanced, those few poor honest men  
That yet are living, into search do run  
To find what mischief they have lately done,  
Which so prefers them; say thou he doth rise,  
That maketh virtue his chief exercise,  
And in this base World come what ever shall,  
he's worth lamenting that for her doth fall.    

Upon the three Sons of the Lord SHEFFIELD, drowned in Humber.  

LIght Sonnets hence, and to loose Lovers fly,  
And mournful Maidens sing an Elegy,  
On those three Sheffields, overwhelmed with waves  
Whose loss the tears of all the Muses craves;  
A thing so full of pity as this was,  
Me thinks for nothing should not slightly pass,  
Treble this loss was, why should it not borrow,  
Through this Isles treble parts, a treble sorrow:  
But fate did this, to let the World to know,  
That sorrows which from common causes grow,  
Are not worth mourning for, the loss to bear,  
But of one only son's, not worth one tear,  
Some tender hearted man, as I, may spend  
Some drops (perhaps) for a deceased friend,  
Some men (perhaps) their wife's late death may r 〈…〉  
Or wives their husbands, but such be but few:  
Cares that have used the hearts of men to touch  
So oft and deeply, will not now be such;  
Who'll care for loss of maintenance, or place,  
Fame, liberty, or of the Prince's grace;  
Or suits in law, by base corruption crossed:  
When he shall find, that this which he hath lost;  
Alas, is nothing to his, which did loose,  
Three sons at once so excellent as those:  
Nay, it is feared that this in time may breed  
Hard hearts in men to their own natural seed,  
That in respect of this great loss of theirs,  
●en will scarce mourn the death of their own heirs.   

Through all this Isle their loss so public is,  
That every man doth take them to be his,  
And as a plague which had beginning there,  
●o catching is, and reigning every where,  
●hat those the farthest off as much do rue them,  
●s those the most familiarly that knew them;  
Children with this disaster are waxed sage,  
●nd like to men that strucken are in age,  
●alke what it is, three children at one time,  
●hus to have drowned, and in their very prime;  
●ea, and do learn to act the same so well,  
●hat then old folk, they better can it tell.   

Invention oft that Passion used to feign,  
●● sorrow's of themselves but slight, and mean,  
●o make them seem great, here it shall not need,  
●or that this Subject doth so far exceed  
●ll forced Expression, that what Poesy shall  
happily think to grace itself withal,  
●●lls so below it, that it rather borrows,  
●race from their grief, then addeth to their sorrows,  
●or sad mischance thus in the loss of three,  
●o show itself the utmost it could be:  
exacting also by the self same law,  
●he utmost tears that sorrow had to draw,  
●ll future times hath utterly prevented  
●f a more loss, or more to be lamented.   

Whilst in fair youth they lively flourished here,  
●● their kind Parents they were only dear,  
●t being dead, now every one doth take,  
Them for their own, and do like sorrow make▪  
As for their own begot, as they pretended,  
Hope in the issue, which should have descended  
From them again; nor here doth end our sorrow,  
But those of us, that shall be borne to morrow  
Still shall lament them, and when time shall count,  
To what vast number passed years shall mount,  
They from their death shall duly reckon so,  
As from the Deluge, former used to do.   

O cruel Humber. guilty of their gore,  
I now believe more than I did before,  
The British Story, whence thy name begun  
Of Kingly Humber, an invading Hun,  
By thee devoured, for 'tis likely thou  
With blood wert Christened, bloodthirsty till now  
The Ouse, the Dove. And thou far clearer Trent,  
To drown these Sheffields as you gave consent,  
Shall curse the time, that ere you were infused,  
Which have your waters basely thus abused,  
The grovelling Boor ye hinder not to go,  
And at his pleasure Ferry to and fro,  
The very best part of whose soul▪ and blood,  
Compared with theirs, is viler than your mud.   

But wherefore Paper, do I idly spend,  
On those deaf waters to so little end,  
And up to starry heaven do I not look,  
In which, as in an everlasting book,  
Our ends are written, O let times rehearse,  
Their fatal loss, in their sad aniverse.    

To the noble Lady, the Lady I S. of worldly crosses.  

Madam, to show the smoothness of my vain,  
Neither that I would have you entertain  
The time in reading me, which you would spend,  
In fair discourse with some known honest friend,  
I write not to you. Nay, and which is more,  
My powerful verses strive not to restore,  
What time and sickness have in you impaired,  
●o other end my Elegy is squared.   

Your beauty, sweetness, and your graceful parts  
●hat have drawn many eyes, w●n many hearts,  
Of me get little, I am so much man,  
●hat let them do their utmost that they can,  
● will resist their forces: and they be  
Though great to others, yet no● so to me.  
The first time I beheld you, I then saw,  
That (in itself) which had the power to draw,  
My stayed affection, and thought to allow  
You some deal of my heart; but you have now  
Got far into it, and you have the skill  
For aught I see) to win upon me still.   

When I do think how bravely you have borne  
Your many crosses, as in fortune's scorn,  
And how neglectful you have seemed to be,  
Of that which hath seemed terrible to me,  
● thought you stupid, nor that you had felt  
●hose griefs which (often) I have seen to melt,  
●nother woman into sighs and tears,  
A thing but seldom in your sex and years,  
But when in you I have perceived again,  
(Noted by me, more than by other men)  
How feeling and how sensible you are  
Of your friends sorrows, and with how much ca●  
You seek to cure them, than myself I blame,  
That I your patience should so much misname,  
Which to my understanding maketh known  
"" Who feels another's grief, can feel their own  
When strait me thinks, I hear your patience say  
Are you the man that studied Seneca:  
Pliny's most learned letters; and must I  
Read you a Lecture in Philosophy,  
T'avoid the afflictions that have used to reach you,  
I'●● learn you more Sir, than your books can teach yo●   

Of all your sex, yet never did I know,  
Any that yet so actually could show,  
Such rules for patience, such an easy way,  
That who so sees it, shall be forced to say,  
Lo what before seemed hard to be discerned,  
Is of this Lady in an instant learned,  
It is heaven's will that you should wronged be  
By the malicious, that the world might see  
Your Dovelike meekness; for had the base scum  
The spawn of fiends, been in your slander dumb  
Your virtue then had perished, never prized,  
For that the same you had not exercised;  
And you had lost the Crown you have, and glory  
Never had you been the subject of my Story.  
Whilst they feel Hell, being damned in their hate  
Their thoughts like devils them excruciate,  
Which by your noble sufferings do torment  
Them with new pains, and gives you this content  
To see your soul an innocent, hath suffered,  
And up to heaven before your eyes be offered:  
Your like we in a burning Glass may see,  
When the Sun's rays therein contracted be,  
But on some object, which is purely white,  
We find that colour doth disperse the light,  
And stands untainted: but if it hath got  
●ome little sully; or the least small spot,  
Than it soon fires it; so you still remain,  
Free, because in you they can find no stain.   

God doth not love them least, on whom he lays  
The great'st afflictions; but that he will praise  
Himself most in them, and will make them fit,  
Nearest to himself who is the Lamb to fit:  
For by that touch, like perfect gold he tries them,  
Who are not his, until the world denies them,  
And your example may work such effect,  
That it may be the beginning of a Sect,  
Of patient women; and that many a day,  
All Husbands may for you their Founder pray.   

Nor is to me your Innocence the less,  
●n that you strive not to suppress  
Their Barbarous malice; but your noble heart  
Prepared to act so difficult a part,  
With unremoved constancy is still  
The same it was, that of your proper ill,  
Th' effect proceeds from your own self the cause,  
Like some just Prince, who to establish laws,  
suffers the breach at his best loved to strike,  
●o learn the vulgar to endure the like,  
You are a Martyr thus, nor can you be,  
Less to the world so valued by me:  
If as you have begun, you still persever,  
Be ever good, that I may love you ever.    

An Elegy upon the death of the Lady Pe●elope Clifton.  

MVst I needs write, whose he that can refuse  
He wants a mind for her that hath no Muse,  
The thought of her doth heavenly rage inspire,  
Next powerful, to those cloven tongues of fire.   

Since I kn●w aught time never did allow  
Me stuff fit for an Elegy, till now;  
When France and England's Henry's died, my quill  
Why, I know not, but it that time lay still.  
'Tis more than greatness that my spirit must raise  
To observe custom I use not to praise,  
Nor the least thought of mine yet ere depended,  
On any one from whom she was descended:  
That for their favour I this way should woo,  
As some poor wretched things (perhaps) may do●  
I gain the end, whereat I only aim,  
If by my freedom I may give her fame.   

Walking then forth being newly up from bed▪  
O Sir (quoth one) the Lady Cl●ffto●s dead.  
When, but that reason my stern rage withstood,  
My hand had sure been guilty of his blood,  
If she be so, must thy rude tongue confess it▪  
(Quoth I) and comest so coldly to express it,  
Thou shouldst have given a shriek, to make me fear the  
That might have stain what ever had been near the▪  
Thou shouldst have com'nlike time With thy sca●p bar  
And in thy hands thou shouldst have brought thy hair,  
Casting upon me such a dreadful look,  
As seen a spirit, or thou'dst been thunder struck,  
And gazing on me so a little space,  
Thou shouldst have shot thine eyeballs in my face,  
Then falling at my feet thou shouldst have said,  
O she is gone, and Nature with her dead.   

With this ill news amazed by chance I passed,  
By that near grove, whereas both first and last,  
I saw her, not three months before she died:  
When (though full Summer 'gan to veil her pride,  
And that I saw men lead home ripened Corn,  
Besides advised me well;) I durst have sworn  
The lingering year the Autumn had adiourned,  
And the fresh spring had been again returned,  
Her delicacy, loveliness, and grace,  
With such a Summer bravely decked the place:  
But now alas, it looked forlorn and dead;  
And where she stood, the fading leaves were shed,  
Presenting only sorrow to my sight,  
O God (thought I) this is her Emblem right.   

And sure I think it cannot but be thought,  
That I to her by providence was brought:  
For that the Fates foredooming she should die,  
showed me this wondrous Masterpiece, that I  
Should sing her funeral, that the world should know it  
That heaven did think her worthy of a Poet;  
My hand is fatal, nor doth fortune doubt,  
For what it writes, not fire shall e'er raze out,  
A thousand silken Puppets should have died,  
And in their fulsome Coffins putrified,  
Ere in my lines, you of their names should hear  
To tell the world that such there ever were,  
Whose memory shall from the earth decay,  
Before those rags be worn they gave away,  
Had I her godlike features never seen,  
Poor sleight Report had told me she had been  
A handsome Lady, comely, very well,  
And so might I have died an Infidel,  
As many do which never did her see,  
Or cannot credit, what she was by me.   

Nature, herself, th●t b●fore Art prefers  
To go beyond all our Cosmogaphers,  
By Charts and Maps exactly that have shown,  
All of this earth that ever can be known,  
For that she would beyond them all d●scry,  
What Art could not by any mortal eye;  
A Map of Heaven in her rare features drew,  
And that she did so lively and so true,  
That any soul but seeing it might swear,  
That all was perfect heavenly that was there.  
If ever any Painter were so blessed,  
To draw that face, which so much hean'n expressed,  
If in his best of skill he did her right,  
I wish it never may come in my sight,  
I greatly doubt my faith (weak man) lest I  
Should to that face commit idolatry.   

Death might have tythed her sex, but for this one  
Nay, have ta'en half to have let her alone,  
Such as their wrinkled temples to supply,  
Cement them up with ●luttish Mercury,  
Such as undressed were able to affright,  
A valiant man approaching him by night;  
Death might have taken such, her end deferred,  
Until the time she had been climaterd;  
When she would have been at threescore years and three,  
Such as our best at three and twenty be,  
With envy then, he might have overthrown her,  
When age nor time had power to seize upon her.   

But when the unpitying Fates her end decreed,  
They to the same did instantly proceed,  
For well they knew (if she had languished so)  
As those which hence by natural causes go,  
So many prayers and tears for her had spoken,  
As certainly their Iron laws had broken,  
And had awaked heaven, who clearly would have showed  
That change of Kingdoms to her death it owed,  
And that the World still of her end might think,  
It would have let some neighbouring mountain sink  
Or the vast Sea it in on us to cast,  
As Severne did about some five years past:  
Or some stern Comet his curled top to rear,  
Whose length should measure half our Hemisphere,  
Holding this height, to say some will not stick,  
That now I rave, and am grown lunatic:  
You of what sex so ere you be, you lie,  
'Tis thou thyself is lunatic, not I   

I charge you in her name that now is gone,  
That may conjure you, if you be not stone,  
That you no harsh, nor shallow rhymes decline,  
Upon that day wherein you shall read mine,  
Such as indeed are falsely termed verse,  
And will but sit like moths upon her hearse;  
Nor that no child, nor chambermaid nor page,  
Disturb the Rome, the whilst my sacred rage,  
In reading is; but whilst you hear it read,  
Suppose, before you, that you see her dead,  
The walls about you hung with mournful black,  
And nothing of her funeral to lack,  
And when this period gives you leave to pause,  
Cast up your eyes, and sigh for my applause.    

Upon the noble Lady aston's departure for spain.  

I Many a time have greatly marvelled why,  
Men say their friends depart when as they die,  
How well that word, a dying doth express,  
I did not know (I truly must confess,)  
Till her departure, for whose miss sight,  
I am enforced this Elegy to write:  
But since resistless fate will have it so,  
That she from hence must to Iberia go,  
And my weak wishes can her not detain,  
I will of heaven in policy complain,  
That it so long her travel should adjourn,  
Hoping thereby to hasten her return.   

Can those of Norway for their wage procure,  
By their black spells a wind that shall endure  
Till from aboard the wished land men see,  
And fetch the harbour, where they long to ●e,  
Can they by charms do this, and cannot I  
Who am the Priest of Phoebus, and so high;  
Sat in his favour, win the Poet's god,  
To send swift Hermes with a snaky rod,  
To Aeolus' Cave, commanding him with care,  
His prosperous winds, that he for her prepare,  
And from that hour, wherein she rakes the seas,  
Nature bring on the quiet Haltion days,  
And in that hour that bird begin her nest,  
Nay at that very instant, that long rest  
May seize on Neptune, who may still repose,  
And let that bird ne'er till that hour disclose,  
Wherein she landeth, and for all that space  
Be not a wrinkle seen on Thetis face,  
Only so much breath with a gentle gale,  
As by the easy swelling of her sail,  
May at 
* The nearest harbour of Spain.  Sebastian's safely set her down  
Where with her goodness she may bless the town.   

If heaven in justice would have plagued by thee  
Some Pirate, and grim Neptune thou shouldst be  
His Executioner, or what is worse,  
The gripple Merchant, borne to be the curse  
Of this brave Island; let them for her sake,  
Who to thy safeguard doth herself betake,  
Escape vndrowned, unwrackt, nay rather let  
Them be at case in some safe harbour set,  
Where with much profit they may vent their wealth  
That they have got by villainy and stealth,  
Rather, great Neptune, then when thou dost rave,  
Thou once should st●wet her sail but with a wave.   

Or if some proling Rover shall but dare,  
To seize the ship wherein she is to far,  
Let the fell fishes of the Main appear,  
And tell those Sea-thieves, that once such they were,  
As they are now, till they assailed to rape; 
a I'll for the abunde● of wine supposed to be the habita● on of B 〈…〉   
Grape▪ crowned Bacchus in a striplings shape,  
That came aboard them, and would fain have sailed,  
To vine spread 
* a I'll for the abundance ●f Wine supposed to be the habitation of Bacchus  Naxus, but that him they failed▪  
Which he perceiving, them so monstrous made,  
And warn them how they passengers invade.   

Ye South and Western winds now cease to blow  
Atumne is come, there be no flowers to grow,  
Yea from that place respire, to which she goes,  
And to her sails should show yourself but foes,  
But Boreas and ye Eastern winds arise;  
To send her soon to Spain, but be precise,  
That in your aid you seem not still so stern,  
As we a Summer should no more discern,  
For till that here again, I may her see,  
It will be winter all the year with me.   

Ye swan-begotten lovely brother stars,  
So oft auspicious to poor Mariners,  
Ye twin-bred lights of lovely Leda's brood,  
jove's egge-borne issue smile upon the flood,  
And in your mildest aspect do ye appear  
To be her warrant from all future fear.   

And if thou ship that bearest her, do prove good,  
May never time but worms consume thy wood  
Nor rust thy iron, may thy tackle last,  
Till they for relics be in Temples placed;  
Mayst thou be ranged with that mighty Ark,  
Wherein just Noah did all the world embark,  
With that which after Troy's so famous wrack,  
From ten years' travel brought Ulysses back:  
That Argo which to Colchos went from Greece,  
And in her bottom brought the Golden Fleece,  
Under brave jason; or that same of Drake,  
Wherein he did his famous voyage make  
About the World, or Candishes that went  
As far as his about the Continent.   

And ye mild winds that now I do implore,  
Not once to raise the least sand on the shore,  
Nor once on forfeit of yourselves respire:  
When once the time is come of her retire,  
If then it please you, but to do your due,  
What for those Winds I did, I'll do for you:  
I'll woo you then, and if that not suffice,  
My pen shall prove you to have dietyes,  
I'll sing your loves in verses that shall flo●,  
And tell the stories of your weal and woe,  
I'll prove what profit to the earth you bring,  
And how 'tis you that welcome in the spring,  
I'll raise up altars to you, as to show,  
The time shallbe kept holy, when you blow,  
O blessed winds! your will that it may be,  
To send health to her, and her home to me.    

To my most dearely-loved friend Henry Reynolds Esquire of Poets and Poesy.  

MY dear beloved friend how oft have we,  
In winter evenings (meaning to be free)  
To some well chosen place used to retire;  
And there with moderate meat, and wine, and fire,  
Have past the hours contentedly with chat,  
Now talked of this, and then discoursed of that,  
Spoke our own verses 'twixt ourselves if not,  
Other men's lines, which we by chance had got,  
Or some Stage pieces famous long before,  
Of which your happy memory had store:  
And I remember you much pleased were,  
Of those who lived long ago to hear,  
As well as of those, of these latter times,  
Who have enriched our language with their times,  
And in succession, how still up they grew,  
Which is the subject that I now pursue;  
For from my cradle (you must know that) I,  
Was still inclined to noble Poesy;  
And when that once Pueriles I had read,  
And newly had my Cato construed;  
In my small self I greatly marvelled then,  
Amongst all other, what strange kind of men  
These Poets were; And pleased with the name,  
To my mild Tutor merrily I came:  
(For I was then a proper goodly page,  
Much like a Pigmy, scarce ten years of age)  
Clasping my slender arms about his thigh,  
O my dear master; cannot you (quoth I)  
Make me a Poet; do it, if you can,  
And you shall see, I'll quickly be a man,  
Who me thus answered smiling, boy quoth he,  
If you'll not play the wag▪ but I may see  
You ply your learning, I will shortly read  
Some Poets to you; Phoebus be my speed,  
Too't hard went I, when shortly he began,  
And first read to me honest Mantuan,  
Then Virgil's E●ogues, being entered thus,  
Me thought I strait had mounted Pegasus,  
And in his full Career could make him stop,  
And bound upon Parnassus by clift-top,  
I scorned your ballet then though it were done  
And had for Finis William Elderton,  
But soft, in sporting with this childish jest,  
I from my subject have too long digressed,  
Then to the matter that we took in hand,  
jove and Apollo for the Muses stand.   

That noble Chaucer, in those former times,  
The first enriched our English with his rhymes,  
And was the first of ours, that ever broke,  
Into the Muse's treasure, and first spoke  
In weighty numbers, delving in the Mine  
Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine.  
And coin for currant and as much as then  
The English language could express to men,  
He made it do; and by his wondrous skill,  
Gave us much light from his abundant quill.   

And honest Gower, who in respect of him,  
Had only sipped at Aganippas' brim,  
And though in years this last was him before,  
Yet fell he far short of the others store.  
When after those, four ages very near,  
They with the Muses which conversed, were  
That Princely Surry, early in the time▪  
Of the Eight Henry, who was then the prime  
Of England's noble youth, with him there came  
Wyatt; with reverence whom we still do name  
Amongst our Poets, Bryan had a share  
With the two former, which accounted are  
That times best makers, and the authors were  
Of those small Poems, which the title bear,  
Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit  
On many dainty passages of wit.   

Gascoigne and Churchyard after them again  
●n the beginning of Eliza's rain,  
Accounted were great Meterers many a day,  
But not inspired with brave fire, had they  
Lived but a little longer, they had seen,  
Their works before them to have buried been.   

Grave moral Spencer after these came on,  
Than whom I am persuaded there was none  
Since the blind Bard his Iliads up did make,  
Fitter a task like that to undertake,  
To set down boldly, bravely to invent,  
In all high knowledge, surely excellent.   

The noble Sidney, with this last arose,  
That Hero for numbers, and for Prose,  
That throughly paced our language as to show,  
The plentcous English hand in hand might go,  
With Greek and Latin, and did first reduce  
Our tongue from Lilies writing then in use▪  
Talking of Stones, Stars plants, of Fishes, Flies,  
Playing with words, and idle Similes,  
As th' English, Apes and very Zanies be  
Of every thing, that they do hear and see,  
So imitating his ridiculous tricks,  
They spoke and Writ, all like mere lunatics.   

Then Warner though his lines were not so trimmed▪  
Nor yet his Poem so exactly limned  
And neatly jointed, but the Critic may  
Easily reprove him, yet thus let me say;  
For my old friend, some passages there be  
In him, which I protest have taken me,  
With almost wonder, so fine, clear and new,  
As yet they have been equalled by few.   

Note Barlow bathed in the Thespian spring●  
Had in him those brave translunary things,  
That the first Poets had, his raptures were,  
All Air, and fire, which made his verses clear,  
For that fine madness still he did retain,  
Which rightly should possess a Poet's brain.   

And surely Nashe, though he a Proser were,  
A branch of Laurel yet deserves to bear,  
Sharply Satiricke was he, and that way,  
He went, since that his being, to this day  
Few have attempted, and I surely think  
Those words shall hardly be set down with ink,  
Shall scorch and blast, so as his could, where he,  
Would inflict vengeance, and be it said of thee,  
Shakespeare thou hadst as smooth a Comic vain,  
●itting the sock, and in thy natural brain,  
As strong conception, and as clear a rage,  
As any one that trafficked with the stage.   

Amongst these, Samuel Daniel, whom if I  
May speak of, but to censure do deny,  
Only have heard some wise men him rehearse,  
To be too much Historian in verse;  
His rhymes were smooth, his mee●ers well did close,  
But yet his manner better fitted prose:  
●ext these, learned johnson, in this List I bring,  
Who had drunk deep of the Pierian spring,  
Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer,  
●nd long was Lord here of the Theatre,  
Who in opinion made our learnd'st to stick,  
Whether in Poems rightly dramatic,  
strong Seneca or Plautus, he or they,  
●hould bear the Buskin, or the Sock away.  
Others again here lived in my days,  
That have of us deserved no less praise  
For their translations, than the daintiest wit,  
Tha● on Parnassus thinks he highest doth sit,  
And for a chair may 'mongst the muses call,  
As the most curious maker of them all;  
A● reverend▪ Chapman, who hath brought to us,  
Musaeus, Homer, and Hesiodus  
Our of the Greek; and by his skill hath reared  
Them to that height, and to our tongue endeared,  
Tha● were those Poets at this day alive,  
To ●●e their books thus with us to survive,  
They would think having neglected them so long  
They ●ad been written in the English tongue.   

And Silvester who from the French more weak●  
Ma●e Bartas of his six days labour speak,  
In natural English, who, had he there stayed,  
He had done w●ll, and never had bewrayed,  
His own invention, to have been so poor  
Who still wrote less, in striving to write more,   

●hen dainty Sands, that hath to English done,  
Smouth sliding Ovid, and hath made him run,  
With so much sweetness and unusual grace,  
As though the neatness of the English pace,  
Should tell the letting Latin that it came  
But slowly after, as though stiff and lame.   

So Scotland sent us hither, for our own  
That man, whose name I ever would have known●  
To stand by mine, that most ingenious Knight,  
My Alexander, to whom in his right,  
I want extremely, yet in speaking thus  
I do but show the love, that was 'twixt us,  
And not his numbers which were brave and high,  
So like his mind, was his clear Poesy,  
And my dear Drummond to whom much ● owe  
For his much love, and proud I was to know,  
His Poesy, for which two worthy men,  
I Me●stry still shall love, and Hauth●rne-den,  
Then the two Beamounts', and my Browne arose,  
My dear companions whom I freely chose  
My bosom friends ● and in their several ways,  
Rightly borne Poets, and in these last days,  
Men of much note, and no l●sse nobler parts,  
Such as have freely told to me their hearts,  
As I have mine to them; but if you shall  
Say in your knowledge, that these be not all  
Have writ in numbers be informed that I  
Only myself, to these few men doetye,  
Whose works▪ oft printed, set on every post,  
To public censure subject have been most;  
For such whose Poems, be they ne'er so rare,  
In private chambers that incloistred are,  
And by transcription daintily must go,  
As though the world vn worthy were to know,  
Their rich composures, let those men that keep  
These wondrous relics in their judgement deep,  
And cry them up so, let such Pieces be  
Spoke of by those that shall come after me,  
I pass not for them: nor do mean to run,  
In quest of these, that them applause have won,  
Upon our Stages in these latter days,  
That are so many let them have their bays  
That do deserve it; let those wits that haunt  
Those public circuits, let them freely chant  
Their fine Composures, and their praise pursue,  
And so my dear friend for this time adieu,    

Upon the death of his incomparable friend, Sir Henry Raynsford, of Clifford.  

COuld there be words found to express my loss  
There were some hope, that this my heavy cross  
Might be sustained, and that wretched I  
Might once find comfort: but to have him die  
Past all degrees that was so dear to me;  
As but comparing him with others, he  
Was such a thing, as if some power should say  
I'll take man on me, to show men the way  
What a friend should be. But words come so short,  
Of him, that when I thus should him report,  
I am undone, and having nought to say,  
Mad at myself, I throw my pen away,  
And beat my breast, that there should be a woe  
So high, that words cannot attain thereto.  
'tis strange that I from my abundant breast,  
Who others sorrows have so well expressed:  
Yet I by this in little time am grown  
So poor, that I want to express my own.   

I think the fates perceiving me to bear  
My worldly crosses without wit or fear:  
Nay, with what scorn I ever have derided,  
Those plagues that for me they have oft provided,  
Drew them to counsel; nay, conspired rather,  
And in this business laid their heads together,  
To find some one plague, that might me subvert,  
And at an instant break my stubborn heart;  
They did indeed, and only to this end,  
They took from me this more than man, or friend.   

Hardhearted fates, your worst thus have you done  
Then let us see what last you have won,  
By this your rigour, in a course so strict,  
Why see, I bear all that you can inflict:  
And he from heaven your poor revenge to view;  
Laments my loss of him, but laughs at you,  
Whilst I against you execrations breath;  
Thus are you scorned above, and cursed beneath.   

Me thinks that man (unhappy though it be)  
Is now thrice happy in respect of me,  
Who hath no friend; for that in having none  
He is not stirred as I am, to bemoan  
My miserable loss, who but in vain,  
May ever look to find the like again.  
This more than mine own self; that who had seen  
His care of me where ever I had been,  
And had not known his active spirit before,  
Upon some brave thing working evermore:  
He would have sworn that to no other end  
He had been borne; but only for my friend.   

I had been happy, if nice nature had,  
(Since now my luck falls out to be so bad)  
Made me unperfect, either of so soft  
And yielding temper, that lamenting oft,  
I into tears my mournful self might melt;  
Or else so dull, my loss not to have felt,  
I have by my too dear experience bought,  
That fools and mad men, whom I ever thought  
The most unhappy, are indeed not so:  
And therefore I less pity can bestow  
(Since that my sense, my sorrow so can sound)  
On those I see in Bedlam that are bound,  
And scarce feel scourging; and when as I meet free,  
A fool by children followed in the Street.  
Think I (poor wretch) thou from my grief art  
Nor couldst thou feel it, should it light on thee;  
But that I am a Christian, and am taught  
By him who with his precious blood me bought,  
Meekly like him my crosses to endure,  
Else would they please me well, that for their cure,  
When as they feel their conscience doth them brand,  
Upon themselves dare lay a violent hand,  
Not suffering Fortune with her murdering knife,  
Stand like a Surgeon working on the life,  
Defecting this part, that joint off to cut,  
Showing the Artyre, ripping then that gut,  
Whilst the dull beastly World with her squint eye,  
Is to behold the strange Anatomy.   

I am persuaded that those which we read  
To be man-haters, were not so indeed  
The Athenian Timon, and beside him more  
Of which the Latins, as the greeks have store;  
Nor not they did all humane manners hate,  
Nor yet malign man's dignity and state.  
But finding our frail life how every day,  
It like a bubble vanisheth away:  
For this condition did mankind detest,  
far more incertain than that of the beast.   

Sure heaven doth hate this world and deadly too  
Else as i● hath done it would never do,  
For if it did not, it would ne'er permit  
A man of so much virtue, knowledge, wit,  
Of natural goodness, supernatural grace,  
Whose courses when considerately I trace  
●nto their ends, and diligently look,  
They serve me for Oeconomike book.  
By which this rough world I not only stem,  
●n goodness but grow learned by reading them.   

O pardon me, it my much sorrow is,  
Which makes me use this long Parenthesis;  
Had heaven this world not hated as I say,  
●n height of life it had not, ta'en away  
A spirit so brave, so active, and so free,  
That such a one who would not wish to be,  
Rather than wear a Crown, by Arms though got  
So fast a friend, so true a Patriot,  
●n things concerning both the worlds so wise,  
Besides so liberal of his faculties,  
That where he would his industry bestow,  
He would have done e'er one could think to do.  
No more talk of the working of the Stars,  
For plenty, scarceness, or for peace, or Wars.  
They are impostures, therefore get you hence  
With all your Planets, and their influence.  
No more do I care into them to look,  
Then in some idle Chiromantick book,  
Showing the line of life, and Venus mount,  
Nor yet no more would I of them account,  
Then what that tells me, since that what so ere  
Might promise man long life: of care and fear,  
By nature freed, a conscience clear, and quiet,  
His health, his constitution, and his diet;  
Counting a hundred, four score at the least,  
Propped up by prayers, yet more to be increased,  
All these should fail, and in his fiftieth year  
He should expire, henceforth let none be dear,  
To me at all, lest for my hapless sake,  
Before their time heaven from the world them take,  
And leave me wretched to lament their ends  
As I do his, who was a thousand friends.    

Upon the death of the Lady Olive Stanhope.  

CAnst thou depart and be forgotten so,  
Stanhope thou canst not, no dear Stanohpe, no,  
But in despite of death the world shall see,  
That Muse which so much graced was by thee;  
Can black oblivion utterly outbrave,  
And set the up above thy silent Grave.   

I marvelled much the Darbian Nymphs were dumb  
Or of those Muses, what should be become,  
That of all those, the mountains there among,  
Not one this while thy Epicedium sung;  
But so it is, when they of thee were reft,  
They all those hills, and all those rivers left,  
And sullen grown, their former feats remove,  
Both from clear Darwin, and from silver Dove,  
And for thy loss, they grieved are so sore,  
That they have vowed they will come there no more;  
But leave thy loss to me, that I should rue thee,  
Unhappy man, and yet I never knew thee:  
Me thou didst love unseen, so did I thee,  
It was our spirits that loved then and not we;  
Therefore without profaneness I may call  
The love betwixt us, love spiritual:  
But that which thou affectedst was so true,  
As that thereby thee perfectly I knew;  
And now that spirit, which thou so loudest, still mine,  
Shall offer this a Sacrifice to thine,  
And rear this Trophy, which for thee shall last,  
When this most beastly iron age is past;  
I am persuaded, whilst we two have slept,  
Our souls have met, and to each other wept;  
That destiny so strongly should forbid,  
Our bodies to converse as oft they did:  
For certainly refined spirits do know,  
As do the Angels, and do here below,  
Take the fruition of that endless bliss,  
As those above do, and what each one is,  
They see divinely, and as those there do,  
They know each others wills, so souls can too.   

About that dismal time, thy spirit hence flew,  
Mine much was troubled, but why, I not knew,  
In dull and sleepy sounds, it often left me,  
As if itself it meant to have bereft me,  
I ask'● it what the cause was, of such woe,  
Or what it might be, that might vex it so,  
But it was deaf, nor my demand would hear,  
But when that ill news came to touch mine ear,  
I straightways found this watchful spirit of mine,  
Troubled had been to take it leave of thine,  
For when fate found, what nature late had done,  
How much from heaven, she for the earth had won,  
By thy dear birth; said, that it could not be  
In so young years, what it perceived in thee,  
But nature sure, had framed thee long before;  
And as rich Misers of their mighty store,  
Keep the most precious longest, so from times past,  
She only had reserved thee till the last;  
So did thy wisdom, not thy youth behold,  
And took thee hence, in thinking thou wast old.  
Thy shape and beauty often have to me  
Been highly praised, which I thought might be,  
Truly reported, for a spirit so brave;  
Which heaven to thee so bountifully gave;  
Nature could not in recompense again,  
In some rich lodging but to entertain.  
Let not the world report then, that the Peake,  
Is but a rude place only vast and bleak,  
And nothing hath to boast of but her Lead,  
When she can say that happily she bred  
Thee, and when she shall of her wonders t●ll,  
Wherein she doth all other tracts excel,  
Let her account thee great'st, and still to time  
Of all the rest, record ●hee for the prime,    

To Master WILLIAM JEFFRYES, Chaplain to the Lord Ambassa dour in Spain.  

MY noble friend, you challenge me to write  
To you in Verse, and often you recite,  
My promise to you, and to send you news;  
As 'tis a thing I very seldom use,  
And I must write of State, if to Madrid,  
A thing our Proclamations here forbid,  
And that word State such Latitude doth bear,  
As it may make me very well to fear  
To write, nay speak at all, these let you know  
Your power on me, yet not that I will show  
The love I bear you, in that lofty height,  
So clear expression, or such words of weight,  
As into Spanish if they were translated,  
Might make the Poets of that Realm amated;  
Yet these my last were, but that you extort  
These numbers from me, when I should report  
In homespun prose, in good plain honest words  
The news our woeful England us affords.   

The Muses here sit sad, and mute the while  
A sort of swine unseasonably defile  
Those sacred springs, which from the by-clift-hill  
Dropped their pure Nectar into every quill;  
In this with State, I hope I do not deal,  
This only tends the Muse's commonweal.   

What canst thou hope, or look for from his pen,  
Who lives with beasts, though in the shapes of men,  
And what a poor few are we honest still,  
And dare to be so, when all the world is ill.   

I find this age of our marked with this Fate,  
That honest men are still precipitate  
Under base Villains, which till th'earth can vent  
This her last brood, and wholly hath them spent,  
Shall be so, then in revolution shall;  
Virtue again arise by vices fall;  
But that shall I not see, neither will I  
Maintain this, as one doth a Prophecy,  
That our King james to Rome shall surely go,  
And from his Chair the Pope shall overthrow.  
But o this world is so given up to hell,  
That as the old Giants, which did once rebel,  
Against the gods, so this now living race  
Dare sin, yet stand, and ●eere heaven in the face.   

But soft my Muse, and make a little stay,  
Surely thou art not rightly in thy way,  
To my good jeffrayes was not I about  
To write, and see, I suddenly am out,  
This is pure Satire, that thou speakest, and I  
Was first in hand to write an Elegy.  
To tell my, countries shame I not delight,  
But do bemoaneed I am no Democrite:  
O God, though Virtue mightily do grieve,  
For all this world yet will I not believe  
But that she's fair and lovely, and that she  
So to the period of the world shall be;  
Else ●ad she been forsaken (sure) of all,  
For that so many sundry mischiefs fall  
Upon her daily, and so many take  
Arms up against her, as it well might make,  
Her to forsake her nature, and behind,  
To leave no step for future time to find,  
As she had never been, for he that now  
Can do her most disgrace, him they allow  
The times chief Champion, and he is the man,  
The prize, and palm that absolutely won,  
For where King's Closets her free seat hath been,  
She near the Lodge, not suffered is to Inn,  
For ignorance against her stands in state,  
Like some great porter at a palace gate;  
So dull and barbarous lately are we grown,  
And there are some this sluttery that have sown,  
That for man's knowledge it enough doth make,  
If he can learn to read an Almanac;  
By whom that trash of Amadis de Gaul,  
Is held an Author most authentical,  
And things we have like Noblemen that be  
In little time, which I have hope to see  
Upon their foot-cloths, as the streets they ride,  
To have their hornebookes at their girdles tied,  
But all their superfluity of spite  
On virtue's handmaid Poesy doth light,  
And to extirp her all their plots they lay,  
But to her ruin they shall miss the way,  
For 'tis alone the Monuments of wit,  
Above the rage of Tyrants that do sit,  
And from their strength, not one himself can sane,  
But they shall triumph o'er his hated grave.   

In my conceit, friend, thou didst never see  
A righter Madam than thou hast of me,  
For now as Elegiac I bewail  
These poor base times; then suddenly I'll rail  
And I am Satiricke, not that I enforce  
Myself to be so, but even as remorse,  
Or hate, in the proud fullness of their height  
Master my fancy, just so do I write.   

But gentle friend, as soon shall I behold  
That stone of which so many have us told,  
(Yet never any to this day could make)  
The great Elixir, or to undertake  
The Rose-Crosse knowledge which is much like that,  
A Tarrying-iron for fools to labour at,  
As ever after I may hope to see,  
(A plague upon this beastly world for me)  
Wit so respected as it was of yore,  
And if hereafter any it restore,  
It must be those that yet for many a year,  
Shall be unborn that must inhabit here,  
And such in virtue as shall be ashamed  
Almost to hear their ignorant Grandsires named,  
With whom so many noble spirits then lived;  
That were by them of all reward deprived.   

My noble friend, I would I might have quit  
This age of these, and that I might have writ,  
Before a● other, how much the brave pen;  
Had here been honoured of the English men;  
Goodness and knowledge, held by them in prize,  
How hateful to them ignorance and vice,  
But it falls out the contrary is true,  
And so my jeffereyes for this time adieu.    

Upon the death of Mistress Elinor Fallowfield.  

ACcursed Death, what need was there at all  
Of thee, or who to council did thee call;  
The subject where upon these lines I spend  
For thee was most unfit, her timeless end  
Too soon thou wroughtst, too near her thou didst stand;  
Thou shouldst have lent thy lean and meager hand  
To those who oft the help thereof beseech,  
And can be cured by no other Leech.   

In this wide world how many thousands be  
That having past fourscore, do call for thee,  
The wretched debtor in the jail that lies,  
Yet cannot this his Creditor suffice;  
Doth woe thee oft with many a sigh and tear,  
Yet thou art coy, and him thou wilt not hear.  
The Captive slave that tuggeth at the Oars,  
And underneath the Bulls tough sinews roars,  
Begs at thy hand, in lieu of all his pains,  
That thou wouldst but release him of his chains;  
Yet thou a niggard listenest not thereto,  
W 〈…〉 short gasp which thou mightst easily do,  
But thou couldst come to her ere there was need,  
And even at once destroy both flower and seed.   

But cruel death if thou so barbarous be,  
To those so goodly, and so young as she;  
That in their teeming thou wilt show thy spite;  
Either from marriage thou wilt Maids affright,  
Or in their Wedlock, Widow's lives to choose  
Their husband's bed, and utterly refuse,  
Fearing conception; so shalt thou thereby  
Extirpate mankind by thy cruelty.   

If after direful Tragedy thou thirst,  
Extinguish Hymen's Torches at the first;  
Build Funeral piles, and the sad pavement strew,  
With mournful Cypress, and the pale-leaued Yew.  
Away with Roses, Myrtle, and with Bays;  
Ensigns of mith, and jollity, as these;  
Never at Nuptials used be again,  
But from the Church the new Bride entertain  
With Weeping Nenias, ever and among,  
As at departings be sad Requiems song   

Lucina by th'old Poets that wert said,  
Women in Childbirth evermore to aid,  
Because thine Altars, long have laid neglected:  
Nor as they should, thy holy fires reflected  
Upon thy Temples, therefore thou dost fly,  
And wilt not help them in necessity.   

Thinking upon thee, I do often muse,  
Whether for thy dear sake I should accuse  
Nature or Fortune, Fortune than I blame,  
And do impute it as her greatest shame,  
To hast thy timeless end, and soon again  
I vex at Nature, nay I curse her then,  
That at the time of need she was no stronger,  
That we by her might have enjoyed thee longer.   

But whilst of these I with myself debate,  
I call to mind how flinty-hearted Fate,  
Seizeth the old, the young, the fair, the foul,  
No thing of earth can Destiny control:  
But yet that Fate which hath of life bereft thee,  
Still to eternal memory hath lef● thee,  
Which thou enioy'st by the deserved breath,  
That many a great one hath not after death.    
FINIS.