QUEENE ISABEL TO MORTIMER.
The Argument.
Faire Isabel, Edward the Seconds Queene,
Philip of France his Daughter; for the Spleene
She bare her Husband, for that he affected
Lascivious Minions, and her Love neglected;
Drew to her Favour (striving to preferre)
That valiant young Lord Roger Mortimer:
Who with the Barons rose; but wanting Power,
Was taken and imprisoned in the Tower.
But by a sleepie Drinke which she prepar'd,
And at a Banquet given to his Guard,
He makes escape: to whom, to France she sends;
Who thence to her his Service recommends.
Though such sweet comfort comes not now from her,
As Englands Queene hath sent to Mortimer:
Yet what that wants (may it my Power approve,
If Lines can bring) this shall supply with Love.
Me thinkes Affliction should not fright me so,
Nor should resume those sundry shapes of Woe;
But when I faine would find the cause of this,
Thy absence shewes me where my Error is.
Oft when I thinke of thy departing hence,
Sad Sorrow then possesseth ev'ry Sense:
But finding thy deare Bloud preserv'd thereby,
And in thy Life, my long-wish'd Libertie,
With that sweet Thought, my selfe I onely please,
Amidst my Griefe, which sometimes gives me ease;
Thus doe extremest Ills a Joy possesse,
And one Woe makes another Woe seeme lesse.
That blessed Night, that mild-aspected Howre,
Wherein thou mad'st escape out of the Towre,
Shall consecrated evermore remaine;
Some gentle Planet in that Houre did raigne;
And shall be happie in the Birth of Men,
Which was chiefe Lord of the Ascendent then.
Mortimer being in the Tower, and ordayning a
Feast in honour of his Birth-day, as he pretended, and
inviting thereunto Sir Stephen Segrave, Constable of the
Tower, with the rest of the Officers belonging to the same, he
gave them a sleepie Drinke, provided him by the Queene, by
which meanes he got libertie for his Escape.
O how I fear'd, that sleepie Juyce I sent,
Might yet want power to further thine Intent!
Or that some unseene Mysterie might lurke,
Which wanting order, kindly should not worke:
Oft did I wish those dreadfull poys'ned Lees,
Which clos'd the ever-waking Dragons Eyes;
Or I had had those Sense-bereaving Stalkes,
That grow in shadie Proserpin's darke Walkes;
Or those blacke Weeds on Lethe Bankes below,
Or Lunarie, that doth on Latmus flow.
Oft did I feare this moist and foggie Clime,
Or that the Earth, wax'd barren now with time,
Should not have Herbes to helpe me in this case,
Such as doe thrive on India's parched Face.
That Morrow, when the blessed Sunne did rise,
And shut the Lids of all Heavens lesser Eyes,
Forth from my Palace, by a secret Stayre,
Mortimer being got out of the Tower, swam the River of
Thames, into Kent; whereof she having intelligence, doubteth
of his strength to escape, by reason of his long imprisonment,
being almost the space of three yeeres.
I stole to Thames, as though to take the Ayre;
And ask'd the gentle Floud, as it doth glide,
If thou didst passe or perish by the Tide?
If thou didst perish, I desire the Streame,
To lay thee softly on his Silver Teame,
And bring thee to me, to the quiet Shore,
That with his Teares thou might'st have some Teares more.
When suddenly doth rise a rougher Gale:
With that (me thinkes) the troubled Waves looke pale,
And sighing with that little Gust that blowes,
With this remembrance seeme to knit their Browes.
Even as this sudden Passion doth affright me,
The chearefull Sunne breakes from a Cloud to light me:
Then doth the Bottome evident appeare,
As it would shew me, that thou wast not there;
When as the Water flowing where I stand,
Doth seeme to tell me, thou art safe on Land.
Edward Carnarvon, the first Prince of Wales of the English
Bloud, married Isabel, Daughter of Philip the Faire, at
Bulloine, in the presence of the Kings of Almaine, Navarre,
and Cicill, with the chiefe Nobilitie of France and England:
Which Marriage was there solemnized with exceeding Pompe
and Magnificence.
Did Bulloyne once a Festivall prepare,
For England, Almaine, Cicill, and Navarre?
When France envi'd those Buildings (onely blest)
Grac'd with the Orgies of my Bridall Feast,
That English
Edward should refuse my Bed,
For that lascivious shamelesse Ganimed?
Noting the effeminacie and luxurious wantonnesse of Gaveston,
the Kings Minion; his Behaviour and Attire ever so
Woman-like, to please the Eye of his lascivious Master.
And in my place, upon his Regall Throne,
To set that Girle-Boy, wanton Gaveston.
Betwixt the feature of my Face and his,
My Glasse assures me no such difference is,
It was urged by the Queene and the Nobilitie, in the disgrace
of Pierce Gaveston, that his Mother was convicted of
Witch-craft, and burned for the same, and that Pierce had
bewitched the King.
That a foule Witches Bastard should thereby
Be thought more worthie of his Love then I.
What doth availe us to be Princes Heires,
When we can boast, our Birth is onely theirs?
When base dissembling Flatterers shall deceive us
Of all that our great Ancestors did leave us:
A Complaint of the Prodigalitie of King Edward, giving
unto Gaveston the Jewels and Treasure which was left him
by the ancient Kings of England, and enriching him with the
goodly Mannor of Wallingford, assigned as parcell of the
Dower to the Queenes of this famous Ile.
And of our Princely Jewels and our Dowres,
Let us enjoy the least of what is ours;
When Minions Heads must weare our Monarchs Crownes,
To rayse up Dunghils with our famous Townes;
Those Beggers-Brats, wrapt in our rich Perfumes,
Their Buzzard-wings, imp'd with our Eagles Plumes;
Edward the second gave to Pierce Gaveston in Marriage
the Daughter of Gilbert Clare, Earle of Glocester, begot of
the Kings sister, Jone of Acres, married to the said Earle of
Glocester.
And match'd with the brave Issue of our Blood,
Ally the Kingdome to their cravand Brood?
Did Longshanks purchase with his conqu'ring Hand,
Albania, Scotland, so called of Albanact, the second sonne
of Brutus; and Cambria, Wales, so called of Camber the
third sonne. The foure Realmes and Countries brought in subjection
by Edward Longshankes.
Albania, Gascoyne, Cambria, Ireland?
That young Carnarvan (his unhappie Sonne)
King Edward offered his Right in France to Charles his
Brother in Law, and his Right in Scotland to Robert Bruse,
to be ayded against the Barons in the Quarrell of Pierce Gaveston.
Should give away all that his Father wonne,
To backe a Stranger, proudly bearing downe
The brave Allies and Branches of the Crowne?
Edward Longshankes on his Death-bed at Carlile, commanded
young Edward his sonne, on his Blessing, not to call
backe Gaveston, which (for the misguiding of the Princes
Youth) was before banished by the whole Councell of the
Land.
And did great Edward on his Death-bed give
This Charge to them which afterwards should live,
That, that proud Gascoyne banished the Land,
No more should tread upon the English Sand?
And have these great Lords in the Quarrell stood,
And seal'd his last Will with their dearest Blood?
Thomas, Earle of Lancaster, Guy, Earle of Warwicke,
and Henry, Earle of Lincolne, who had taken their Oathes
before the deceased King at his Death, to withstand his sonne
Edward, if he should call Gaveston from exile, being a thing
which he much feared, now seeing Edward to violate his Fathers
Commandement, rise in Armes against the King, which
was the cause of the Civill Warre, and the ruine of so many
Princes.
That after all this fearefull Massacre,
The Fall of Beauchamp, Lacy, Lancaster,
Another faithlesse Favourite should arise,
To cloud the Sunne of our Nobilities?
The two Hugh Spensers, the Father and the Sonne, after
the Death of Gaveston, became the great Favourites of the
King, the Sonne being created by him Lord Chamberlaine,
and the Father Earle of Winchester.
And gloried I in Gavestons great Fall,
That now a Spenser should succeed in all?
And that his Ashes should another breed,
Which in his Place and Empire should succeed;
That wanting One, a Kingdomes Wealth to spend,
Of what that left, this now shall make an end;
To waste all that our Father wonne before,
Nor leave our Sonne a Sword, to conquer more?
Thus but in vaine we fondly doe resist,
“Where Power can doe (ev'n) all things as it list,
“And of our Right, with Tyrants to debate,
“Lendeth them meanes to weaken our Estate.
Whilst Parlaments must remedie their Wrongs,
And we must wait for what to us belongs;
Our Wealth but Fuell to their fond Excesse,
And all our Fasts must feast their Wantonnesse.
Think'st thou our Wrongs then insufficient are,
To move our Brother to religious Warre?
Edward Longshankes did homage for those Cities and
Territories, to the French King; which Edward the second
neglecting, moved the French King, by the subornation of
Mortimer, to seize those Countries into his hands.
And if they were, yet Edward doth detaine
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne, and Aquitaine:
And if not that, yet hath he broke the Truce;
Thus all accurre, to put backe all excuse.
The Sisters Wrong, joyn'd with the Brothers Right,
Me thinkes, might urge him in this cause to fight.
Be all those People senselesse of our Harmes,
Which for our Countrey oft have manag'd Armes?
Is the brave Normans Courage quite forgot?
Have the bold Britans lost the use of Shot?
The big-bon'd Almans, and stout Brabanders,
Their Warlike Pikes, and sharpe-edg'd Semiters?
Or doe the Pickards let their Crosse-bowes lie,
Once like the Centaur's of old Thessalie?
Or if a valiant Leader be their lacke,
Where Thou art present, who should beat them backe?
I doe conjure Thee, by what is most deare,
By that great Name of famous Mortimer,
Wigmore, in the Marches of Wales, was the ancient House
of the Mortimers, that Noble and Couragious Family.
By ancient Wigmores honourable Crest,
The Tombes where all thy famous Grandsires rest;
Or if then these, what more may Thee approve,
Ev'n by those Vowes of thy unfained Love;
In all thou canst to stirre the Christian King,
By forraine Armes some Comfort yet to bring,
To curbe the Power of Traytors that rebell,
Against the Right of Princely Isabel.
Vaine witlesse Woman, why should I desire
To adde more heat to thy Immortall fire?
To urge thee by the violence of Hate,
To shake the pillars of thine owne Estate,
When whatsoever we intend to doe,
Our most Misfortune ever sorteth too;
And nothing else remaynes for us beside,
But Teares and Coffins (onely) to provide?
The Queene remembreth the great Overthrow given to the
Barons by Andrew Herckley, Earle of Carlil, at Burrough
Bridge, after the Battell at Burton.
When still, so long as Burrough beares that name,
Time shall not blot out our deserved shame;
And whilst cleare Trent her wonted course shall keepe,
For our sad Fall she evermore shall weepe.
All see our Ruine on our Backes is throwne,
And we too weake to beare it out, are growne.
This was Adam Torlton, Bishop of Hereford, that great
Politician, who so highly favoured the Faction of the Queene
and Mortimer; whose evill counsell afterward wrought the
destruction of the King.
Torlton, that should our Businesse direct,
The generall Foe doth vehemently suspect:
“For dangerous Things get hardly to their End,
“Whereon so many watchfully attend.
What should I say? My Griefes doe still renew,
And but begin, when I should bid Adiew.
Few be my Words, but manifold my Woe,
And still I stay, the more I strive to goe.
Then till faire Time some greater Good affords,
Take my Loves-payment in these ayrie Words.
