A Mournful Ditty of the Lady Rosamond, King Henry the seconds Concubine, who was poisoned to death by Queen Elinor in Woodstoost Bower near Oxford.  
To the tune of, Flying Fame,  
 


Whhenas' King Henry ruled this land,  
the second of that name,  
Besides the Queen he dearly loved  
a fair and Princely Dame:  
Most Péerless was her beauty found,  
her favour and her face.  
A sweeter creature in the world  
did never Prince embrace.   

Her crisped locks like threads of gold  
appeared to each man's sight,  
Her comely eyes like Orient Pearls  
did cast a heavenly light.  
The blood within her Crystal chéek  
did such a colour drive,  
As if the Lily and the Rose  
for Mastership did strive,   

Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond,  
her name was called so,  
To whom Dame Elinor our Queen  
was known a mortal foe:  
The King therefore for her defence  
against the furious Queen,  
At Woodstock builded such a Bower  
the like was never seen.   

Most curiously this Bower was built  
of stone and timber strong,  
A hundred and fifty doors  
did to this Bower belong,  
And they so cunningly contrived  
with turn round about,  
That none but with a clew of thread  
could enter in or out.   

And for his Love and Lady's sake  
that was so fair and bright,  
The keeping of that Bower he gave  
unto a vallant Knight.  
But Fortune that doth often frown,  
where she before did smile,  
The King's delight, the Ladies joy  
full soon she did beguile.   

For why? the King's ungracious son  
whom he did high advance  
Against his father raised wars  
within the Realm of France:  
But yet before our comely King  
the English land forsaken.  
Of Rosamond his Lady fair,  
his last farewell he took,   

O Rosamond the only Rose,  
that pleaseth best mine eye,  
The fairest Rose in all the world  
to feed my fantasy.  
The flower of my affected heart,  
whose swéetness doth excel.  
My Royal Rose a thousand times  
I bid thee now farewel.   

For I must leave my famous Flower,  
my sweetest Rose a space,  
And cross the sons to famous France  
proud Rebels to abase,  
But yet my Rose be sure thou shalt  
my coming shortly see,  
And in my heart while hence I am  
I'll bear my Rose with me.   

When Rosamond the Lady fair  
did hear the King say so,  
The sorrow of her grieved heart,  
her outward looks did show  
And from her clear and Crystal eyes  
the tears gushed out a pace,  
Which like the Silver Pearled dew  
ran down her comely face.   

Her lips like to the Coral red  
did wax both wan a pale,  
And for the sorrow conceived  
her vital spirits did fail.  
And falling down all in swound  
before King Henry's face  
Full oft within his princelyarms  
her body did embrace.   

And twenty times with watery eyes  
he kissed her tender chéek  
Until he had revived again,  
her senses mild and meek.  
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose  
the King did often say,  
Because quoth she to bloody wars  
my Lord must part away.   

But sigh your grace in Foreign Coasts  
among your Foes unkind,  
Most go to hazard life and limb,  
why should I stay behind?  
Nay rather let me like a Page,  
your Sword and Target bear.  
That on my breast the blow may light  
that should offend you there.   

O let me in your Royal tent  
prepare your bed at night,  
And with sweet baths refesh your grace  
at your return from fight,  
So I your presence may enjoy.  
no toil I will refuse,  
But wanting you my life is death  
which doth true Love abuse.   

Content thyself my dearest Love  
thy rest at home shall be  
In England's sweet and pleasant soil  
for travel fits not thee.  
Fair Ladies brook no bloody wars  
sweet peace their pleasure breed  
The nourisher of hearts content,  
which fancy first did feed.   

My Rose shall rest in Woodstock-bower  
with music's sweet delight.  
While I among the piercing Pikes  
against my Foe● do fight  
My Rose in Robes of Pearl and Gold  
with Diamonds richly ●ight  
Shall dance the Galliard of my Love  
while I my foes do smite.   

And you Sir Thomas whom I trust  
to be my Love's defence  
Be careful of my Royal Rose  
when I am parted hence.  
And there-withal he forth a sigh  
as though his heart would break  
And Rosamond for very grief  
not one plain word could speak,    

The second Part, to the same tune,  
 

ANd at the parting well they might,  
in heart be grieved sore,  
After that day fair Rosamond  
the King did see no more.  
For when his Grace had past the Seas  
and into France was cone.  
Queen Elinor with evious heart  
to Woodstock came anon.   

And forth she called this trusty Knight,  
who keep this curious Bower,  
Who with his clew of twined thread  
came from that famous flows,  
And when that they had wounded him  
the Queen this thread did get.  
And want where Lady Rosamond  
was like an Angel set.   

But when the Queen with steadfast eyes,  
beheld her heavenly face,  
She was amazed in her mind,  
at her exceeding grace,  
Cast of off thy Robes from thee she said  
that rich and costly be,  
And drink thou up this deadly drought  
which I have brought for thee,   

But presently upon her knee  
sweet Rosmond did fall  
And pardon of the Queen she craved  
for her offences, all.  
Take pity on my youthful years,  
fair Rosamond did cry.  
And let me vot with poison strong  
enforced be to die.   

I will renounce this sinful life,  
and in a Cloister bide,  
Or rise be banished if you please  
to range the world so wide.  
And for that fault w●ich I ha●e done,  
though I was forced thereto.  
Preserve my life, and punish me  
as you think good to do.   

And with these wo●de her Lily hand  
she wrong full often there  
And down along her comely cheeks  
proceeded many a tear  
But nothing could this ●urious Queen  
therewith appeased be  
The cup of deadly poison filled  
as she sat on her knee.   

She gave that comely Dame to drink▪  
who took it in her hand,  
And from her hended knee arose  
and on her feet did stand.  
And casting up her eyes to heaven  
she did for mercy call,  
And drinking up the poison strong  
her life she lost withal.   

And when that death through every limb  
had done her greatest spite,  
Her chiefest foes did plain confess;  
she was a glorious Wight.  
Her body than they did Entomb,  
when life was fl●d away,  
At Woodstock near to Oxford town  
as may be seen this day.     

Printed for F. Coles, Tho. Vere and W. Gilbertson.