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A Metrical History of England

Or, Recollections, in Rhyme, Of some of the most prominent Features in our National Chronology, from the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Commencement of the Regency, in 1812. In Two Volumes ... By Thomas Dibdin

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48

“Was as fat as a Pig.”
Collins's Chapter of Kings.

“This man, Sir, was a scoundrel.” Dr. Johnson.

“I would not have such a heart in my bosom,
“For the dignity of the whole body.”
Shakespeare.

“The moral of this tale shews plainly,
“That carnal minds strive but vainly
“Aboon this lower world to mount,
“While slaves to Satan.”
Allan Ramsay.

“When, thunderstruck, that eagle Wolsey fell;
“When royal favour, as an ebbing sea,
“Like a leviathan, his grandeur left,
“His gasping grandeur—naked on the sand!”
Young.

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

Tyrannic cruelty, voluptuous pride,
Insatiable licentiousness and guilt,
So share this monarch, we can ne'er decide
On what one vice his ruling wish was built.

49

The rich Exchequer of his niggard sire,
The treasure of those minions doomed to die,
Who found, as sings the bard we most admire,
“It is but squeezing sponges and they dry”
All prov'd but insufficient, for, behold!
At Guisnes, where France and England met
In dazzling panoply of gold,
Three days of pleasure cost whole years of debt.
Two Queens divorced, of six the tyrant wed,
Two made good women, losing each a head;
One happier, tho' unhappy wife,
Died, giving our sixth Edward life.
And Harry meant, no doubt, his last
Should share the fate of consorts past;
But that the arrogantly cruel elf,
Met with a little accident between
His plan and execution,—for I ween—
He died himself.

50

His vanity we must not overlook,
Fool, like myself, his highness wrote a book;
And when Pope Leo read it, no one knew
Which most was to be pitied of the two.
Leo, who for a critic, was quite tender,
Dubb'd Henry, for his work, the “faith's defender;”
Hal in return, which was not quite so civil,
Defied alike the Popedom and the Devil.
Know ye that magic minstrel Walter Scott?
(Who, that knows aught of genius, knows him not?)
Feel ye not yet the exquisite delight,
With which ye read his tale of Flodden fight?
Where Surrey triumph'd in bluff Harry's reign,
Then who shall dare attempt the theme again?

51

Not I, “by my laurels,” my verse near his lay,
“Like the flowers of the forest wou'd wither away.”
What sounds of merriment assail the ear?
What glitt'ring mass of mingled church and state?
And see, the master of the feast appear,—
'Tis Wolsey, thoughtless of his future fate!
Like a red meteor we behold him soar,
Extinguish'd now he falls to rise no more.
Of Dunstan, Becket, Wolsey, having read,
I think it may with safety thus be said:—
Three prelates, by three different Sovereigns bred,
Their masters and the people have misled;
The first in monkish cruelty surpast,
The next in arrogance, in both the last;

52

The pride of priestcraft cou'd no farther go,
To make a third she joined the other two.
Next Cromwell, worthy of a better end,
Foe to idolatry, religion's friend;

53

Capricious Henry! all your wish obtain'd,
By your command the cloister'd coffers drain'd;
With ingrate bitterness you turn your back,
And leave poor Cromwell to his foes attack.
How fleeting are the hours of wealth and fame,
How more than fleeting, popular acclaim;
The nation's idol and the King's delight,
A felon's death resigns to endless night.
Superior Cranmer in a crowd alone,
Dares friendship with the virtuous fall'n own
Cromwell had clung to Wolsey 'till his end,
And Heaven repays him with as fast a friend.

54

Take a true sample, how the man who late
Fed twice each day two hundred at his gate,
Was branded with imaginary crimes;
And learn, ye too secure, from genuine rhymes,
That fickle minds will change as change the times.
 

Empson and Dudley.

The place where Henry, and Francis I. of France met, was, from the unexampled and prodigal splendor of the two Courts, called “The Field of Cloth of Gold.”

The Reformation was said to be owing to a jest made by Sir Thomas Wyatt, who, when Henry was waiting for the Pope's assent to his divorce, said “Lord! that a man cannot repent him of his sins without leave from the Pope.” Thus Wyatt hinted, Cranmer opened, and the Universities made, the way to the Reformation. Vide “An Englishman's History of England.”

At this period an account was kept of the diabolical mischiefs perpetrated by the armies invading Scotland, with all the regulatity of a tradesman's ledger. The following was the sum total of the ravages from July to November, in 1544, as delivered in by the warden of the marches:—

Towns, towers, steeds, barnekyns, parish churches, bastel houses, cast down or burnt ......................... 192 Scots slain, ...................... 403 Prisoners taken, .................. 816 Nolt (horned cattle) taken, .......10,389 Sheep, ............................12,492 Nags and geldings, ................ 1,296 Goats, ............................ 200 Bolls of corn, .................... 850 By Lord Hertford's invasion into the counties of Berwick and Roxburgh only, and between the 8th and 23d of September, 1545, there were destroyed,— Monasteries and friar-houses, 7 Castles, towers, and piles, ....... 16 Market towns, ..................... 5 Villages, ......................... 243 Milnes, ........................... 13 Hospitals, ........................ 3

Haynes's State Papers apud Robertson.

John Skelton, Poet Laureat to King Henry VIII. attacked Cardinal Wolsey without mercy, for his upstart insolence, and in his uncouth, but nervous doggrel, did his utmost to render him ridiculous, thus—

No man dare come to th' speche,
Of this gentile Jacke-breche;
Of what estate he be,
Of sp'ritual dignitie—
Nor duke of hye degree.
Nor marquis, earle, or lorde,
Which shrewdly doth accord:
That he, borne so base—
All nobles should outface;
His count'nance like a cayser,
My lord is not at layser.
Sir, ye must tarry astounde,
'Till better layser be founde;
Sir, ye must dance attendaunce,
And take pacient sufferaunce;
For my lorde's grace,
Has now, nor time, nor place,
To speak with you as yet.
And so they may sit, or flit,
Sit, or walk, or ride,
And his layser abide;
Perchance, half-a-yere,—
And yet be never the nere, &c.

Vide J. P. Andrew.

164 suppress'd monasteries, 90 colleges, 2374 chauntrys and chapels, and 110 hospitals produced a revenue of £161,100 to the crown: from which fund some additional colleges and professorships were given to the universities, and 6 new bishopricks were erected. The common people were much displeased with the stoppage of that hospitality the monks were used to exercise: there is an old ballad called “Truth and Ignorance,” the latter, who is represented as a rustic, says—

“Ch'll tell the what, good fellowe,
“Before the vriars went hence,
“A bushel of the best wheate,
“Was zold for vourteen-pence.
“And vorty egges a penny.
“That were both good and newe;
“And this, che say, myselfe have seene,
“And yet I am no Jewe.”

A newe Balade made of Thomas Crumwel, called, Trolle on Away.

[_]

From an original Copy, printed at London, 1540, without varying the expression or spelling.

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye
Syng heaue and howe rombelowe trolle on awaye.
Bothe man and chylde is glad to here tell
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwel
Nowe that he is set to spell
Synge trolle on awaye.
When fortune loky'd the in thy face
Thou haddyst fayre tyme but thou lackydyst grace
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace,
Synge trolle on awaye.

55

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst
Thou lockyst them vp where no man wyst
Tyll in the Kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst
Synge trolle on awaye.
Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy hands
Thy marchaundyse sayled ouer the sands
Therefore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes
Synge trolle on awaye.
Fyrst when Kynge Henry God saue his Grace
Perceyued myschefe kyndle in thy face
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.
Synge trolle on awaye.
Hys Grace was euer of gentyll nature
Mouyd with petye and made the hys seruyture
But thou as a wretche suche things dyd procure.
Synge trolle on awaye.
Thou dyd not remembre false heretyke
One God, one fayth, and one Kynge catholyke
For thou hast bene so longe a scysmatyke
Syng trolle on awaye.

56

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre.
But euer was full of iniquite
Wherefore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the
Synge trolle on awaye.
All they that were of the newe trycke
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke.
Synge trolle on awaye.
Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles
Thou woldest not suffre within thy walles
Nor let vs praye for chrysten soules.
Synge trolle on awaye.
Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell
Whyther of Chayme or Syschemell
Or else sente vs from the deuyll of hell
Synge trolle on awaye.
Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye
Synge trolle on awaye.

57

Who so euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose
Wherfore al Englande doth hate the as I suppose
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose
Synge trolle on awaye.
Thou myghtest haue learned thy cloth to flocke
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke
Wherefore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke
Synge trolle on awaye.
Yet saue that soule that God hath bought
And for thy carcas care thou nought.
Let it suffre payne as hit hath wrought.
Synge trolle on awaye.
God saue Kyng Henry with all his power
And Prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre.
With all hys Lordes of great honoure.
Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on awaye.
Heyue and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.

58

[“Blow, blow thou winter's wind]

“Blow, blow thou winter's wind,
“Thou art not so unkind
“As man's ingratitude.”
These lines my reader may have met before,
But they do honor to Sir Thomas More:
“When More some years had Chanc'lor been,
“No more suits did remain;
“The same shall never there be seen,
“'Till More be there again.
Poetry of the Times.

[Old probity, I mean Sir Thomas More]

Old probity, I mean Sir Thomas More,
Of manners artless, simple, yet not rude,
With Fisher, adds to victims named before.
Sir Thomas at the block with firmness spoke,
And dying virtue shrunk not from a joke.
France and the Pope in due respect were kept,
For Henry's military power ne'er slept;

59

The famed six articles proposed a creed,
For which both Protestants and Romans bleed.
Barton, the visionary maid of Kent,
With many followers to the scaffold went.
With all his faults, the King promoted knowledge,
At Cambridge, Trinity the monarch founded;
Wolsey gave Oxford Christchurch College,
And England's Court by learning was surrounded.
Talking of learning, let's have piu poco;
Well, dulce est desipere in loco.
And if you'll but allow nunc est ridendum,
I'll take my graver muscles and unbend 'em.
In quitting Hal, forgive me if I dare
Suppose the fubsy monarch in his chair,
On former wives and sweethearts much intent,
On future wives and sweethearts sadly bent;

60

Humming, scarce consciously, in accent pretty,
A retrospective amatory ditty;
Anachronasm marks the tune, 'tis true,
But if I find no fault, pray why should you?
 

He desired the Lieutenant of the Tower to see him safe up to the scaffold, and leave him, at coming down, to shift for himself.

“The King's persecution of the Lutherans was savage and inexorable:—at Coventry, six men and a woman were burnt for teaching their children the Lord's Prayer, Commandments, &c. in the vulgar tongue.” J.P. Andrews.

Chansonette de la Cour de Henri VIIIme.

REX CANIT.
O dear what will become of me?
O dear what shall I do?
There's nobody coming to marry me,
There's nobody coming to woo.
To Katherine of Arragon married,
I would'nt have minded a pin,
In wedlock with her to have tarried,
But she was too nearly a kin.
O dear what will become of me? &c.
Sweet Boleyne enamoured my fancy,
She fixed it one night at a ball,
If you ask why I kill'd my poor Nancy,
'Twas because she was no kin at all.
O dear what will become of me? &c.

61

Anne of Cleves from her brother next came,
But a moment we scarcely were wed;
When Kate Howard another new flame,
By winning my heart lost her head.
O dear what will become of me? &c.
Widow Parr, tho' not one of the worst,
Is so very discreet yet so free;
That unless I can bury her first,
I'm afraid she'll live longer than me.
Then O dear! what will become of me?
O dear what shall I do?
There's nobody coming to marry me,
Nobody coming to woo.
 

This Lady, whose “beauty raised her to a throne, and whose merit deserved two better husbands,” wrote and published many Psalms, Prayers, Pious Discourses, &c. “wherein,” says the Title page, “the mynde is stirred patiently to suffer all afflictions here, to set at nought the vaine prosperitee of this worlde, and always to long for the everlastynge felicitee.”—She also published several Letters; was not only learned, but a patroness of learning— interceding for, and saving, the University of Cambridge, when an Act passed to throw all Colleges into the King's disposal. Nicholas Udal, Master of Eton, in his time says “it was then a common thyng to see young virgins so nouzled and trained in the studie of letters, that they willingly set all other pastymes at nought for learning's sake.” Vide Catalogue of Royal Authors.


62

[_]

We do not imagine the following description could apply to any of the Wives of Henry: but it is given by Andrews as “an Example of the Quaint turn of the Times,” with respect to the Poetry of this Reign,

The Attentive Spouse .

Twelve sortes of mete my wife provides,
And bates me not a dyshe;
Foure are of flesh, of fruite are foure,
The other foure of fyshe.
In the first corse she stores my borde,
Wythe birds that daynties are,
And fyrst a quail, and next a rayle,
A bytterne, and a jarre.
Myne appetyte when cloyde with these,
With fyshe she makes it sharpe;
And brings me next a lampe, a poute,
A gugeon and a carpe.

63

The second corse of frute well served,
Fyttinge well the seson;
A medlar and a hartichoke,
A crab and a smale reson.
What's hee that having such a wyfe,
Upon hir sholde not dote;
Who every day provides him fare,
That costes hym never a grote.
 

Quail, for Quarrel or Quell.

A Bitterne.

A Jarre, synonimous with Buff and Ale.

Rayle, a Rail.

A Whiting Pout.

[“From Tuscane came my ladie's worthy race]

[_]

The following Sonnet and Ode are by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey an “Almost Classic Author,” celebrated by Drayton, Dryden, Fenton, and Pope, illustrated by his own muse, and lamented for his unhappy and unmerited death. Catalogue of Noble Authors

“From Tuscane came my ladie's worthy race,
“Fair Florence was sometyme her auncient state;
“The western yle, whose pleasant shore doth face
“Wild Camber's cliffs, did geve her lively heate;

64

“Foster'd she was with milke of Irishe brest,
“Her sire an Earl; the dame of Prince's blood.
“From tender yeres in Britaine she doth rest,
“With Kinges childe, where she tasteth costly foode,
“Honsdon did first present her to mine yien,
“Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she hight;
“Hampton me taught to wishe her first for mine,
“And Windsor, alas! doth chase me from her sight;
“Her beauty of kinde, her virtue from above,
“Happy is he that can obtain her love.
 

He was brought to the block in 1547, on pretence of using the Royal Arms, and proposing to marry the Lady Mary, Daughter of the King.

I would read thei—Horace Walpole.

She was Daughter of Lord Kildare.

He never gained her, she married the Earl of Lincoln.

[“The soote]

[_]

Warton calls this little Ode of Lord Surry's, exquisite.

“The soote seasoun that bud and bloom forth brings,
“With grene hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
“The nightingale, with feathers new she sings,
“The turtle to her mate hath told her tale.

65

“Somer is come, for every spray now springs;
“The hart has hung his old hed on the pale;
“The buck, in brake, his winter coate he flings;
“The fishes flete with new repayred scale.
“The adder all her slough away she flings,
“The swallow swift pursueth the flies smale;
“The busy bee, her honey now she mings,
“Winter is worne, that was the flower's bale.
 

Sweet.

Mingles.

Past.

Bane.