 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
103
The sixt Canto.
The Argument.
Lord Mortimer, made Earle of March; how heAnd the bright Queene rule all things by their Might;
The State wherein at Nottingham they be,
The Cost wherewith their pompous Courtis dight,
Envy'd by those, their hatefull Pride that see:
The King attempts the dreadfull Cave by Night;
Entring the Castle, taketh him from thence,
And March at London dyes for his Offence.
1
Now, whilst of sundry Accidents we sing,Some, of much Sadnesse, others, of Delight,
In our Conceit, strange Objects fashioning;
We our free Numbers tenderly invite,
Somewhat to slacke this Melancholy String;
For we too soone of Death come to endite,
When things of Moment, in the course we hold,
Fall in their order fitly to be told.
2
Whilst they, the Houres doe carefully redeeme,Their fraudfull Courses finely to contrive,
How foule soe'r, to make them fayre to seeme,
For which, they all did diligently strive,
To tempt Men still, so of them to esteeme,
That all might wish their Purposes to thrive;
For it was Cunning, mixed with their Might,
That had, and still must, make their Wrong seeme Right.
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3
The Pompous Synod of those Earthly Gods,Was then assign'd to Salisburie, to bring
Things to be even, that had been at ods,
To the faire entrance of the new-crown'd King,
And thereby so to settle their Abodes,
That Peace from their first Parlament might spring;
Wisely to end what well they had begun,
For many thought, that strange things had been done.
4
Whilst Mortimer (so Lord of his desire,That none prevayl'd, his Purpose to defeat)
His stile of Baron, heav'd an Earledome higher,
T'extend the Honour of his auncient Seat,
That his Command might be the more entire;
Who only then, but th'Earle of March, was great?
Who knew, the Land into her Lap was throwne,
Which having all, would never starve her owne.
5
And firme they stood, as those two stedfast Poles,'Twixt which, this All doth on the Axtree move,
Whose Strength the Frame of Government upholds,
Which to those Times, their Wisdomes did approve:
Strong must that Fate be, which their Will controules,
Or had the Power, them from their Seats to shove;
For well they found, that that which they could feele,
Must of force make the Realme it selfe to reele.
6
When Edwards Nonage, that of Peace had need,The Scot incourag'd to renew the Warre,
Of which, it much behoov'd them to take heed,
Matters so strangely manag'd as they were,
Which should they suffer (by neglect) to breed,
Nothing they yet had made, but it might marre,
Which for their good (reserving their Estate)
They prove to purchase at the dearest rate.
105
7
Nor lesse then Ragman the rough Scot suffic'd,Of all our Writings, of the most renowne,
By which, the Kings of Scotland had dimis'd,
Their yeerely Homage to the English Crowne,
With other Reliques (that were highly priz'd)
But that which made the patient'st Men to frowne,
Was the Blacke Crosse of Scotland, ominous deem'd,
Before all other, anciently esteem'd.
8
To colour which, and to confirme the Peace,They made a Marriage betweene them and us,
And for a strong Pretext to that Release,
Which to the wisest seem'd most dangerous;
Whilst Robert reign'd, and after his decease,
That it might last, it was concluded thus,
David their Prince, our Princesse Joan should take,
Betwixt the Realmes a lasting League to make.
9
When th'Earle of Kent, that had been long of those,Which in their Actions had a pow'rfull Hand,
Perceiving them of Matters to dispose,
Tending to the subversion of the Land,
And further Danger dayly did disclose,
If that the Kingdome they should still command;
Whilst he their Fall did cunningly fore-cast,
Did but his owne too violently haste.
10
For giving out, his Brother to survive,(Of all Men called the deceased King)
Into the Peoples Heads such Doubts did drive,
As into question Edwards Right did bring.
Ill this Report was rays'd, and worse did thrive,
Being so foule and dangerous a thing;
That as a Mover of intestine Strife,
He for the Treason forfeited his Life.
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11
Whilst Edward takes but what they onely give,Whose Nonage crav'd their carefullest Protection,
Who knew to rule, and he but learn'd to live,
From their Experience taking his Direction:
Hard was the thing, that they could not contrive,
When he that reign'd, was crown'd by their Election;
And that the Right which did to him belong,
And must uphold him, chiefely made them strong.
12
Providing for the Councell of the KingThose of most Power, the Noblest of the Peeres,
Experienc'd well, complete in ev'ry thing,
Whose Judgements had been rip'ned with their Yeeres;
With Comelinesse their Actions managing:
Yet whilst they rowe, 'tis Mortimer that steeres;
“Well might we thinke, the Man were more then blind,
“That wanted Sea-roomth, and could rule the Wind.
13
Keeping their Course, that it still clearely shone,By the most curious Cunning to be scan'd,
And made that which was Edwards then, their owne,
Being received from his Sov'raigne Hand,
Into their Bosomes absolutely throwne,
Both for his good, and safetie of his Land,
All their Proceedings coloured with that care,
To the Worlds Eye so faire an Out-side bare.
14
And they which could the Complements of State,To Greatnesse gave each Ceremonious Rite,
To their Designes to give the longer date,
The like againe in others to excite;
In entertaining Love, they welcom'd Hate,
And to one Banquet freely both invite;
“A Princes Wealth, by spending still doth spred,
“Like to a Brooke, by many Fountaines fed.
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15
To Nottingham, the North's Imperious Eye,Which as a Pharus doth survey the Soyle,
Armed by Nature, Danger to defie;
March to repose him, after all his Toyle,
(Where Treason least Advantage might espie)
Closely convey'd his past-price valued Spoyle;
That there residing from the publique sight,
He might with pleasure rellish his Delight.
16
Ninescore in Check belonging to their Court,By honor'd Knight-hood knit in mutuall Bands,
Men most select, of speciall worth and sort;
Much might they doe, that had so many Hands:
March and the Queene maintaine one equall Port
In that proud Castle, which so farre commands;
From whence they seem'd, as they like those would rise,
Who once threw Rocks at the Imperiall Skies.
17
As Fortune meant, her Power on March to show,And in her Armes to beare him through the Skye,
By him to daunt whos'ever sat below,
Having above them mounted him so hye:
Who, at his beck was he that did not bow,
If at his feet he did not humbly lye?
“All things concurre with more then happy Chance,
“To rayse the Man, whom Fortune will advance.
18
Here all along, the Flower-befilled Vales,On her cleere Sands the Silver Trent doth slide,
And to the Medowes telling wanton Tales,
Her Crystall Limbes lasciviously, in pride,
(As ravished with the inamor'd Gales)
With often Turnings casts from side to side;
As she were loth the faire sight to forsake,
And runne her selfe into the German Lake.
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19
And North from thence, rude Sherwood as she roves,Casts many a long Looke at those loftie Tow'rs,
And with the thicknesse of her well-growne Groves,
Shelters the Towne from stormie Winters Show'rs,
In pleasant Summer, and to shew her loves,
Bids it againe to see her shadie Bow'rs;
Courting the Castle, which as turning to her,
Smiles to behold th'inamor'd Wood-Nymph woo her.
20
March and the Queene so planted in that place,Thither, in Person, Princely Edward drawes,
Who seem'd, their Friendships friendly to imbrace,
And upon ev'ry little offred cause,
Readie to doe them ceremonious Grace;
Whom they observe (of Court that knew the Lawes:)
Whilst in the Towne King Edward tooke his Seat,
The Queenes great confluence made the Castle sweat.
21
Where, when they pleas'd in Councell to debate,Or they the King at any Pleasure met,
They came with such Magnificence of State,
As did all Eyes upon their Greatnesse set,
Prizing their Presence at that costly rate,
As to the same due Rev'rence might beget;
Which, in most People Admiration wrought,
And much amazed many a wand'ring Thought.
22
O, could Ambition apprehend a Stay,The giddie Course it wand'reth in, to guide!
And give it Safetie in that slipp'rie Way,
Where the most worldly provident doe slide;
It not so soone should see it owne Decay:
But it so much besotted is with Pride,
That it ne'r thinketh of that Pit at all,
Wherein, through Boldnesse, it doth blindly fall.
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23
But never doth it surfet with Excesse,Each Dish so savorie, season'd with Delight,
Nor nothing can the Gluttonie suppresse,
But still it longs, so liquorish is the sight,
Nor having all, is in desire the lesse,
Till it so much be tempted, past the Might,
That the full stomacke more then well suffic'd,
Vomits, what late it vilely gourmandiz'd.
24
Like to some low Brooke, from a loftier ground,By waste of Waters that is over-flow'd,
Is sated, till it shouldreth downe the Mound,
And the old course quite of it selfe unload,
That where it was, it after is not found,
But from the strait Bankes layes it selfe abroad,
Leading the Fountaine that doth feed it, by,
So leaves the Channell desolate and drie.
25
When as those few, that many Teares had spent,By gazing long on murth'red Edwards Grave,
Mutt'red in corners, griev'd, and discontent;
And finding those, them willing Eare that gave,
Still, as they durst, discovered what they meant,
Tending their Pride and Greatnesse to deprave;
Urging withall, what some might justly doe,
If things so borne, were rightly look'd into.
26
And some gave out, that Mortimer, to rise,Had cut off Kent, that next was to succeed,
Whose Treasons they avow'd, March to surmise,
As a meere Colour to that lawlesse deed;
Which his Ambition onely did devise,
Quite out the Royall Family to weed,
And made account, if Edward once were gone,
He, o'r the rest, might step into the Throne.
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27
As those his Favorers, in those former Times,Then credulous, that Honour was his end,
And for the hate they bare to others Crimes,
Did not his Faults so carefully attend;
Perceiving he so dissolutely clymes,
Having then brought his purpose to an end,
With a severe Eye did more strictly looke
Into the course which his Ambition tooke.
28
All fence the Tree, that serveth for a shade,Whose big-growne Bodie doth beare off the Wind,
Till that his wastfull Branches doe invade
The new-sprung Plants, and them in Prison bind;
When as a Tyrant to his weaker made,
And as a vile devourer of his kind,
All lend their Hands, at his large Root to hew,
Whose Greatnesse hind'reth others that would grow.
29
So, at his ease securely whilst he sate,And as he would, so all things settled were,
Under the guidance of a gracious Fate,
Never more free from Jealousie and Feare;
So great his Mind, so mightie his Estate,
As they admit not Danger to be neere;
But still we see, before a sudden Showre,
The Sunne upon us hath the greatest power.
30
Within the Castle had the Queene devis'd,(Long about which, she busied had her Thought)
A Chamber, wherein she imparadiz'd
What shapes for her could any where be sought;
Which in the same were curiously compriz'd,
By skilfull Painters excellently wrought:
And in the place of greatest Safetie there,
Which she had nam'd the Tower of Mortimer.
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31
A Roome prepar'd with Pilasters, she chose,That to the Roofe their slender Poynts did reare,
Arching the Top, whereas they all did close,
Which from below shew'd like an Hemisphere;
In whose Concavitie, she did compose
The Constellations, that to us appeare,
In their corporeall shapes, with Starres inchased,
As by th'old Poets they on Heaven were placed.
32
About which Lodging, tow'rds the upper Face,Ran a fine Border, circularly led,
As equall 'twixt the Zenith and the Base,
Which as a Zone the Waste ingirdled,
That lent the Sight a breathing, by the space
'Twixt things neere hand, and those farre over head;
Upon the plaine Wall of which lower Part,
Painting express'd the utmost of her Art.
33
There Phœbus clipping Hiacynthus, stood,Whose Lifes last drops did the Gods Brest imbrew,
His Teares so mixed with the young Boyes Blood,
That whether was the more, no Eye could view;
And though together lost as in a Flood,
Yet here and there th'one from th'other drew;
The prettie Wood-Nymphes chafing him with Balme,
Proving to wake him from his deadly qualme.
34
Apollo's Quiver, and farre-killing Bow,His Gold-frindg'd Mantle on the Grasse-full Ground,
T'expresse whose Act, Art (ev'n) her best did show,
The Sledge so shadow'd still, as to rebound,
As it had scarce done giving of the Blow,
Lending a lasting freshnesse to the Wound;
The purple flower from the Boyes Bloud begun,
That since ne'r spreads, but to the rising Sunne.
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35
Neere that, was Iö, in a Heyfers shape,Viewing her new-ta'n Figure in a Brooke,
In which, her shadow seem'd on her to gape,
As on the same she greedily did looke,
To see how Jove could cloud his wanton scape:
So done, that the Beholders oft mistooke
Themselves; to some, that one way did allow
A Womans likenesse, th'other way, a Cow.
36
There Mercurie was like a Shepheards Boy,Sporting with Hebe, by a Fountaine brim,
With many a sweet Glance, many an am'rous Toy;
He sprinkling Drops at her, and she at him:
Wherein the Painter so explain'd their Joy,
As he had meant the very Life to limne;
For on their Browes he made the Drops so cleare,
That through each Drop, their faire Skins did appeare.
37
By them, in Landskip, Rockie Cynthus rear'd,With the Clouds leaning on his loftie Crowne,
On his sides shewing many a straggling Heard,
And from his Top, the cleare Springs creeping downe
By the old Rocks, each with a hoarie Beard,
With Mosse and climbing Ivie over-growne;
So done, that the Beholders, with the Skill,
Never ynough their longing Eyes could fill.
38
The halfe-nak'd Nymphs, some climbing, some descending,The sundry Flowers at one another flung,
In Postures strange, their limber Bodies bending;
Some cropping Branches, that seem'd lately sprung,
Upon the Brakes, their coloured Mantles rending,
Which on the Mount grew here and there among;
Combing their Hayre some, some made Garlands by;
So strove the Painter to content the Eye.
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39
In one part, Phaeton cast amongst the CloudsBy Phœbus Palfreyes, that their Reynes had broke,
His Chariot tumbling from the welked Shrowds,
And the fierce Steeds flew madding from their yoke,
The Elements confusedly in Crowds,
And Heaven and Earth were nought but flame & smoke:
A Piece so done, that many did desire
To warme themselves, some frighted with the Fire.
40
And into Padus falling, as he burn'd,Thereinto throwne by Jove, out of the Skyes;
His weeping Sisters, there to Trees were turn'd,
Yet so of Women did retayne the guise,
That none could censure, whether (as they mourn'd)
Drops from their Boughes, or Teares fell from their Eyes:
Done for the last, with such exceeding Life,
As Art therein with Nature seem'd at strife.
41
And for the Light to this brave Lodging lent,The Workeman, who as wisely could direct,
Did for the same the Windowes so invent,
That they should artificially reflect
The Day alike on ev'ry Liniament,
To their Proportion, and had such respect,
As that the Beames, condensated and grave,
To ev'ry Figure a sure Colour gave.
42
In part of which, under a golden Vine,Which held a curious Canopie through all,
Stood a rich Bed, quite cover'd with the Twyne,
Shadowing the same, in the redoubling fall,
Whose Clusters drew the Branches to decline,
'Mongst which, did many a naked Cupid sprawle:
Some, at the sundry-colour'd Birds did shoot,
And some, about to plucke the Purple Fruit.
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43
On which, a Tissue counterpoyne was cast,Arachnes Web did not the same surpasse,
Wherein the storie of his Fortunes past,
In lively Pictures, neatly handled was;
How he escap'd the Tower, in France how grac'd,
With Stones imbroyd'red, of a wond'rous Masse;
About the Border, in a fine-wrought Fret,
Emblem's, Empressa's, Hieroglyphicks, set.
44
This flatt'ring Sunne-shine had begot the Showre,And the blacke Clouds with such abundance fed,
That for a Wind they wayted but the Howre,
With force to let their Furie on his Head:
Which when it came, it came with such a Pow'r,
As he could hardly have imagined;
“But when Men thinke they most in Safetie stand,
“Their greatest Perill often is at hand.
45
For to that Largenesse they increased were,That Edward felt March heavie on his Throne,
Whose Props no longer both of them could beare,
Two, for one Seat, that over-great were growne,
Prepost'rously that moved in one Sphere,
And to the like predominancie prone,
That the young King, downe Mortimer must cast,
If he himselfe would e'r hope to sit fast.
46
Who finding the necessitie was such,That urg'd him still th'Assault to undertake,
And yet his Person it might neerely touch,
Should he too soone his sleeping Power awake:
Th'Attempt wherein the Danger was so much,
Drove him at length a secret Meanes to make,
Whereby he might the Enterprise effect,
And hurt him most, where he did least suspect.
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47
Without the Castle, in the Earth, is foundA Cave, resembling sleepie Morpheus Cell,
In strange Meanders wynding under Ground,
Where Darkenesse seekes continually to dwell,
Which with such Feare and Horror doth abound,
As though it were an entrance into Hell;
By Architects to serve the Castle, made
When as the Danes this Iland did invade.
48
Now, on along the crankling Path doth keepe,Then, by a Rocke turnes up another way,
Rising tow'rds Day, then falling tow'rds the Deepe,
On a smooth Levell then it selfe doth lay,
Directly then, then obliquely doth creepe,
Nor in the Course keepes any certaine stay;
Till in the Castle, in an odde by-place,
It casts the foule Maske from its duskie Face.
49
By which, the King with a selected Crue,Of such as he with his Intent acquainted,
Which he affected to the Action knew,
And in revenge of Edward had not fainted,
That to their utmost would the Cause pursue,
And with those Treasons that had not been tainted;
Adventured, the Labyrinth t'assay,
To rowse the Beast, which kept them all at bay.
50
Long after Phœbus tooke his lab'ring Teame,To his pale Sister and resign'd his Place,
To wash his Cauples in the Ocean Streame,
And coole the fervor of his glowing Face;
And Phœbe, scanted of her Brothers Beame,
Into the West went after him apace,
Leaving blacke Darkenesse to possesse the Skie,
To fit the time of that blacke Tragedie.
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51
What time, by Torch-light, they attempt the Cave,Which at their entrance seemed in a fright,
With the reflection that their Armour gave,
As it till then had ne'r seene any Light;
Which, striving there pre-eminence to have,
Darknesse therewith so daringly doth fight,
That each confounding other, both appeare,
As Darknesse Light, and Light but Darkenesse were.
52
The craggie Cleeves, which crosse them as they goe,Made, as their Passage they would have denyde,
And threat'ned them their Journey to forslow,
As angry with the Path that was their Guide,
And sadly seem'd their Discontent to show,
To the vile Hand that did them first divide;
Whose comb'rous Falls and Risings seem'd to say,
So ill an Action could not brooke the Day.
53
And by the Lights as they along were led,Their shadowes then them following at their backe,
Were like to Mourners, carrying forth their dead,
And as the Deed, so were they ugly blacke,
Or like to Fiends that them had followed,
Pricking them on to Bloudshed, and to Wracke;
Whilst the Light look'd as it had been amazed,
At their deformed shapes whereon it gazed.
54
The clatt'ring Armes their Masters seem'd to chide,As they would reason, wherefore they should wound,
And strooke the Cave, in passing on each side,
As they were angry with the hollow Ground,
That it an Act so pittilesse should hide;
Whose stonie Roofe lock'd in their angrie Sound,
And hanging in the Creekes, drew backe againe,
As willing them from Murther to refraine.
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55
The Night wax'd old (not dreaming of these things)And to her Chamber is the Queene withdrawne,
To whom a choise Musician playes and sings,
Whilst she sat under an Estate of Lawne,
In Night-Attyre, more God-like glittering,
Then any Eye had seene the chearefull Dawne,
Leaning upon her most-lov'd Mortimer,
Whose Voice, more then the Musike, pleas'd her Eare.
56
Where her faire Brests at libertie were let,Whose Violet Veines in branched Riverets flow,
And Venus Swans, and milkie Doves were set
Upon those swelling Mounts of driven Snow;
Whereon whilst Love, to sport himselfe doth get,
He lost his Way, nor backe againe could goe,
But with those Bankes of Beautie set about,
He wand'red still, yet never could get out.
57
Her loose Hayre look'd like Gold (O word too base!Nay, more then sinne, but so to name her Hayre)
Declining, as to kisse her fayrer Face,
No word is fayre ynough for thing so fayre,
Nor never was there Epithite could grace
That, by much praysing, which we much impayre;
And where the Pen fayles, Pensils cannot show it,
Only the Soule may be suppos'd to know it.
58
She layd her fingers on his Manly Cheeke,The Gods pure Scepters, and the Darts of Love,
That with their Touch might make a Tygre meeke,
Or might great Atlas from his Seat remove;
So white, so soft, so delicate, so sleeke,
As she had worne a Lilly for a Glove,
As might beget Life, where was never none,
And put a Spirit into the hardest Stone.
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59
The Fire, of precious Wood; the Light, Perfume,Which left a sweetnesse on each thing it shone,
As ev'ry thing did to it selfe assume
The Sent from them, and made the same their owne:
So that, the painted Flowres within the Roome
Were sweet, as if they naturally had growne;
The Light gave Colours, which upon them fell,
And to the Colours the Perfume gave smell.
60
When on those sundry Pictures they devise,And from one Peece they to another runne,
Commend that Face, that Arme, that Hand, those Eyes,
Shew how that Bird, how well that Flowre was done,
How this part shadow'd, and how that did rise,
This Top was clouded, how that Trayle was spunne,
The Land-skip, Mixture, and Delineatings,
And in that Art, a thousand curious Things.
61
Looking upon proud Phaeton, wrap'd in Fire,The gentle Queene did much bewayle his Fall;
But Mortimer commended his Desire,
To lose one poore Life, or to governe all:
What though (quoth he) he madly did aspire,
And his great Mind made him proud Fortunes Thrall?
Yet in despight, when she her worst had done,
He perish'd in the Chariot of the Sunne.
62
Phœbus she said was over-forc'd by Art,Nor could she find, how that Imbrace could be:
But Mortimer then tooke the Painters part;
Why thus, bright Empresse, thus, and thus, quoth he;
That Hand doth hold his Backe, and this his Heart,
Thus their Armes twyne, and thus their Lippes, you see;
Now are you Phœbus, Hiacynthus I,
It were a Life thus ev'ry Houre to die.
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63
When, by that time, into the Castle HallWas rudely entred that well-armed Rout,
And they within suspecting nought at all,
Had then no Guard, to watch for them without:
“(See how Mischances suddenly doe fall,
“And steale upon us, being farth'st from doubt;)
“Our Life's uncertaine, and our Death is sure,
“And tow'rds most Perill, Man is most secure.
64
Whilst youthfull Nevil, and brave Turrington,To the bright Queene that ever wayted neere,
Two, with great March much credit that had woon,
That in the Lobby with the Ladies were,
Staying Delight, whilst Time away did runne,
With such discourse as Women love to heare;
Charg'd on the sudden by the armed Trayne,
Were, at their entrance, miserably slayne.
65
When, as from Snow-crown'd Skidow's loftie Cleeves,Some fleet-wing'd Haggard, tow'rds her preying howre,
Amongst the Teyle and Moore-bred Mallard drives,
And th'Ayre of all her feather'd flocks doth scowre,
Whilst to regayne her former height, she strives,
The fearefull Fowle all prostrate to her power;
Such a sharpe shreeke did ring throughout the Vault,
Made by the Women at the fierce Assault.
66
Unarm'd was March (she onely in his Armes,Too soft a Shield to beare their boyst'rous Blowes)
Who least of all suspected such Alarmes,
And to be so encountred by his Foes,
When he was most improvident of Harmes.
O, had he had but Weapons to his Woes!
Either his Valour had his life redeem'd,
Or in her sight dy'd happily esteem'd.
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67
But there, about him looking for the King,Whom he suppos'd his Judgement could not misse;
Which when he found, by his imagining,
Of those most perfect Liniaments of his:
Quoth he, The Man that to thy Crowne did bring
Thee, at thy hands might least have look'd for this;
And in this Place, the least of all the rest,
Where onely sacred Solitude is blest.
68
Her presence frees th'Offendor of his Ill,Whose God-like Greatnesse makes the place Divine;
And canst thou, King, thus countermand her Will,
Who gave to thee the Power that now is thine,
And in her Armes in safetie kept thee still,
As in a most inviolated Shrine?
Yet dar'st thou irreligiously despise,
And thus prophane these sacred Liberties.
69
But, even as when old Ilion was surpris'd,The Grecians issuing from the Woodden Horse,
The Pride and Furie roughly exercis'd,
Op'ning the wide Gates, letting in their Force,
Putting in act what was before devis'd,
Without all Humane Pitie, or Remorse;
Even so did they, with whose confused sound,
Words were not heard, & poore complaints were drown'd.
70
Dissolv'd to Teares, she follow'd him: O Teares!Elixar-like, turne all to Pearle you touch;
To weepe with her, the hard Wall scarce forbeares,
The wofull words she uttered, were such,
Able to wound th'impenitrablest Eares,
Her Plaints so piercing, and her Griefe so much;
And to the King, when she at last could come,
Thus to him spake, though he to her were dumbe:
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71
Deare Sonne (quoth she) let not his Bloud be spilt,So often vent'red to redeeme thy Crowne.
In all his life can there be found that Guilt?
Thinke of his love, on which thou once shouldst frowne:
'Twas he, thy Seat that so substantiall built,
Long with his shoulder sav'd from shaking downe;
'Twas he, the meanes that first for thee did find,
To passe for France, to exercise thy Mind.
72
Even for the love thou bear'st to that deare Blood,From which (my Sonne) thou didst receive thy life,
Play not the Niggard in so small a good,
With her, to whom thy Bounties should be rife,
Beg'd on those knees, at which thou oft hast stood:
O, let my up-held Hands appease this strife!
Let not the Breath, from this sad Bosome sent,
Without thy Pittie, be but vainely spent.
73
When in the Tumult, with the sudden Fright,Whilst ev'ry one for Safetie sought about,
And none regarded to maintaine the Light,
Which being over-wasted, was gone out,
It being then the mid time of the Night,
Ere they could quit the Castle of the Rout;
The Queene alone (at least, if any neare)
They were her Women, almost dead with feare.
74
When Horror, Darkenesse, and her inward Woe,Began to worke on her afflicted Mind,
Upon her Weakenesse tyrannizing so,
As they would doe their utmost, in their kind,
And as then those, she need no other Foe,
Such power her Fortune had to them assign'd,
To racke her Conscience (by their Torture due)
It selfe t'accuse of whatsoe'r it knew.
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75
O God! (thought she) Is yet an Houre scarce past,Since that my Greatnesse, my Command more hye,
And Eminencie, wherein I was plac'd,
Wan me respect in ev'ry humble Eye?
How am I now abused, how disgrac'd?
Did ever Queene in my dejection lye?
These things she pond'red, as Despaire still brought
Their sundry Formes into her troubled Thought.
76
To London thus they March a Prisoner led,Which there had oft been courted by the Queene,
From whom, his Friends and his late Followers fled,
Of many a Gallant follow'd that had been,
Of which, there was not one durst shew his head,
Much lesse t'abet his side, that durst be seene;
Which at his Fall made them to wonder more,
Who saw the Pompe wherein he liv'd before.
77
O Miserie! where once thou art possest,See but how quickly thou canst alter kind,
And like a Circe, metamorphosest
The Man, that hath not a most God-like Mind:
The fainting Spirit, O how thou canst infest!
Whose yeelding Frayltie eas'ly thou canst find,
And by thy vicious presence, with a breath
Gives him up fett'red, basely fear'd to death.
78
When soone the King a Parlament decreed,(Ne'r till that time sole Master of his Crowne)
And against March doth legally proceed,
Fitted with Tooles to digge that Mountaine downe,
To which, both high and low tooke speciall heed;
He ne'r had Fawne, but then he had a Frowne,
King Edwards Bloud, with both the Spensers, call
For Vengeance on him, by the Voice of all.
123
79
With deare Kents death, his Credit next they blot,Then on him lay the Wards and Liveries,
Which he by Craft into his Hands had got,
The Summes then seized to his Treasuries:
Then Joan the Princesse, married to the Scot,
The Signe at Stanhope, to the Enemies;
With all things ripp'd from the Records of Time,
That any way might aggravate his Crime.
80
O dire Revenge! when thou by Time art rak'dOut of the Ashes which have hid thee long,
(Wherein thou lay'st, as thou hadst quite been slak'd)
And becom'st kindled with the breath of Wrong,
How soone thy hideous Furie is awak'd?
From thy poore Sparks, what Flames are quickly sprung?
To waste their Tops, how soone do'st thou aspire,
Whose Weight and Greatnesse once represt thy fire?
81
And what avayl'd his Answer in that Case?Which the time then did utterly distaste,
And look'd upon him with so sterne a Face,
As it his Actions utterly disgrac'd:
No friendly Bosome gave him any Place,
Who was cleane out of all Opinion cast;
Taking his Pen, his Sorrowes to deceive,
Thus of the Queene he lastly took his leave.
82
Bright Empresse, yet be pleased to peruseThe Swan-like Dirges of a dying Man,
Although not like the Raptures of the Muse,
In our fresh Youth, when our Love first began,
Into my Brest that did the fire infuse,
That glorious Day, that I thy rich Glove wan,
And in my Course, a flame of Lightning bet
Out of proud Harfords high-plum'd Burgonet.
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83
As for your Sonne, that hast'neth on my Death,Madame, you know, I lov'd him as mine owne,
And when I could have grasped out his Breath,
I set him eas'ly on his Fathers Throne;
Which now his Power too quickly witnesseth,
Who to this height in Tyrannie is growne;
But yet, be his Ingratitude forgiven,
As after Death, I wish to be in Heaven.
84
And for the sole Rule, whereon so he stands,Came Bastard William but himselfe to shore?
Or had he not our Fathers valiant Hands,
Who in that Field our ancient Ensigne bore,
(Guarded about with our well-order'd Bands)
Which then his Leopards for their safetie wore,
Looking at Hastings like that ominous Lake,
From whose black Depths our glorious Name we take?
85
Why fell I not from that my all-arm'd Horse,On which I rode before the Gates of Gaunt,
Before the Belgick and Burgonian Force,
There challenging their Countries Combatant;
Cast from my Seat, in some robustious course,
That they of me the Victorie might vaunt?
Why sunke I not under my batt'red Shield,
To grace a brave Foe, and renowne a Field?
86
Yet never serv'd I Fortune like a Slave,Nor have, through Basenesse, made her Bounties lesse,
In me her Judgement poorely to deprave;
Nought hath she lent me, that Ile not confesse,
Nay, Int'rest for her Principall I gave,
My Mind hath suted with her Mightinesse;
Her Frownes with scorne, & Mortimer doth beare,
For nothing can she doe, that he can feare.
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87
That ne'r quayles me, at which your Greatest quake,Nor ought that's dreadfull, Danger me can show,
Through Sword and Fire so us'd my way to take:
In Death what can be (that I doe not know)
That I should feare a Covenant to make
With it, which welcom'd, finisheth my Woe?
“And nothing can th'afflicted Conscience grieve,
“But He may pardon, who can all forgive.
88
And thus, thou most adored in my Heart,The Thoughts of whom, my humbled Spirit doth rayse,
Lady most faire, most deare, of most desert,
Worthie of more then any mortall Prayse.
Condemned March thus lastly doth depart,
From the great'st Empresse living in her Dayes;
Nor with my Dust mine Honour I interre:
Cæsar thus dy'd, and thus dies Mortimer.
89
When secretly he sent this Letter to her,Whose Superscription, was her Princely Stile;
She knew the Hand, and thought it came to woo her,
With which Conceit she pleas'd her selfe a while,
Then which, no one thing serv'd so t'undoe her,
By feeding her with Flatt'rie and with Guile,
To make her still more sensible of Paine,
Which her sad Heart was shortly to sustaine.
90
Using her Fingers to up-rip the Seale,Which holpe to hide these ill Newes from her Eyes,
Loth as it were, such Tidings to reveale,
As might her Senses suddenly surprize;
But when her white Hand did so hardly deale
With the poore Paper, that the Wax must rise,
It stucke upon her Fingers bloudie red,
As to portend some deare Bloud should be shed.
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91
When by degrees she eas'ly doth begin,And as a Fish playes with a bayted Hooke,
So softly yet she swallow'd Sorrow in,
Till she her bane into her Bowels tooke;
And then she sees th'expences of her sinne
Sadly set downe in that blacke Doomes-day Booke,
And the deare Summes that were to be defray'd,
Before the Debt were absolutely pay'd.
92
Whole Hoasts of Sorrowes her sicke Heart assayle,When ev'ry Letter lanc'd her like a Dart,
Striving against her, which should most prevayle,
And yet not one, but prick'd her to the Heart;
Where one word might anothers Woe bewayle,
And with its Neighbour seem'd to beare a part,
Each Line serv'd for so true a Text to her,
As in her Woes would no way let her erre.
93
Griefe bad her looke, yet soone it bad her leave,Wherewith o'rcharg'd, she neither sees nor heares,
Her useful'st Senses soonest her deceive,
The Sight shuts up her Eyes, the Sound her Eares,
And of her Reading doe her quite bereave,
When for a Fescue she doth use her Teares,
Which, when some Line she loosely over-past,
The Drops could tell her, where she left the last.
94
Somewhat at length recov'ring of her Sight,Deepely she curs'd her Sorrow-seeing Eye,
And sayd, she was deluded by the Light,
Or was abus'd by the Orthographie,
Or some one had devised it in spight,
Poynting it false, her Schollership to trie;
“Thus when we fondly flatter our Desires,
“Our best Conceits doe prove the greatest Lyers.
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95
Her trembling Hand, as in a Fever, quakes,Wherewith the Paper doth a little stirre,
Which she imagines at her Sorrow shakes,
And pitties it, which she thinkes pitties her;
Each small thing somewhat to the greater makes,
And to her Humor something doth inferre;
Her woe-ty'd Tongue but when she once could free:
Sweet Mortimer, my most-lov'd Lord (quoth she)
96
For thy deare Ashes be my Brest the Urne,Which as a Relique, I of thee will save,
Mix'd with the Teares that I for thee shall mourne,
Which in this Bosome shall their Buriall have;
Out of which place, they never shall returne,
Nor give the Honour to another Grave,
But here, as in a Temple, be preserv'd,
Wherein thy Image is most lively carv'd.
97
Then breakes she out, in cursing of her Sonne,But Mortimer so runneth in her Mind,
As that shee ended, ere she had begun,
Speaking before, what should have come behind:
From that, she to another Course doth runne,
To be reveng'd in some notorious kind,
By Stab, or Poyson; and shee'le sweare to both,
But for her life she could not find an Oath.
98
She Pen and Paper takes, and makes no doubt,But the Kings cruell dealing to discover;
But soone forgetting what she went about,
Poore Queene, she fell to scribbling to her Lover:
Here she put in, and there she blotted out,
Her Passion did so violently move her,
That turning backe to read what she had writ,
She tore the Paper, and condemn'd her Wit.
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99
But from her Passion being somewhat rays'd,Like one that lately had been in a Swound,
Or felt some strange Extremitie appeas'd,
That had been taken from some Blow, or Wound,
Yet on that Part it had so strongly seiz'd,
That for the same no Remedie was found;
But at the very Point their Life to lose,
As they their Goods, she doth her Griefe dispose.
100
Quoth she, King Edward, as thou art my Sonne,Leaving the World, this Legacie I leave thee:
My Hearts true love, my Mortimer hath wonne,
And yet of All he shall not so bereave thee;
But for this Mischiefe to thy Mother done,
Take thou my Curse, so that it may out-live thee,
That as thy Deed doth dayly me torment,
So may my Curse thee, by my Testament.
101
And henceforth, in this solitarie Place,Ever residing from the publique sight,
A private Life I willingly imbrace,
No more rejoycing in the obvious Light,
To consummate this too-long ling'ring space,
Till Death inclose me in continuall Night;
Let never Sleepe more close my wearied Eye,
So Isabella, lay thee downe, and dye.
The end of the sixt Canto.
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