 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
That Love thus triumphs over Majestie;
Nor thinke lesse Vertue in this Royall Hand,
That it intreats, and wonted to command:
For in this sort, though humbly now it woo,
The day hath beene, thou would'st have kneel'd unto.
Nor thinke, that this submission of my State
Proceeds from Frailtie (rather judge it Fate.)
Then when with Women spinning at the Rocke;
Never lesse Clouds did Phœbus glory dim,
Then in a Clownes shape when he covered him:
Joves great Command was never more obay'd,
Then when a Satyres Anticke parts he play'd.
He was thy King, who su'd for love to mee,
And she his Queene, who sues for love to thee.
But by his death, it Owen Tudors is;
My love to Owen, him my Henry giveth,
My love to Henry, in my Owen liveth:
Henry woo'd me, whilst Warres did yet increase,
I woo my Tudor, in sweet calmes of Peace;
To force Affection, he did Conquest prove,
I come with gentle Arguments of Love.
First saw I Henry, clad in Princely Armes;
At pleasant Windsore, first these Eyes of mine
My Tudor judg'd, for wit and shape divine;
Henry abroad, with Puissance and with Force,
Tudor at home, with Courtship and Discourse:
He then, thou now, I hardly can judge whether
Did like me best, Plantaginet, or Tether;
A March, a Measure, Battell, or a Daunce,
A Courtly Rapier, or a conqu'ring Launce.
His Princely Bed hath strength'ned my Renowne,
Henry the fift, and Queene Katherine, were taken as King and Queene of France; and during the life of Charles the French King, Henry was called King of England, and Heire of France: and after the death of Henry the fift, Henry the sixt, his sonne, then being very young, was crowned at Paris, as true and lawfull King of England and France.
Which glorious Wreathe (as Henries lawfull Heire)
Henry the sixt upon his Brow doth beare.
At Troy in Champaine he did first injoy
My Bridall Rites, to England brought from Troy;
In England now that Honour thou shalt have,
Which once in Champaine famous Henry gave.
If these suffice not, where shall be my Dower?
Sad Discontent may ever follow her,
Which doth base Pelfe before true Love preferre;
If Titles still could our Affections tye,
What is so great, but Majestie might buy?
To what they would, thou eas'ly may'st aspire.
That sacred Fire once warm'd my Heart before,
The Fuell fit, the Flame is now the more;
And meanes to quench it, I in vaine doe prove,
“We may hide Treasure, but not hide our Love:
It were too late, nor will I now restraine it.
Nor these great Titles vainely will I bring,
Wife, Daughter, Mother, Sister to a King,
Of Grandsire, Father, Husband, Sonne, and Brother,
More thou alone to me then all these other.
Noting the Descent of Henry her Husband from John, Duke of Lancaster, the fourth sonne of Edward the third; which Duke John was sirnamed Gaunt, of the Citie of Gaunt in Flanders, where he was borne.
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne, great Lancastrian Line,
Alluding the Greatnesse of the English Line, to Phœbus and Phœbe, fained to be the Children of Latona, whose Heavenly kind might scorne to be joyned with any Earthly Progenie: yet withall, boasting the Bloud of France, as not inferiour to theirs. And with this Allusion, followeth on the Historie of the strife betwixt Juno and the Race of Cadmus, whose Issue was afflicted by the Wrath of Heaven. The Children of Niobe slaine; for which, the wofull Mother became a Rocke, gushing forth continually a Fountaine of Teares.
Repine at Loraine, Burbon, Alanson;
Nor doe I thinke there is such different ods,
They should alone be numbred with the Gods:
Of Cadmus Earthly Issue reck'ning us,
And they from Jove, Mars, Neptune, Eolus;
Of great Latona's Off-spring onely they,
And we the Brats of wofull Niobe.
Our famous Grandsires (as their owne) bestrid
That Horse of Fame, that God-begotten Steed;
Whose bounding Hoofe plow'd that Beotian Spring,
Where those sweet Maids of Memorie doe sing.
I clayme not all from Henry, but as well
To be the Child of Charles and Isabel:
Nor can I thinke from whence their Griefe should grow,
That by this Match they be disparag'd so;
Lhewellin, or Leolin ap Iorwith, married Joan, daughter to King John, a most beautifull Lady. Some Authors affirme, that she was base borne. Lhewellin ap Gryfith married Elinor, daughter to Simon Monfort, Earle of Leicester, and Cousin to Edward Longshankes; both which Lhewellins, were Princes of Wales.
And to the Kings of Wales in Wedlocke ty'd,
Shewing the greatnesse of your Bloud thereby,
Your Race and Royall Consanguinitie:
And Wales, as well as haughtie England boasts,
Camilot the ancient Palace of King Arthur; to which place, all the Knights of that famous Order yeerely repaired at Pentecost, according to the Law of the Table: and most of the famous home-borne Knights were of that Countrey; as to this day is perceived by their ancient Monuments.
To have precedence in Pendragons Race,
At Arthurs Table challenging the Place.
They boast the Spoyles of their victorious Hand;
If these our ancient Chronicles be true,
They altogether are not free from you.
Noting the ill successe which William Rufus had in two Voyages he made into Wales; in which, a number of his chiefe Nobilitie were slaine.
Twice entring Wales, yet twice was beaten backe;
Made by th'effusion of the English Bloud;
And oft return'd with glorious Victorie,
From Worcester, Her'ford, Chester, Shrewsburie;
Whose Power in ev'ry Conquest so prevayles,
As once expuls'd the English out of Wales.
And at my Bridall former Broyles did cease;
More then his Power, had not his Person beene,
I had not come to England as a Queene.
Nor tooke I Henry to supply my want,
Because in France that time my choyse was scant,
When it had rob'd all Christendome of Men,
And Englands Flower remayn'd amongst us then:
Gloster, whose Counsels (Nestor-like) assist;
Couragious Bedford, that great Martiallist;
Clarence, for Vertue honour'd of his Foes;
And Yorke, whose Fame yet dayly greater growes;
Warwicke, the pride of Nevils haughtie Race;
Great Salisburie, so fear'd in ev'ry place:
That valiant Poole, whom no Atchievement dar's;
And Vere, so famous in the Irish Warres;
Who, though my selfe so great a Prince were borne,
The worst of these, my equall need not scorne:
But Henries rare Perfections, and his Parts,
As conqu'ring Kingdomes, so he conquer'd Hearts.
As chaste was I to him, as Queene might bee,
But freed from him, my chaste love vow'd to thee;
Beautie doth fetch all Favour from thy Face,
All perfect Court-ship resteth in thy Grace:
If thou discourse, thy Lips such Accents breake,
As Love a Spirit forth of thee seem'd to speake.
The British Language, which our Vowels wants,
And jarres so much upon harsh Consonants,
Comes with such grace from thy mellifluous Tongue,
As doe the sweet Notes of a well-set Song,
And runs as smoothly from those Lips of thine,
As the pure Tuskan from the Florentine;
That the Voyce past, yet still the Sound is there:
In Nisus Tower, as when Apollo lay,
And on his golden Violl us'd to play;
Where senselesse Stones were with such Musicke drown'd,
As many yeeres they did retaine the Sound.
Amaze thy Hopes with timerous respect;
Assure thee, Tudor, Majestie can bee
As kind in love, as can the mean'st degree,
And the imbraces of a Queene as true
As theirs, which thinke them much advanc'd by you;
When in our Greatnesse, our Affections crave
Those secret Joyes, that other Women have:
So I (a Queene) be soveraigne in my choyse,
Let others fawne upon the publique voyce;
Or what (by this) can ever hap to thee,
Light in respect, to be belov'd of mee?
Let peevish Worldlings prate of Right and Wrong,
Leave Plaints and Pleas, to whom they doe belong,
Let old Men speake of Chances and Events,
And Lawyers talke of Titles and Descents,
Leave fond Reports to such as Stories tell,
And Covenants, to those that buy and sell:
Love, my sweet Tudor, that becomes thee best;
And to our good successe referre the rest.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |