The Works of Michael Drayton Edited by J. William Hebel |
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 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
QUEENE ISABEL TO RICHARD THE SECOND.
The Argument.
Richard the Second wrongfully depos'dBy Henry Duke of Harford, and inclos'd
In Pomfret Castle; Isabel the Queene,
To the neglected King, who having seene
His dis-investing, and disastrous Chance,
To Charles her Father ship'd againe for France,
(Where, for her Husband griev'd and discontent)
Thence this Epistle to King Richard sent;
By which, when he her Sorrow doth descry,
He to the same as sadly doth reply.
In depth of Woe, thus I my Sorrow sing;
My Tunes with Sighes yet ever mixt among,
A dolefull Burthen to a heavie Song:
Words issue forth, to find my Griefe some way,
Teares overtake them, and doe bid them stay;
Thus whilst one strives to keepe the other backe,
Both once too forward, soone are both too slacke.
Nourish'd the Griefe of that unnaturall Clime,
Thither I send my Sorrowes to be fed;
Then where first borne, where fitter to be bred?
They unto France be Aliens, and unknowne,
England from her doth challenge these her owne.
They say, all Mischiefe commeth from the North;
It is too true, my Fall doth set it forth:
But why should I thus limit Griefe a place,
When all the World is fill'd with our Disgrace?
And we in bonds thus striving to containe it,
The more resists, the more we doe restraine it.
When Bullenbrooke returned to London from the West, bringing Richard a Prisoner with him; the Queene, who little knew of her Husbands hard Successe, stayed to behold his comming in, little thinking to have seene her Husband thus led in Triumph by his Foe: and now seeming to hate her Eyes, that so much had graced her mortall Enemie.
And in my Glasse oft call them faithlesse Spyes!
Upon that Traytor Henry Bullenbrooke:
But that excesse of Joy my Sense bereav'd
So much, my Sight had never beene deceiv'd.
Oh, how unlike to my lov'd Lord was hee,
Whom rashly I (sweet Richard) tooke for thee!
I might have seene, the Coursers selfe did lacke
That Princely Rider, to bestrid his Backe;
He that since Nature her great Worke began,
She onely made the Mirrour of a Man,
That when she meant to forme some matchlesse Lim,
Still for a Patterne tooke some part of him;
And jealous of her Cunning, brake the Mould,
When she in him had done the best she could.
That is to come, or heretofore hath beene,
She remembreth the meeting of the two Dukes of Harford and Norfolke at Coventry, urging the justnesse of Mowbrayes Quarrell against the Duke of Harford, and the faithfull assurance of his Victorie.
To prove the Treasons he to Harford layd,
When (with sterne Furie) both these Dukes enrag'd,
Their Warlike Gloves at Coventrie engag'd,
When first thou didst repeale thy former Grant,
Seal'd to brave Mowbray as thy Combattant:
From his unnumbred Houres let Time divide it,
Lest in his Minutes he should hap to hide it;
Yet on his Brow continually to beare it,
That when it comes, all other Houres may feare it;
And all ill-boding Planets, by consent,
In it may hold their dreadfull Parlament:
Be it in Heav'ns Decrees enrolled thus,
Blacke, dismall, fatall, inauspitious.
Proud Harford then, in height of all his pride,
Under great Mowbray's valiant Hand had di'de,
And never had from Banishment retir'd;
The fatall Brand wherewith our Troy was fir'd.
Charles the French King, her Father, received the Duke of Harford in his Court, and relieved him in France, being so neerely allyed as Cousin German to King Richard, his sonne in Law; which he did simply, little thinking, that he should after returne into England, and dis-possesse King Richard of the Crowne.
A Vagabond and straggling Runnagate?
And in his Court, with grace did entertaine
That vagrant Exile, that vile bloudie Cain;
Mark'd with the Brand of ten yeeres Banishment.
Millions of Knees upon the Pavements fell,
And ev'ry where th'applauding Ecchoes ring
The joyfull showts that did salute a King.
Thy parting hence, the Pompe that did adorne,
Was vanish'd quite when as thou didst returne?
Who to my Lord one Looke vouchsaf'd to lend?
Then, all too few on Harford to attend.
“Princes (like Sunnes) be evermore in sight,
“All see the Clouds, betwixt them and their Light:
“Yet they which lighten all downe from their Skies,
“See not the Clouds offending others Eyes,
“And deeme, their Noone-tide is desir'd of all,
“When all expect cleere Changes by their Fall.
When Law and Right his Fathers Hopes doe mayme?
William Wickham, in the great Quarrell betwixt John of Gaunt and the Clergie, of meere Spight and Malice (as it should seeme) reported, That the Queene confessed to him on her Death-bed, being then her Confessor, That John of Gaunt was the sonne of a Flemming, and that she was brought to Bed of a Woman-Child at Gaunt, which was smothered in the Cradle by mischance, and that she obtained this Child of a poore Woman, making the King beleeve it was her owne, greatly fearing his displeasure. Fox. ex Chron. Alban.
That John of Gaunt was illegitimate;
Whom his reputed Mothers Tongue did spot,
By a base Flemmish Boore to be begot;
Whom Edwards Eaglets mortally did shun,
Daring with them to gaze against the Sunne:
Where lawfull Right and Conquest doth allow
A triple Crowne on Richards Princely Brow;
Three Kingly Lyons beares his Bloudie Field,
No Bastards Marke doth blot his conqu'ring Shield:
Never durst he attempt our haplesse Shore,
Nor set his foot on fatall Ravenspore;
Nor durst his slugging Hulks approach the Strand,
Nor stoope a Top as signall to the land,
Had not the Percyes promis'd ayde to bring,
Against their oath unto their lawfull King,
Edmund Mortimer, Earle of March, sonne of Earle Roger Mortimer, which was sonne to Lady Philip, daughter to Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third sonne to King Edward the third; which Edmund (King Richard going into Ireland) was proclaymed Heire Apparant to the Crowne; whose Aunt, called Ellinor, this Lord Percy had married.
Their valiant Kinsman Edmund Mortimer.
Like Starres attended on my faire arise,
And are all set, before my going downe;
The smooth-fac'd Ayre did on my comming smile,
But I with Stormes am driven to exile:
But Bullenbrooke devis'd we thus should part,
Fearing two Sorrowes should possesse one Heart,
To adde to our affliction, to denie
That one poore Comfort, left our Miserie.
He had before divorc'd thy Crowne and thee,
Which might suffice, and not to Widdow mee;
But so to prove the utmost of his hate,
To part us in this miserable state.
The Abbot of Westminster had plotted the Death of King Henry, to have beene done at a Tilt at Oxford: Of which Confederacie, there was John Holland, Duke of Excester, Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, the Duke of Aumerle, Mountacute, Earle of Salisburie, Spenser, Earle of Glocester, the Bishop of Carlile, Sir Thomas Blunt; these all had bound themselves one to another by Indenture to performe it, but were all betrayed by the Duke of Aumerle.
The Plot, which once that noble Abbot layd;
When he infring'd the Oath which he first tooke,
For thy Revenge on perjur'd Bullenbrooke;
And beene the ransome of our Friends deare Blood,
Untimely lost, and for the Earth too good;
And we untimely doe bewayle their state,
They gone too soone, and we remaine too late.
This Curse on Harford fall, to ease my Heart:
If the foule breach of a chaste Nuptiall Bed
May bring a Curse, my Curse light on his Head;
If Murthers guilt with Bloud may deepely staine,
Henry going towards the Castle of Flint, where King Richard was, caused Scroope, Greene, and Bushy to be executed at Bristow, as vile persons, which had seduced the King to this lascivious and wicked life.
If Perjurie may Heavens pure Gates debarre,
Damn'd be the Oath he made at Doncaster;
If the deposing of a lawfull King,
Thy Curse condemne him, if no other thing;
If these dis-joyn'd, for Vengeance cannot call,
Let them united, strongly curse him all.
And for the Percyes, Heav'n may heare my Prayre,
That Bullenbrook, now plac'd in Richards Chayre,
Such cause of Woe to their proud Wives may be,
As those rebellious Lords have beene to me.
And that coy Dame, which now controlleth all,
And in her Pompe triumpheth in my Fall,
With as salt Teares, as I have done for mine.
This was the brave couragious Henry Hotspur, that obtayned so manie Victories against the Scots; which, after falling out right with the Curse of Queene Isabel, was slaine by Henry at the Battell at Shrewsburie.
As I for my deare Mortimer have done;
And as I am, so succourlesse be sent,
Lastly, to taste perpetuall Banishment.
Sell it so dearely, for it dearely cost:
And sith it did of Libertie deprive thee,
Burying thy Hope, let nothing else out-live thee.
But hard (God knowes) with Sorrow doth it goe,
When Woe becomes a comforter to Woe:
Yet much (me thinkes) of Comfort I could say,
If from my Heart some Feares were rid away;
Something there is, that danger still doth show,
But what it is, that Heaven alone doth know:
“Griefe to it selfe most dreadfull doth appeare,
“And never yet was Sorrow void of feare;
But yet in Death doth Sorrow hope the best,
And Richard, thus I wish thee happie Rest.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |