DUKE HUMPHREY TO ELINOR COBHAM.
Me thinkes thou shouldst not doubt, I could forget
Her, whom so many doe remember yet;
“No, no, our Joyes away like shadowes slide,
“But Sorrowes firme in memorie abide;
Nay, I durst answere, thou do'st nothing lesse,
But into Passion, urg'd by thy distresse:
No El'nor, no, thy Woes, thy Griefe, thy Wrong,
Have in my Brest beene resident too long.
Oh, when Report in ev'ry place had spred,
My El'nor was to Sanctuarie fled,
With cursed Onley, and the Witch of Eye,
As guiltie of their vile Conspiracie;
The dreadfull Spirits when they did invocate,
For the Succession, and the Realmes Estate;
When Henries Image they in Waxe had wrought,
By which he should have to his death beene brought;
That as his Picture did consume away,
His Person so by Sicknesse should decay:
Griefe, that before could ne'r my Thoughts controule,
That instant tooke possession of my Soule.
Ah, would to God I could forget thine Ill!
As for mine owne, let that inflict me still;
But that before hath taken too sure hold:
Forget it, said I? would to God I could.
Of any Woe, if thou hast but one part,
I have the whole remaining in my Heart;
I have no need, of others Cares to borrow,
For all I have, is nothing else but Sorrow.
No, my sweet Nell, thou took'st not all away,
Though thou went'st hence, here still thy Woes doe stay;
Though from thy Husband thou wert forc'd to goe,
Those still remaine, they will not leave him so:
No Eye bewayles my Ill, moanes thy Distresse,
Our Griefe's the more, but yet our Debt the lesse;
We owe no Teares, no Mourning dayes are kept,
For those that yet for us have never wept;
We hold no Obiits, no sad Exequies,
Upon the death-dayes of unweeping Eyes.
Alas, good Nell, what should thy patience move,
T'upbraid thy kind Lord with a forraine love?
Thou might'st have bid all former Ills adue,
Forgot the old, we have such store of new.
Did I omit thy love to entertaine,
With mutuall Griefe to answere Griefe againe?
Or think'st thou, I unkindly did forbeare
To bandie Woe for Woe, and Teare for Teare?
Did I forget, or carelessely neglect
Those shewes of Love, that Ladies so respect?
In mournefull Blacke was I not seene to goe,
By outward signes t'expresse my inward Woe?
Did I thy losse not publiquely lament,
Nor by my Lookes bewray'd my Discontent?
Is this the cause? If this be it, know then,
“One Griefe conceal'd, more grievous is then ten:
If in my Brest those Sorrowes sometimes were,
And never utt'red, they must still be there;
And if thou know'st, they many were before,
By time encreasing, they must needs be more.
England to me can challenge nothing lent,
Let her cast up what is receiv'd, what spent;
If I her owne, can she from blame be free,
If she but prove a step-mother to mee?
That if I should with that proud Bastard strive,
To plead for Birth-right my Prerogative,
Be that allow'd, I should not need to feare it,
For then my true Nobilitie should beare it:
If Counsell ayd, that France will tell (I know)
Whose Townes lye waste before the English Foe,
When thrice we gave the conquer'd French the foile
The three famous Battels fought by the Englishmen in
France: Agincourt, by Henry the fifth, against the whole
Power of France; Cravant, fought by Mountacute, Earle
of Salisbury, and the Duke of Burgoyne, against the Dolphin
of France, and William Stuart, Constable of Scotland:
Vernoyle, fought by John, Duke of Bedford, against the
Duke of Alanson, and with him most of the Nobilitie of
France; Duke Humphrey an especiall Counsellor in all
these Expeditions.
At Agincourt, at Cravant, and Vernoyle:
If Faith availe, these Armes did Henry hold,
To clayme his Crowne, yet scarsely nine months old:
If Countries care have leave to speake for me,
Gray hayres in youth my witnesse then may be:
If peoples Tongues give splendour to my Fame,
They adde a Title to Duke Humphrey's Name:
If Toyle at home, French Treason, English Hate,
Shall tell my skill in managing the State,
If forraine Travell my successe may try,
Here remembring the ancient Amitie which in his Embassies
he had concluded betwixt the King of England, and
Sigismund, Emperour of Almaine, drawing the Duke of
Burgoyne into the same League, giving himselfe as an Hostage
for the Duke at Saint Omers, while the Duke came to
Calice, to confirme the League: With his many other Imployments
to forraine Kingdomes.
Then Flanders, Almaine, Boheme, Burgundie.
That Robe of Rome proud Beauford now doth weare,
In every place such sway should never beare:
Henry Beauford, Cardinall of Winchester, that proud
and haughtie Prelate, received the Cardinals Hat at Calice,
by the Popes Legate; which Dignitie, Henry the fifth, his
Nephew, forbad him to take upon him, knowing his haughtie
and malicious spirit, unfit for that Robe and Calling.
The Crosier staffe in his imperious Hand,
To be the Scepter that controules the Land;
That home to England, Dispensations drawes,
Which are of power to abrogate our Lawes;
And for those Summes the wealthie Church should pay,
Upon the needie Comminaltie to lay:
His ghostly Counsels onely doe advise,
As willing to shew, the House of Cambridge to be descended
of Edmund Langley, Duke of Yorke, a younger Brother to
John of Gaunt, his Grandfather (as much as in him lay) to
smother the Title that the Yorkists made to the Crowne (from
Lionel of Clarence, Gaunts elder Brother) by the Daughter
of Mortimer.
The meanes how Langleyes Progenie may rise,
Pathing young Henries unadvised wayes,
A Duke of Yorke from Cambridge House to rayse,
Which after may our Title undermine,
Grafted since Edward, in Gaunts famous Line,
Us of Succession falsely to deprive,
Which they from Clarence fainedly derive;
Knowing the will old Cambridge ever bore,
To catch the Wreathe that famous Henry wore:
With Gray and Scroope when first he layd the Plot,
From us, and ours, the Garland to have got;
As from the March-borne Mortimer to raigne,
Whose Title Glendour stoutly did maintaine,
When the proud Percies, haughtie March, and hee,
Had shar'd the Land by equall parts, in three.
Noting the ancient Grudge betweene the House of Lancaster
and Norfolke, ever since Mowbray, Duke of Norfolke,
was banished, for the Accusation of Henry, Duke of Harford
(after that, King of England, Father to Duke Humphrey:)
Which Accusation, he came as a Combatant, to have made
good, in the Lists at Coventry.
His Priesthood now sterne Mowbray will restore,
To stirre the fire that kindled was before;
Against the Yorkists shall their Clayme advance,
To steele the point of Norfolkes sturdie Lance,
Upon the Brest of Harfords Issue bent,
In just revenge of ancient Banishment.
He doth advise to let our Pris'ner goe,
And doth inlarge the faithlesse Scottish Foe,
James Stuart, King of Scots, having beene long Prisoner
in England, was released, and tooke to Wife the Daughter
of John, Duke of Somerset, Sister to John, Duke of Somerset,
Neece to the Cardinall, and the Duke of Excester, and
Cousin-german removed to the King: This King broke the
Oath he had taken, and became after a great Enemie to England.
Giving our Heires in Marriage, that their Dow'rs
May bring Invasion upon us and ours.
Ambitious Suffolke so the Helme doth guide,
With Beaufords damned Policies supply'd;
He and the Queene in counsell still conferre,
How to rayse him, who hath advanced her.
But my deare Heart, how vainely doe I dreame,
And flye from thee, whose Sorrowes are my Theame?
My love to thee, and England thus divided,
Which hath the most, how hard to be decided?
Or thou, or that, to censure I am loth,
So neere are you, so deare unto me both;
'Twixt that and thee, for equall love I find,
England ingratefull, and my El'nor kind.
But though my Countrey justly I reprove,
Yet I for that, neglected have my love;
Neverthelesse, thy Humfrey's to thee now,
As when fresh Beautie triumph'd on thy Brow;
As when thy Graces I admired most,
Or of thy Favours might the frankly'st boast:
Those Beauties were so infinite before,
That in abundance I was onely poore;
Of which, though Time hath taken some againe,
I aske no more but what doth yet remaine.
Be patient, gentle Heart, in thy distresse,
Thou art a Princesse, not a whit the lesse.
Whilst in these Brests we beare about this Life,
I am thy Husband, and thou art my Wife.
Cast not thine Eye on such as mounted be,
But looke on those cast downe as low as we;
For some of them which proudly pearch so hie,
Ere long shall come as low as thou or I.
They weepe for Joy, and let us laugh in Woe,
We shall exchange, when Heav'n will have it so;
We mourne, and they in after-time may mourne,
Woe past, may once laugh present Woe to scorne:
And worse then hath beene, we can never taste,
Worse cannot come, then is alreadie past:
“In all extremes, the onely depth of ill,
“Is that which comforts the afflicted still.
Ah would to God thou couldst thy Griefes deny,
And on my backe let all the Burthen lye!
Or if thou canst resigne, make them mine owne,
Both in one Carriage to be undergone,
Till we againe our former Hopes recover,
And prosp'rous Times blow these Misfortunes over;
For in the thought of those fore-passed yeeres,
Some new resemblance of old Joy appeares.
Mutuall our Care, so mutuall be our Love,
That our Affliction never can remove:
So rest in peace, where Peace hath hope to live,
Wishing thee more then I my selfe can give.
FINIS.
