A Lamentable BALLAD Fair ROSAMOND, King Henry the Second Concubine, Who was put to Death by Queen ELINOR, in the Famous Bower of Woodstock near Oxford.  
To the Tune of, Flying Fame, etc.  
Licenced and Entered according to Order.  
 

WHen as King Henry ruled this Land,  
the Second of that Name,  
Besides the Queen he dearly loved,  
a fair and comely Dame:  
Most peerless was her beauty found,  
her favour and her face,  
A sweeter Creature in this 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 cheeks,  
did such a colour drive,  
As though 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 deadly Foe,  
The King therefore for her Defence,  
against the furious Queen,  
At Woodstock builded such a Bower,  
the like was never seen:   

Most curiously that 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 this Bower he gave  
unto a valiant Knight:  
But Fortune that doth often frown,  
where it before did smile,  
The King's Delight, the Lady's 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 forsook,  
Of Rosamond his Lady fair  
his Farewell th●s he took:   

My Rosamond, my only Rose,  
that pleasest best mine eye,  
The fairest Flower in all the World,  
to feed my fantasy:  
The Flower of my affected Heart,  
whose sweetness doth excel,  
My Royal Rose a hundred times,  
I bid thee now farewell.   

For I must leave my fairest Flower,  
my sweetest Ro●e a space,  
And cross the Seas to famous France,  
proud Rebels to abase:  
But yet my Rose b● sure thou shalt  
my coming shortly see,  
And in my heart w●en hence I am,  
I'll bear my Rose with me.   

When Rosamond, that Lady bright,  
did hear the King say so,  
The sorrow of her grieved heart  
her outward loo●s did show;  
And from her clear ●nd crystal eyes  
the tears gushed out apace,  
Which like the silv●● pearled dew  
ran down her co●ely face.   

Her lips like to th● coral red,  
did wax both wa● and pale,  
And for the sorrow ●●e conceived,  
her vital spirits ●id fail:  
And falling down al● in a swound,  
before King Henry's face,  
Full oft within his Pincely Arms,  
her body did embrace.   

And twenty times with watery eyes  
he kissed her tender cheek.  
Until he had revived again  
her sense mild and meek:  
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?  
the king did often s●y.  
Because, quoth she, to bloody Wars  
my Lord must pass away.   

But since your Grace in Foreign Coasts  
amongst your Foes unkind,  
Must go to hazerd life and limb,  
why should I stay behind?  
Nay, rather let me like a Page  
thy 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 refresh 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 pleasures breed,  
The Nourisher of Heart's Content,  
which Fancy first did feed.   

My Rose shall rest in Woodstock-Bower,  
with Music sweetly dight,  
Whilst I among the piercing Pikes  
against my Foes do fight:  
My Rose in Robes of Pearl and Gold,  
with Diamonds richly dight,  
Shall dance the Galliards 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 gallant Rose,  
when I am parted hence:  
And therewithal he fetched a sigh,  
as though his heart would break;  
And Rosamond for very Grief,  
not one plain word could speak:   

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

And forth she calls this trusty Knight,  
which kept this curious Bower,  
Who with his Clew of twined Thread,  
came from the famous Flower:  
And when that they had wounded him,  
The Queen his Thread did get,  
And went where Lady Rosamond  
was like an Angel set.   

But when the Queen with steadfast eye,  
beheld her heavenly face,  
She was amazed in her mind  
at her exceeding Grace:  
Cast off from thee these Robes (she said)  
that rich and costly be.  
And drink thou up this deadly Draught,  
which I have brought to thee.   

But presently upon her knees  
sweet Rosamond 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 not with Poison strong  
enforced be to die.   

I will renounce my sinful Life,  
and in some Cloister 'bide  
Or else be banished if you please,  
to range the World so wide,  
And for the Fault that I have done,  
though I was forced thereto,  
Preserve my life and punish me,  
as you think good to do.   

And with these words her lily hands,  
she wrung full often there,  
And down along her comely face,  
proceeded many a tear:  
But nothing could this furious Queen,  
there with appeased be,  
The Cup of deadly Poison strong,  
as she sat on her knee,   

She gave this comely Dame to drink,  
who took it in her hand,  
And from her bended 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 there confess,  
she was a glorious ●ight:  
Her Body then they did entomb,  
when Life was fled away,  
At Woodstock, near to Oxford Town,  
as may be seen this Day.    

LONDON: Printed by and for W. O. and are to be sold by the Booksellers of Pie-corner and London-bridge.