OWEN TUDOR TO QUEENE KATHERINE.
When first mine Eyes beheld your Princely Name,
And found from whence this friendly Letter came;
As in excesse of Joy, I had forgot,
Whether I saw it, or I saw it not:
My panting Heart doth bid mine Eyes proceed,
My dazeled Eyes invite my Tongue to read;
Which wanting their direction, dully mist it:
My Lips, which should have spoke, were dumbe, and kist it,
And left the Paper in my trembling Hand,
When all my Senses did amazed stand;
Even as a Mother comming to her Child,
Which from her presence hath beene long exil'd,
With gentle Armes his tender Necke doth straine,
Now kissing it, now clipping it againe;
And yet excessive Joy deludes her so,
As still she doubts, if this be hers, or no.
At length awakened from this pleasing Dreame,
When Passion somewhat left to be extreme,
My longing Eyes with their faire Object meet,
Where ev'ry Letter's pleasing, each Word sweet.
It was not Henries Conquests, nor his Court,
That had the power to win me by report;
Nor was his dreadfull Terror-striking Name,
The cause that I from Wales to England came;
For Christian Rhodes, and our Religions Truth,
To great Atchievement first had wonne my Youth:
This brave Adventure did my Valour prove,
Before I e'r knew what it was to love.
Nor came I hither by some poore event,
But by th'eternall Destinies consent;
Whose uncomprised Wisedome did fore-see,
That you in Marriage should be link'd to mee.
By our great Merlin was it not fore-told,
(Amongst his holy Prophesies enrol'd)
When first he did of Tudors Name divine,
That Kings and Queenes should follow in our Line;
The Armes of Tudor, was three Helmets; whereof he
speaketh, as a thing prophetically fore-told of Merlin.
And that the Helme (the Tudors ancient Crest)
Should with the golden Flower-de-luce be drest;
As that the Leeke (our Countries chiefe Renowne)
Should grow with Roses in the English Crowne.
As Charles his Daughter, you the Lilly weare,
As Henries Queene, the blushing Rose you beare;
By France's Conquest, and by Englands Oath,
You are the true made Dowager of both;
Both in your Crowne, both in your Cheeke together,
Joyne Tethers love to yours, and yours to Tether.
Then cast no future Doubts, nor feare no Hate,
When it so long hath beene fore-told by Fate;
And by the all-disposing doome of Heav'n,
Before our Births, we to one Bed were giv'n.
No Pallas here, nor Juno is at all,
When I to Venus yeeld the golden Ball;
Nor when the Grecians Wonder I enjoy,
None in revenge to kindle fire in Troy:
And have not strange events divin'd to us,
That in our love we should be prosperous?
Owen Tudor, being a Courtly and active Gentleman, commanded
once to dance before the Queene, in a Turne (not being
able to recover himselfe) fell into her Lap, as she sat upon a
little Stoole, with many of her Ladies about her.
When in your presence I was call'd to dance,
In loftie Tricks whilst I my selfe advance,
And in a Turne, my footing fayl'd by hap,
Was't not my chance to light into your Lap?
Who would not judge it Fortunes greatest grace,
Sith he must fall, to fall in such a place?
His Birth from Heav'n, your Tudor not derives,
Nor stands on tip-toes in Superlatives,
Although the envious English doe devise
A thousand Jests of our Hyperbolies;
Nor doe I clayme that Plot by ancient Deeds,
Where Phœbus pastures his fire-breathing Steeds;
Nor doe I boast my God-made Grandsires Scarres,
Nor Gyants Trophies in the Titans Warres;
Nor faine my Birth (your Princely Eares to please)
By three Nights getting, as was Hercules;
Nor doe I forge my long Descent to runne
From aged Neptune, or the glorious Sunne:
This Berdh, as they call it in the British Tongue, or as we
more properly say, Bard, or Bardus, be their Poets, which
keepe the Records of Pedigrees and Descents, and sung in
Odes and Measures to their Harpes, after the old manner of
the Lyricke Poets.
And yet in Wales, with them that famous bee,
Our learned Bards doe sing my Pedigree;
Cadwallader, the last King of the Britaines, descended of
the Noble and ancient Race of the Trojans; to whom an Angell
appeared, commanding him to goe to Rome to Pope Sergius,
where he ended his life.
And boast my Birth from great Cadwallader,
Caer-Septon, now called Shaftsburie; at whose Building
it was said, an Eagle prophesied (or rather, one named
Aquila) of the fame of that Place, and of the recoverie of the
Ile by the Britaines, bringing backe with them the Bones of
Cadwallader from Rome.
From old Caer-Septon, in Mount Palador;
This Eneon was slaine by the Rebels of Gwentland; he
was a notable and worthie Gentleman, who in his life did
many noble Acts, and was father to Theodor, or Tudor
Maur, of whom descended the Princes of South-Wales.
And from Eneons Line, the South-Wales King,
By Theodor, the Tudors Name doe bring.
My Royall Mothers Princely Stocke began,
Gwenellian, the daughter of Rees ap Griffeth ap Theodor,
Prince of South-Wales, married Ednivet Vaughan,
ancestor to Owen Tudor.
From her great Grandam, faire Gwenellian;
This is the Lewhelin, called Leolinus Magnus, Prince of North-Wales.
By true descent from Leolin the Great,
As well from North-Wales, as faire Powslands Seat:
Though for our Princely Genealogie,
I doe not stand to make Apologie;
Yet who with Judgements true impartiall Eyes,
Shall looke from whence our Name at first did rise,
Shall finde, that Fortune is to us in debt;
And why not Tudor, as Plantaginet?
In the Voyage that Henry the second made against the
Welshmen, as his Souldiers passed Offas Ditch at Croggen
Castle, they were overthrowne by the Welshmen: Which
word Croggen hath since beene used to the Welshmens Disgrace,
which was at first begun with their Honour.
Nor that terme Croggen, Nick-name of disgrace,
Us'd as a by-word now in ev'ry place,
Shall blot our Bloud, or wrong a Welshmans Name,
Which was at first begot with Englands shame.
Our valiant Swords our Right did still maintaine,
Against that cruell, proud, usurping Dane,
Buckling besides in many dang'rous Fights,
With Norwayes, Swethens, and with Muscovites;
The Welshmen be those ancient Britaines, which when
the Picts, Danes, and Saxons invaded here, were first driven
into those parts; where they have kept their Language ever
since the first, without commixtion with any other.
And kept our Native Language now thus long,
And to this day yet never chang'd our Tongue:
When they which now our Nation faine would tame,
Subdu'd, have lost their Countrey, and their Name.
Nor ever could the Saxons Swords provoke
Our Britaine Necks to beare their servile Yoke:
Where Cambria's pleasant Countries bounded bee
With swelling Severne, and the holy Dee;
And since great Brutus first arriv'd, have stood,
The onely remnant of the Trojan Blood.
To every Man is not allotted Chance,
To boast with Henry, to have conquer'd France:
Yet if my Fortunes be thus rays'd by thee,
This may presage a further good to me;
And our Saint David, in the Britaines Right,
May joyne with George, the Sainted English Knight;
Caer-Merdin, or Merlins Towne, so called, of Merlins
being found there. This was Ambrose Merlin, whose Prophesies
we have. There was another of that Name, called
Merlin Sylvestris, borne in Scotland, sirnamed Calidonius,
of the Forrest Calidon, where he prophesied.
And old Caer-marden, Merlins famous Towne,
Not scorn'd by London, though of such renowne.
Ah, would to God, that Houre my Hopes attend,
Were with my Wish brought to desired end!
Blame me not, Madame, though I thus desire,
Many there be, that after you inquire;
Till now your Beautie in Nights Bosome slept,
What Eye durst stirre, where awfull Henry kept?
Who durst attempt to sayle but neere the Bay,
Where that all-conqu'ring great Alcides lay?
Your Beautie now is set a Royall Prize,
And Kings repayre to cheapen Merchandize.
If you but walke to take the breathing Ayre,
Orithia makes me, that I Boreas feare;
If to the Fire, Jove once in Lightning came,
And faire Egina makes me feare the flame;
If in the Sunne, then sad Suspition dreames
Phœbus should spread Lucothoe in his Beames;
If in a Fountaine you doe coole your Bloud,
Neptune I feare, which once came in a Floud;
If with your Mayds, I dread Apollo's Rape,
Who cous'ned Chion in an old Wives shape;
If you doe banquet, Bacchus makes me dreed,
Who in a Grape Erigone did feed;
And if my selfe your Chamber-doore should keepe,
Yet feare I Hermes, comming in a Sleepe.
Pardon (sweet Queene) if I offend in this,
In these Delayes, Love most impatient is;
And Youth wants pow'r his hot Spleene to suppresse,
When Hope alreadie banquets in Excesse.
Though Henries Fame in me you shall not find,
Yet that which better shall content your mind;
But onely in the Title of a King
Was his advantage, in no other thing:
If in his love more pleasure you did take,
Never let Queene trust Britan, for my sake.
Yet judge me not from Modestie exempt,
That I another Phaetons Charge attempt;
My Mind, that thus your Favours dare aspire,
Shewes, that 'tis touch'd with a celestiall fire;
If I doe fault, the more is Beauties blame,
When she her selfe is author of the same:
“All Men to some one qualitie incline,
Onely to Love is naturally mine.
Thou art by Beautie famous, as by Birth,
Ordain'd by Heav'n to cheere the drouping Earth;
Adde faithfull Love unto your greater State,
And be alike in all things fortunate.
A King might promise more, I not deny,
But yet (by Heav'n) he lov'd not more then I.
And thus I leave, till time my Faith approve,
I cease to write, but never cease to love.
FINIS.
