The Works of Michael Drayton :: :: University of Virginia Library

I will not strive m'Invention to inforce,
With needlesse words your eyes to intertaine,
T'observe the formall ordinary course,
That every one so vulgarly doth faine.
Our interchanged and deliberate choice
Is with more firme and true election sorted,
Then stands in censure of the common voice,
That with light humor fondly is transported.
Nor take I patterne of anothers prayse,
Then what my Pen may constantly avow,
Nor walke more publike, nor obscurer wayes,
Then Vertue bids, and Judgement will allow:
So shall my love and best endevours serve you,
And still shall study, still so to deserve you.

M. Drayton.

383

THE LEGEND OF ROBERT, DUKE OF NORMANDY.

What time soft Night had silently begun
To steale by Minutes on the long-liv'd Dayes,
The furious Dog-starre following the bright Sunne,

A Periphrasis of the height of Summer.

With noysome Heat infests his chearefull Rayes,
Filling the Earth with many a sad Disease;
Which then inflam'd with their intemp'rate Fires,
Her selfe in light Habilliments attyres.

And the rathe Morning newly but awake,
Was with fresh Beautie burnishing her Browes,
Her selfe beholding in the Gen'rall Lake,
To which she payes her never-ceasing Vowes,
With the new Day me willingly to rowze;
Downe to faire Thames I gently tooke my way,
With whom the Winds continually doe play.

Striving to Fancie his chaste Brest to move,

A description of the delightfull course of the renowned Thames in two following Stanza's.

Whereas all Pleasures plentifully flow,
When him along, the wanton Tyde doth shove,
And to keepe backe, they easily doe blow,
Or else force forward, thinking him to slow;
Who with his Waves would check the Winds imbrace,
Whilst they fanne Ayre upon his crystall face.

Still forward sallying from his bountious Sourse,
Along the Shores lasciviously doth strayne,
Making such strange Meanders in his Course,
As to his Fountaine he would back agayne,

Medway, a River of Kent, comming by Rochester, and falling into the Thames.

Or turn'd about to looke upon his Trayne;
Whose sundry Soyles with coy Regards he greets,
Till with cleare Medway happily he meets.

384

Steering my Compasse by this wand'ring Streame,
Whose flight preach'd to me Times swift-posting How'rs,
Delighted thus as with some prettie Dreame,
Where Pleasure wholly had possess'd my Pow'rs,
And looking back on Londons stately Tow'rs,
So Troy, thought I, her stately Head did rere,
Whose crazed Ribs the furrowing Plow doth eyre.

Wearie, at length a Willow Tree I found,
Which on the Banke of this brave River stood,
Whose Root with rich Grasse greatly did abound,
Forc'd by the fluxure of the swelling Flood;
Ordayn'd (it seem'd) to sport his Nymphish Brood,
Whose curled Top, envy'd the Heav'ns great Eye,
Should view the Stock it was maintained by.

The Larke, that holds observance to the Sunne,
Quaver'd her cleare Notes in the quiet Ayre,
And on the Rivers murmuring Base did runne,
Whilst the pleas'd Heav'n her fayrest Liv'rie ware,

The five Senses all at once pleased.

The Place such Pleasure gently did prepare;
The Flow'rs my Smell, the Floud my taste to steepe,
And the much softnesse lulled me asleepe.

When in a Vision as it seem'd to me,
Triumphall Musike from the Floud arose,
As when the Sov'raigne we embarged see,

Simile.

And by faire London for his pleasure rowes,
Whose tender Welcome the glad Citie showes;
The People swarming on the pest'red Shoares,
And the curl'd Water over-spred with Oares.

A Troupe of Nymphs came suddenly on Land,
In the full end of this Triumphall Sound,
And me incompass'd, taking hand in hand,
Casting themselves about me in a Round,
And so downe set them on the easie Ground,
Bending their cleare Eyes with a modest Grace
Upon my Swart and Melancholy Face.

385

Next, 'twixt two Ladies came a goodly Knight,
As newly brought from some distressefull place,
To me who seemed some right worthy Wight,
Though his Attyre were miserably base,
And Time had worne deepe Furrowes in his Face;
Yet, though cold Age had frosted his fayre Hayres,
It rather seem'd with Sorrow then with Yeares.

The one, a Lady of a Princely Port,
Leading this sad Lord, scarcely that could stand;
The other fleering in disdainefull sort,
With scornefull Gestures drew him by the hand:
Who lame and blind, yet bound with many a Band,
When I perceived, neerer as they came,
This Foole was Fortune, and the braver, Fame.

Fame had the right Hand, in a Robe of Gold,

A Description of Fame, and her Habit.

(Whose Trayne old Time obsequiously did beare)
Whereon, in rich Embrod'rie, was enrol'd
The Names of all that Worthies ever were,
Which all might reade, depainted lively there,
Set downe in loftie well-composed Verse,
Fit'st the great Deeds of Heroes to rehearse.

On her faire Brest she two broad Tablets wore;
Of Crystall one, the other Ebonie:
On which, ingraven were all Names of yore,
In the cleare Tombe of living Memorie,
Or the blacke Booke of endlesse Obloquie;
The first, with Poets and with Conqu'rors pyl'd,
That with base Worldlings ev'ry where defil'd.

And in her words appeared (as a Wonder)
Her present Force, and after-during Might,
Which softly spoke, farre off were heard to thunder,
About the World that quickly tooke their flight,
And brought the most obscurest Things to light;
That still, the farther off, the greater still
Did make our Good, or manifest our Ill.

386

A Description of Fortune, and her Habit.

Fortune, as blind as he whom she did lead,
Changing her Feature, often in an howre
Fantastically carrying her Head,
Soone would she smile, and suddenly would lowre,
And with one breath her words were sweet and sowre;
Upon starke Fooles she amorously would glance,
And upon Wise-men coyly looke ascance.

About her neck, in maner of a Chaine,
Torne Diadems and broken Scepter's hung,
If any, on her stedfastly did leane,
Them to the ground despightfully She flung,
And in this Posture, as She past along,
She bags of Gold out of her bosome drew,
Which she to Sots and arrant Ideots threw.

A duskie Vaile did hide her sightlesse eyes,
Like Clouds that cover our uncertaine lives,
Whereon were portray'd direfull Tragedies,
Fooles wearing Crownes, and wisemen clog'd in Gyves,
How all things she prepostrously contrives,
Which as a Map, her Regency discovers
In Campes, in Courts, and in the way of Lovers.

An easie Banke neere to this place there was,
A seat faire Flora us'd to sit upon,
Curling her cleere locks in this liquid glasse,
Putting her rich Gems, and attyrings on,
Fitter then this about us there was none:
Where they set downe that poore distressed man,
When to the purpose Fortune thus began:

Robert, surnam'd Curthoyse, or Short-hose.

Behold this Duke of Normandy, quoth she,
The heire of William Conqueror of this Ile,
Appealing to be justifi'd by Thee,
(Whose Tragedy, this Poet must compile,)
He whom I ever have esteemed vile,
Marking his birth with an unlucky brand;
And yet for him thou com'st prepar'd to stand.

387

What art thou, but a Tumor of the mind,

Fortunes invective against Fame, in the 8. following Stanza's.

A bubble, blowne up by deceitfull breath,
Which never yet exactly wert defin'd,
In whom no wise-man e'r reposed faith,
Speaking of few well, untill after Death,
That from loose Humor hast thy time-lesse birth,
Unknowne to Heaven, nor much esteem'd on earth?

First, by opinion had'st thou thy Creation,
On whom thou still dost servilly attend,
And like whom, long thou keep'st not any fashion,
But with the world incertainely do'st wend,
Which as a Poste thee up and downe doth send:
Without prophane Tongues thou canst never rise,
Nor be up-holden, be it not with lies:

In ev'ry corner prying like a Theefe,
And through each Cranny like the Wind do'st creepe,
Apt to Report, as easie of Beleefe.
What's he, whose Counsell thou didst ever keepe?
Yet into Closets sawcily dar'st peepe,
Telling for truth, what thou canst but suppose,
Divulging that, which thou shouldst not disclose.

With extreme Toyle and Labour thou art sought,
Death is the way which leadeth to thy Cell,
Onely with Bloud thy favour must be bought,
And who will have thee, fetcheth thee from Hell,
Where thou, impal'd with Fire and Sword, do'st dwell;
And when thou art in all this Perill found,
What art thou, onely but a Tinkling Sound?

Such as the World doth hold to be but base,
Of Humane Creatures, and the most doth scorne,
That amongst Men sit in the servil'st place,
These, for the most part, thou do'st most suborne,
Those follow Fame, whose Weeds are neerely worne;
Yet those poore Wretches cannot come to Thee,
Unlesse prefer'd and dignify'd by Me.

388

Thy Trumpet such supposed to advance,
Is but, as those fantastically deeme,
Whom Folly, Youth, or Frenzie doth intrance,
Nor doth it sound, but onely so doth seeme,
(Which the wise sort a Dotage but esteeme)
Onely thereby the Humorous abusing,
Fondly their Error, and thy Fault excusing.

Except in Perill, thou do'st not appeare;
Yet scarcely then, but with Intreats and Wooing,
Flying farre off, when as thou should'st be neere,
At hand diminish'd, and augmented going,
Upon slight Toyes the greatest Cost bestowing,
Oft promising, Mens Losses to repayre,
Yet the performance, but a little Ayre.

On balefull Herses (as the fittest Grounds)
Written with Bloud, thy sad Memorials lye,
Whose Letters are immedicable Wounds,
Onely fit Objects for the weeping Eye;
Thou from the Dust Mens Worths do'st onely try,
And what before thou falsely didst deprave,
Thou do'st acknowledge onely in the Grave.

Fortune shewing her Power, and God-head, above Fame; in the six Stanza's following.

The World it selfe is witnesse of my Pow'r,
Ov'r whom I raigne with the eternall Fates,
With whom I sit in Counsell ev'ry How'r,
On th'alteration of all Times and States,
Setting them downe their Changes, and their Dates,
In fore-appointing ev'ry thing to come,
Untill the great and universall Doome.

The Starres to me an everlasting Booke,
In that eternall Register, the Skie,
Whose mightie Volumes I oft over-looke,
Still turning ov'r the Leaves of Destinie,
Which Man I too inviolate denie,
And his frayle Will thereby I see control'd,
By such strong Clauses as are there inrol'd.

389

Predestination giving me a beeing,
Whose depth Mans Wisdome never yet could sound,
Into whose Secrets onely I have seeing,
Wherein wise Reason doth her selfe confound,
Searching where Doubts doe more thereby abound;
For sacred Texts unlock the way to mee,
To lighten those that will my Glory see.

Those Names th'old Poets to their Gods did give,
Were onely Figures to expresse my Might,
To shew the Vertues that in Fortune live,
And my much Power in this all-moving Wight,
Who all their Altars to my God-head dight;
Which Alterations upon Earth doe bring,
And give them matter still whereon to sing.

What though uncertaine, varying in my Course,
I make my Changes ayme one certaine End,
Crossing Mans Fore-cast, to make knowne my Force,
Still Foe to none, to none a perfect Friend,
To him least hoping, soonest I doe send,
That all should find, I worthily bestow,
And 'tis a Reason, that I thinke it so.

Forth of my Lap I powre abundant Blisse,
All Good proceeds from my all-giving Hand,
By me, Man happy, or unhappy is,
For whom I sticke, or whom I doe withstand,
And it is I am Friendships onely Band;
And upon Me, all greedily take hold,
Which being broke, all Worldly Love growes cold.

Pawsing, she frown'd, when suddenly withall
A fearefull noyse ariseth from the Flood,
As when a Tempest furiously doth fall
Within the thick Waste of some ancient Wood;
That in amazement ev'ry Mortall stood,
As though her words such pow'rfulnesse did beare,
That each thing seem'd her Menaces to feare.

390

When Fame yet smyling, mildly thus replyes;
Alas (quoth she) what labour thou hast lost?
What wond'rous Mysts thou cast'st before our Eyes?
Yet will the Gayne not counter-vaile the Cost.
What would'st thou say, if thou hadst cause to boast?
Which set'st thy state out in such wond'rous sort,
Which, but thy selfe, none ever could report.

The Invective of Fame against Fortune, in 7. following Stanza's.

For what is Fortune onely, but Event,
Breeding in some a transitorie Terror?
A what Men will, that falls by Accident,
And onely named to excuse their Error?
What else is Fortune, or who doth preferre her?
Or who to her so foolish is to leane,
Which weake Tradition onely doth maintaine?

A Toy, whereon the doting World doth dreame,
First soothed by uncertaine Observation,
Of Mens Attempts that being the extreame,
Fast'neth thereby on weake Imagination;
Yet notwithstanding all this Usurpation,
Must to thy selfe be incidently loathing,
Most when thou would'st be, that art rightly nothing.

And with the World insinuating thus,
And under so allowable Pretence,
Closely incrochest on Mans Genius,
In good and evill taking Residence;
And having got this small Preeminence,
When to thy selfe a Being thou would'st frame,
Art in conclusion onely but a Name.

Those Ignorant, which made a God of Nature,
And Natures God divinely never knew,
Were those, to Fortune that first built a Stature,
From whom thy Worship ignorantly grew;
Which being adored foolishly by few,
Grounded thy looser and uncertaine Lawes
Upon so weake and indigent a Cause.

391

First Sloth did hatch thee in her sleepy Cell,
And Thee with ease dishonorably fed,
Delivering thee with Cowardice to dwell,
Which with base Thoughts, continually thee bred,
By Superstition id'ly being led,
It an Imposture after did thee make,
Whom for a goddesse Fooles doe onely take.

Nor never do'st Thou any thing forecast,
But as thou art Improvident, so light,
And this most wicked property Thou hast,
That against Vertue thou bend'st all thy Might,
With whom Thou wagest, a continuall fight;
The yeelding Spirit, in Fetters thou do'st bind
But art a meere slave to the Constant mind.

Such is thy Froward and Malignant kind,
That what thou do'st, Thou still do'st in despight,
And art inamor'd of the Barbarous Hind:
Whom thou do'st make thy onely Favorite:
“None but the Base, in basenesse doe delight:
For wer't thou Heavenly, thou in Love would'st bee,
With that which neerest doth resemble thee.

But I alone the Herald am of Heaven,

Fame expressing her preeminence in Divinity above Fortune, in eight Stanza's.

Whose spacious Kingdome stretcheth farre and wide,
Through ev'ry Coast upon the light'ning driven,
As on the Sunne-beames, gloriously I ride,
By them I mount, and downe by them I slide,
I register the Worlds long-during houres,
And know the hie Will of th'immortall powers.

Men to the Starres me guiding them doe clime,
That all Demensions perfectly expresse,
I am alone the vanquisher of Time:
Bearing those Sweets, which cure death's bitternesse:
I all good Labours plentifully blesse,
Yea, all abstruse profoundities impart,
Leading men through the Tedious wayes of Art.

392

A discription of the Palace of Fame, in the 4. following Stanza's.

My Palace placed, betwixt Earth and Skies,
Which many a Tower, ambitiously up beares,
Whereof the Windowes are glaz'd all with Eyes,
The Wall's as neatly builded are of Eares,
Where ev'ry thing in Heaven and Earth appeares,
Nothing so softly whisper'd in the Round,
But through my Palace presently doth sound.

And under foot floor'd all about with Drummes,
The Rafters, Trumpets, admirably cleare,
Sounding alowd each Name that thither comes,
The Crannies, Tongues, and Talking ev'ry where,
And all Things past, in Memorie doe beare,
The Doores unlocke with ev'ry little breath,
Nay, open wide with each word which Man sayth.

And hung about with Armes and conqu'red Spoyles;
The Posts whereon the goodly Roofe doth stand,
Are Pillars graven with Herculian Toyles;
Th'Atchievements great, of many a Warlike Hand,
As well in Christned, as in Heathen Land,
Done by those Nobles that are most renown'd,
That there by me immortally are crown'd.

Here, in the Bodies likenesse whilst it lives,
Appeare the Thoughts, proceeding from the Mind,
To which the place a glorious Habit gives,
When once to me they freely are resign'd,
To be preserv'd here: and are so refin'd,
That when the Corps by death doth lastly perish,
Then doth this Place the Minds true Image cherish.

My Beautie never fades, but still new-borne,
As Yeeres increase, so ever waxing young,
My Strength is not diminished, nor worne,
Time weak'ning all Things, onely makes me strong,
Nor am I subject to base Worldly Wrong;
The Power of Kings I utterly defie,
Nor am I aw'd by all their Tyrannie.

393

The Brow of Heav'n my Monuments containe,
(And is the mightie Register of Fame)
Which there in fierie Characters remaine,
The gorgeous Seeling of th'immortall Frame,
The Constellations publishing my Name,
Where my Memorials evermore abide,
So by th'old Poets was I glorify'd.

Fame having ended, Fortune soone began,
Further to urge what she before had said;
When lo (quoth she) Duke Robert is the Man,
Which as my Prisoner, I in Bonds doe lead,
For whom thou com'st against me here to plead,
Whom I alone deprived of his Crowne.
“Who can rayse him, that Fortune will have downe?

A fitter instance, Fame replying, none,
Then is Duke Robert, Fortune doe thy worst,
Greater on Man thy Might was never showne,
Doing to him all that thou could'st, or durst:
And since thy Turne allotted is the first,
Proceed; see which, the Norman Duke shall have,
After so long being layd up in his Grave.

Quoth Fortune, Then I found th'unstedfast Starre,

Fortunes Relation of her power in the Life of Duke Robert.

Whose lucklesse working limited his Fate,
That mark'd his sad Nativitie with Warre,
And Brothers most unnaturall Debate,
As to be punish'd by his Parents Hate;
For that the Kingdome which the Conqu'ror wonne,
Should be the wracke of him, his first-borne Sonne.

By that which Nature did on him bestow,
In him her best, that strayned her to try,
Thereby, himselfe I made him overthrow,
In humane Birth so powerfull am I,
Marking his Brest too openly to lye,
From both his Brothers different too farre,
Too mild for Peace, too mercifull for Warre.

394

Duke Robert of high Courage, yet of a flexible nature.

And yet the Courage that he did inherite,
And from the Greatnesse of his Bloud did take,
Though shrowded in so peaceable a Spirit,
When once his Wrongs came roughly to awake,
Forth, with so strange and violent Furie brake,
As made the World apparantly to see
All humane Actions managed by mee.

Robert, in his most hopefull Attempts, most unfortunate.

That till Revenge was wholly him bereft,
(In ev'ry Thing opposed by my Pow'r)
For him to leane to, nothing being left,
And Danger him most threat'ned to devoure,
To the last Period of the utmost Houre,
Oft by vaine Hopes, that he might get my love,
There was no Perill, but I made him prove.

Duke Robert claymed Normandie, by his Fathers promise, to be delivered him, so soone as his said Father had conquered England: under which colour he invaded it, and got the better of his Father, at the Battell of Archenbray.

For whilst his Father, with the Norman Sword,
His prosp'rous entrance upon England made,
I layd the Project, that this youthfull Lord
In the meane time did Normandie invade,
Upon his Syre, and made him draw his Blade;
The meane whereby he thought he could not misse
That which he else might fayle of, to make his.

That Robert dayly in disgrace might runne,
With the Great Conqu'ror, as he still did grow
Neerer his Death; who vexed by his Sonne,

The Conqueror ever laboured to settle the Kingdome of England upon his second sonne William.

(His Pride which but too openly did show)
His State devised wisely to bestow
Upon his Second, that his Dayes to close,
Himselfe he might more quietly repose.

And then, lest Time might chance to coole his Blood,
That lucklesse Warre by ling'ring I supply'd,
That whilst Duke Robert justly censured stood,
For Disobedience and unnaturall Pride,
In heat of this, the Conqu'ror William dy'd,
Setting young Rufus upon Englands Throne,
Leaving his Eldest struggling for his Owne.

395

Which in short time so many Mischiefes bred,
(As sundry Plagues on William's Off-spring sent)
Which soone rose to so violent a Head,
That Policie them no way could prevent,
When to destruction all things headlong went;
And in the end, as consummating all,
Duke Robert's irrecoverable Fall.

Whom then I did auspiciously perswade,
Once more with Warre to fright the English Fields,
His Brother (then King William) to invade,

Duke Robert prepareth an Armie to invade England.

To make him know the diff'rence of their Shields;
Where though his Armes he ne'r so wisely wields,
And though by him the Kingdome were not taken,
His Scepter should be violently shaken.

These sundry Soyles, in both of which was sowne
(By so approv'd and Fortunate a Hand)
Seed, which to both might prosp'rously have growne,
Had they remain'd in Friend-ships sacred Band,
In opposition when they came to stand:
Farre wyder wounds to either of them lent,
Then all the power that Europe could have sent.

Thus did I winne King William in his life,

Normandy left to Robert, and England to William.

His Conquer'd Realme on Rufus to bestowe,
What he had got by strength, to leave in strife,
Those to molest that from his Stock should growe;

Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, Brother to the Conqueror, though he loved King William Rufus, yet for the hate he bare to Lanfranke, Bishop of Canterbury, whom William much affected, forsooke him, and tooke part with Duke Robert, drawing many of the Nobilitie to his side.

Which by my Cunning I contrived so,
To plague his Issue with a generall ill,
Yet the extreme to fall on Robert still.

That Prelate Odo (that with William held)
To Bishop Lanfrank for his deadly Spight,
That William lov'd, against the King rebel'd,
With all his Power abetting Roberts Right,
Ayded by Mortayn's and Montgomerie's Might,
Upon this Land to bring a second Warre,
Of her late Conquest, whilst she bare the Skarre.

396

When Duke Robert had landed at Southampton for invasion, Rufus, by his faire promises, of Homage & Tribute, wonne him to dismisse his Army, and to returne into Normandy.

And when he was in so direct a way,
Great Friends at hand his Enterprize to back,
Ready before him, when his Entrance lay;
Nor could he thinke of ought that he did lack,
Yet wonne I him his Enterprize to slack,
Stopping the Course which rightly he had runne,
All to undoe that he before had done.

Thus did I first provoke him to that Rage,
Which had so farre prevayl'd upon his Blood,
And at my pleasure did the same asswage,
When this brave Heat in stead might him have stood,
So to my Humor alt'red I his Mood,
By taking Armes, his Cost and Coyne to lose,
And leaving them, to animate his Foes.

That by concluding this untimely Peace,
I might thereby a ling'ring Warre begin,
That whilst these Tumults for a while did cease,
William on Robert might advantage winne;
Thus let I Treason secretly in,
Giving deceitfull Policie the Kay,
Into the Closet where his Counsels lay.

Thus, in the habit of a faithfull Friend,
I drew into him a most dang'rous Foe,
His Wit, that used to no other end,
But to cloath Treason in a vertuous show,
Which he for currant so contriv'd to goe,
As he in secret hurt Duke Robert more
By this soft Peace, then in the Warre before.

And to thee, Fame, I then my Pow'r addrest,
Nay, Thee mine onely Instrument I made,
That whilst these Brothers at this point did rest,
Robert to Warre, I wonne thee to perswade,

Godfrey, Duke of Bulloyne, Generall of the Christian Army.

With those that went the Soldan to invade,
With great Duke Godfrey pressing forth his Bands,
From his proud Pow'r to free the Holy Lands.

397

Thus, by thee, Fame, did I his Humor feed,
The only way to draw this Duke abroad,
That whilst at home his presence most should need,
In forraine Parts to fasten his aboad:
Him in this manner wisely I bestow'd,
That William dying, Robert being gone,
Henry might seat him on the English Throne.

His Eare so seas'ning with the sound of Armes,
As in ought else no Musike it could find,
Neither had any feeling of his Harmes:
On Palestine so placed he his Mind,
(Clearely that shew'd the Greatnesse of his Kind)
And him so high and with such force did beare,
As when he had most cause, he least did feare.

Thus was he throwne into his endlesse Thrall;
Which though the meane devised was by Me,
And ev'ry thing was fitted to his Fall,
Which none could hinder, though the most fore-see,
Yet here I made an Instrument of Thee;
“For where Destruction I doe once pretend,
“All that Man doth, still sorteth to that end.

He gone, and Rufus being rob'd of Breath,

Suffring an untimely death, being slaine with an Arrow, in Hunting. Henry, called Beaucleark, for his great Learning. He gayned the goodwill of the Laitie, by perswading them, that his Brother was to be elected King of Jerusalem; and of the Clergy, by his promises, to restore the Church Livings which his Father and Brother had taken from them.

And Henry Beaucleark coveting to raigne,
Offred so fairely by King Williams Death,
Whilst Robert doth in Palestine remaine,
Whereby a Kingdome he might eas'ly gaine;
What by his Pow'r, and Science to perswade,
Himselfe a Monarch absolutely made.

Whilst this great Duke imbraced was by Thee,
Which Thou as Thine do'st absolutely clayme,
But finds meere Shadowes, only missing Me,
And idle Castles in the Ayre doth frame;
Lo, such a mightie Monarchesse is Fame,
That what she gives, so easie is to beare,
As none therefore needs Violence to feare.

398

Till Robert safely from the Holy Warres
Returning, honour'd by the Pagans flight,
From forraine Battels, into civill Jarres,
From getting others, for his owne to fight,
Inforc'd to use the utmost of his Might,
With that brave Sword, in Pagan Bloud imbru'd,
To save himselfe, by his owne Friends pursu'd.

When wanting Summes, the Sinewes of a Force,
(Which his high Spirit too quickly came to find,
Ere he could put himselfe into his Course)
Most strangely seem'd to mollifie his Mind;

Thus had his Brother William Rufus overwrought him once before.

And on the sudden Henry seeming kind,
Offred, his love at any rate to buy,
So that fast to him, he the Duke might tye.

Henry too politike or plaine-dealing Robert.

Thus, of Duke Robert wisely did he winne,
Not then so well establish'd as he would,
Till he by Craft had closely cropen in,
Setting himselfe substantially to hold,
Offring him great Summes of bewitching Gold,
As yeerely Tribute from this Realme to rise,
Quite to blot out all former Injuries.

Which to the poore Duke yeelding much Reliefe,
Henry to passe his Purposes so brought,
Whilst Robert yet suspected not that Theefe,
Which under-hand so cunningly him caught;
Of whom, the least when Princely Robert thought,
Ev'n in a Moment did annoy him more,
Then all those Ills, that hap'd to him before.

Which to this Lord (beleeving well) unknowne,
And he not finding, eas'ly could not flie,
For it, a Bait into his way was throwne,
Which to avoid, Duke Robert look'd too hie:
“Into good Minds, Craft can the eas'lyest prie;
For in his plyant Nature, as a Mould,
Well could I cast what forme soe'r I would.

399

For by this

Three thousand Markes by the yeere, and the Survivor to be Heire to the other: Which Henry, after he had seated himselfe strongly in the Kingdome, neglected to pay, making a scorne of his Brother.

Tribute cutting off the Clayme,
Which he, the Elder, to his England made,
His former Hopes he forcibly did mayme,
Which for a while by Henry being pay'd,
But after by him fraudulently stay'd,
As from a Fountaine, plentiously did spring
Th'efficient Cause of Robert's ruining.

When as his Friends, so well to him that meant,

Many that prepared to ayde Duke Robert, who intended to have landed at Portsmouth, with an Army out of Normandy; when they found Roberts flexabilitie, and upon a Proclamation of their Pardon by King Henry, gave him all their Power.

To take his part and did their Force prepare,
Finding him thus their Purpose to prevent,
And how thereby 'twas like with him to fare;
Upon King Henry planted all their care,
Giving their Pow'rs, their Peace with him to make,
Gath'red at first the Norman part to take.

And I that friendly evermore had beene
To the stout Normans, which by me had wonne,
To prove my selfe the Earth's Imperious Queene,
And shew the World, by me what can be done,
To spight this Robert, William Conquerors Sonne,
With England against Normandie doe stand,

Fortune variable in the state of Kingdomes.

Conqu'red but lately by the Norman Hand.

Their Issue, which were Conqu'rors of this Ile,

That part of France, now called Normandy, was anciently called Nuestria; but of a people comming thither, out of the North-part of Germany, it became so called, as Northmandy, or Normandy, that is, the Country of the men of the North, in their Language.

At Hastings which the English men did tame,
Here Natives, graced with the English Stile,
To their first Countrey carry back their Clayme,
Conquest returning, whence it lately came;
That once as England felt Nuestria's Stroke,
To make Nuestria, to beare Englands Yoke.

Those angry Brothers in the field in Armes,
Then whom there were not two more deadly Foes,
Ech seeking other in the hot'st Alarmes,
And at their meeting, changing deadly Blowes,
Quickly that meant to winne, or soone to lose,
Robert would faine release himselfe of thrall,
Henry againe doth hotly put for all.

400

This Battell, in which Robert was overcome by his yonger brother Henry, was at a place called Tenacbray, in Normandy.

On him, which late in Palestine I smil'd,
Return'd, at fatall Tenacbray I frowne,
And from his Dukedome him that day exil'd,
Which had he wonne it, might have worne a Crowne:
And to be sure him in mis-hap to drowne,
Lastly himselfe, he in the fight did lose,
Taken a Prisoner, by his Trayt'rous foes.

Which bound to England basely did him bring,
Baselyer abus'd and mock't at of his owne,
A Captive where he should have beene a King;
Such was the lot by Me upon him throwne:
There, to lament his misery alone,
Prescrib'd to one poore solitary place,
Who should have progres'd all a Kingdomes space.

Could humane knowledge comprehend my hate,
Or Reason sound the depth of things Divine,
The World amazed at Duke Roberts State,
Might thinke no power, to be compar'd to mine;
And wish the Gods would all to me resigne:
In this man's fall apparently to see,
Above the Star's, what might there rests in me.

That Blade, on him, in Battell which had power,
Was too much blunted, to abridge his Dayes,
Time, that so fast from all away doth scowre,
Deferres his End with Dilatorie stayes,
Whilst he his Brothers Tyrannie obayes,
That He in Life a thousand Deaths might dye;

Duke Robert, taken in Battell, was by Henry committed to the Castle of Cardiffe, in South-Wales: From whence attempting to make escape, his Brother caused his Eyes to be put out, as some have written, with a Burning Glasse.

Where I will plague, so tyrannous am I.

The while in Cardiffe he a Captive lyes,
Whose Windowes were but Niggards of their Light;
I wrought, this Henrie's Rage not to suffice,
But that he rob'd Duke Robert of his Sight,
To turne this little piece of Day to Night,
As though that Sense, whose want should be the last
To all Things living, he the first should taste.

401

That Robert so unfortunately blinde,
No outward Object might disperse his Care,
The better to illuminate his Mind,
To see his Sorrowes throughly what they were,
To doe so much to this great Prince, I dare,
By taking from him, that which serv'd him best,
To his Affliction to turne all the rest.

And when he was bereaved of his Ease,
With the remembrance of so haynous Wrong,
Upon his Brest so strongly that did seize,
And his sad Heart so violently stung,
Yet made I Nature in that Prince so strong,
That Griefe, which many doth of Life deprive,
Seem'd to preserve and keepe him still alive.

Him I forbad, that any Foe should kill,
Nor by his owne Hand suffred him to die,
That Life to Robert should be lothsome still,
And that Death from him evermore should flie,
Making them both to him an Enemie,
Willing to die, by Life him double killing,
Urged to live, twice dying, he unwilling.

So many yeeres as he had worne a Crowne,
So many yeeres as he had hop'd to rise,
So many yeeres upon him did I frowne,
So many yeeres he liv'd without his Eyes,
So many yeeres in dying, ere he dyes,
So many yeeres shut up in Prison strong;
“Though Sorrow make the shortest time seeme long.

Thus sway I in the course of Earthly things,
To make Time worke him everlasting spight,
To shew how I can tyrannize on Kings,
And in the fall of Great ones doe delight,
In fyned Things my working infinite:
All Worldly changes, at my will disposed,
For that in me all Wonder is inclosed.

402

At Fortunes speech amazed whilst they stand,
And Fame her selfe much wondred at his woe,
When from Duke Robert Fortune tooke her Hand,
Whose Miserie shee thus had let them know:
When now to answere her despightfull Foe,
Fame from deepe silence seeming to awake,
For her deare Clyent, modestly thus spake:

Pope Urban, a great moover to this Warre.

What time I held my Residence in Rome,
Striving my selfe o'r Europe to advance,
To winne her Princes, to regayne the Tombe,
Which had beene lost by their misgovernance,
Awaking England, Germanie, and France,
All which were woo'd, and bravely wonne by Mee,
From the proud Pagans, Palestine to free.

Peter, a poore old Hermit, returning from Jerusalem, certified the Christian Princes, in what miserie the Christians lived there under the Pagans. Godfrey of Bulloyne, Generall of the Armie.

Peter, that Holy Hermit putting on,
T'all Christian Princes to preach out the losse,
And stirring brave Duke Godfrey to be gone,
Under the Banner of the Bloudy Crosse,
And whilst in so faire forwardnesse it was,
And every Eare attentive seem'd to stand,
To heare what Power brave Bulloyne should comand.

Thither did I all happy Spirits exhort,
As to that bus'nesse luckily to bring,
Allured by the confident Report,
That from so great an Enterprize did spring,
T'adventure in so Popular a Thing,
And deemed no Man worthy to be mine,
That was found backward in this great Designe.

What time this Duke, great William Conquerors Sonne,
That in his native Normandy did rest:
For of what else, his valiant Father wonne,
His Brother William Rufus was possest,
Which, whilst he striveth from his Hands to wrest,
This brave Attempt, brake like a Deluge forth,
By my shrill Trumpet sounded through the North.

403

Which having got free entrance to his Eare,
Such entertaynment hapned there to find,
As suffered no perswasion to be there,
From that high Purpose to divert his Mind,
For being most Religiously inclind;
Woo'd with this offer; wisely did prepare,
Himselfe to furnish for this great Affaire.

That Kingdome he doth carelesly neglect,
Which William Rufus wrongfully did keepe,
And only that doth constantly respect,
Where he once in his Sepulcher did sleepe,
At whose deare Death the very Rocks did weepe,
His Crowne of Gold this Christian Prince doth scorne,
So much he lov'd Him, that was crown'd with Thorne.

And though his wants him grievously oppres'd,

Duke Robert morgaged the County of Constantine in the Duchy of Normandie, to Henrie his yongest Brother, for mony to levy an Armie against William, who had gotten the Realme of England.

Of those great Summes which lately he had spent,
In levying Power, which him should have posses'd
Of England, and much hindred his intent,
Yet his brave purpose it could not prevent;
Although awhile it seem'd delay to make
Of that, which he resolv'd to undertake.

Wherefore this Noble, and cleere-spirited Lord,
Whilst the great bus'nesse standeth at this stay,
And since his State no better could afford,
In gage to William, Normandy doth lay,

Robert, to furnish his journey to the Holy Land, pawnd Normandie to his Brother Rufus.

Providing first his Souldiers how to pay,
And of the two yet rather chose to leave
His Crowne, then he that Army would deceive.

To his victorious Ensigne came from farre,
Th'in Iled Redshanks, toucht with no remorse,

The Scottish-Irish.

The nimble Irish, that with Darts doe warre,
The Scot, that is so cunning on his Horse,

Of what people Roberts power most consisted.

The English Archer of a Lyons force,
The valiant Norman, not the least among
The Camber-Britan, hardy, big, and strong,

The Welsh.

404

No Prince before ever led the English on so brave a service.

Which long inclos'd within these colder Climes,
He to the blessed Sepulcher did bring,
And taught them how they should redeeme the Times
Whence their Eternall memorie might spring,
To see the Place whereas their Heavenly King,
Their deare Redemption happily began:
Living on Earth, that was both God and Man.

Yee Ilanders, bound in the Oceans Chayne,
Lock'd up like Pris'ners, from the cheerefull Day,
Your brave Commander brought yee to the Mayne,
Which to my Court shew'd yee the open Way,
And his victorious Hand became the Kay,
To let yee in, to my rich Treasure, where
None ever come, but those that I hold deare:

And did thereto so zealously proceed,
That those faire Locks, whose Curles did him adorne,
Till he had seene the Holy Citie freed:

A Vow made by Duke Robert.

He deepely vow'd, he never would have shorne,
Which, for they so religiously were worne,
In every Eye did beautifie him more,
Then did the Crowne of Normandie before.

The Character of an excellent Captayne, continued, welneere thorow all this speech of Fame.

No Threats, his Hand could cause him to with-hold,
As I the sequell briefly shall relate,
Yet bare himselfe right wisely as he could,
And best became his Dignitie and State;
Teaching how his, themselves should moderate,
Not following life, so with his chance content,
Nor flying Death, so truely Valient.

So did he all his Faculties bestow,
That every thing exactly might be done,
That true foresight, before the Act might goe,
Others grosse Errours happily to shunne,
Wisely to finish well what was begunne,
Justly directed in the course of things,
By the straight Rule which sound Experience brings.

405

Idle Regards of Greatnesse he did scorne,
Carelesse of Pompe, Magnificent to bee,
That Man reputing to be Noblest borne,
Where was the most magnanimous, and free,
In Honour so impartiall was hee,
Esteeming Titles meritlesse and nought,
Unlesse with danger absolutely bought:

Giving the Souldier comfortable words,
And oft Imbalm'd his well-received Wound,
And in his need him maintenance affords,
To brave Attempts incouraging the sound,
Never dismaid in any danger found:
His Tent a seate of Justice to the griev'd;
And 'twas a Court when Want should be reliev'd.

So perfectly Celestiall was that fire,
Bestow'd in the composure of his mind,
To that High pitch as raysed his desire;
Above the usuall compasse of his kinde,
And from all Drosse so cleerely him refin'd,
As did him wholly consecrate to glory,
And made him a fit subject for a Story.

Who on Ambassage to the Emperor sent,
Passing along through Macedon and Thrace,
Ne'r came in Bed, nor slept out of his Tent,
Till he review'd Duke Godfrey's Reverent face;
Nor till he came into that hallowed place,
Above three houres, by night he never slept:
Such were the Cares his troubled braine that kept.

O wherefore thou Great Singer of thy dayes,

That famous Italian Poet Torquato Tasso, in his Poem of those Holy warres.

Renowned Tasso in thy Noble Story,
Wert thou so slacke in this Great Worthy's prayse,
And yet so much should'st set forth others glory?
Me thinks for this, thou canst not but be sorry,
That thou should'st leave another to recite
That, which so much Thou did'st neglect to write.

406

No one Prince in the whole Army, did so many brave Acts in his owne Person, as Duke Robert

. There was not found in all the Christian Host,
Any, then He, more forward to the field,
Nor could the Army, of another boast,
To beare himselfe more bravely with his Shield:
So well his Armes this Noble Duke could wield,
As such a one he properly should be,
That I did meane to consecrate to me:

Of so approved and Deliver force,

Robert fortunate in those warres.

Handling his Lance or brandishing his Blade:
For oft he had the leading of their Horse,
That where he charg'd, he slaughter ever made,
At all assayes so happy to invade:
That were he absent, when they gave the chace,
It was suppos'd the day did lose the grace.

In doubtfull fights, where danger hap'd to fall,
He would be present ever by his will,
And where the Christians for supplies did call,
Thither through perill Robert pressed still,
To helpe by Courage, or relieve by skill:
To every place so providently seeing,
As power in him had absolutely beeing.

When in the Morne his Courser he bestrid,
He seem'd compos'd essentially of Fire,
But from the Field he ever drouping rid,
As he were vanquish'd, onely to retyre;
Neerest his Rest, the furth'st from his Desire:
And in the Spoyles, his Souldiers shar'd the Crownes,
They rich in Gold, he onely rich in Wounds.

And when they had the Holy Citie wonne,
And King thereof they gladly would him make,

For which refusall, as some have supposed, God never prospered him.

All Sov'raigne Titles he so much did shunne,
As he refus'd the Charge on him to take,
He the vaine World so clearely did forsake;
So farre it was from his Religious Mind,
To mixe vile Things, with those of Heav'nly Kind.

407

He would, that him no Triumph should adorne,
But His high Prayse, for sinfull Man that dy'd,
By him no Marke of Victorie was worne,
But the Red Crosse, to tell Him crucify'd;
All other Glories he himselfe deny'd;
A holy Life but willingly he leads,
In dealing Almes, and bidding of his Beads.

And as a Pilgrim, he return'd agayne,
For glitt'ring Armes, in Palmers homely Gray,
Leaving his Lords to leade his Warlike Trayne,
Whilst he alone came sadly on the way,
Dealing abroad his lately purchas'd Prey;
A Hermits Staffe his carefull Hand did hold,
That with a Lance the Heathen Foe control'd.

But now to end this long-continued Strife;
Hence-forth thy Malice takes no further place,

Fortune quite vanquished by Fame.

Thy Hate began and ended with his Life,
By Thee his Spirit can suffer no disgrace,
Now in mine Armes his Vertues I imbrace;
His Body thine, his Crosses witnesse bee,
But mine his Mind, that from thy Pow'r is free.

Thou gav'st up Rule, when he gave up his Breath,
And where thou endedst, there did I begin,
Thy strength was buried in his timelesse Death,
And as thy Conqu'ror, lastly come I in;
And all thou gott'st, from thee againe I winne:
To Me, thy Right I call thee to resigne,
And make thy Glory absolutely mine.

To the base World then Fortune get thee back,
The Earth with drerie Tragedies to fill,
Empires and Kingdomes bring thou there to wrack,
And on weake Mortals onely worke thy Will;
And since thou onely do'st delight in Ill,
Heare his Complaint, who wanting Eyes to see,
Can lend thee Sight, which art as blind as hee.

408

Duke Roberts Complaint, to the end of the Legend.

At her great Words, amazed whilst they stand,
The Prince, which look'd most fearefully and grim,
Bearing his Eyes in his distressefull Hand,
Whose places stood with Bloud up to the brim;
And as in anguish, quaking ev'ry Lim,
After deepe Sighes, and lamentable Throwes,
Thus to the World disburthened his Woes.

Deare Eyes, adiew, by Envie thus put out,
Where in your places buried is my Joy,
With endlesse Darknesse compassed about,
Which Death would scarce have dared to destroy;
To breed my more perpetuall Annoy,
That, even that Sense I onely should forgoe,
That could alone give comfort to my Woe.

Yee which beheld faire Palestine restor'd,
From the prophane hands of the Pagans freed,
The Sepulcher of that most glorious Lord,
And seene that Place where his deare Wounds did bleed,
Which with the Sight my zealous Soule did feed,
Sith from your Functions, Night doth you dissever,
Seclude me now from Worldly Joyes for ever.

Yee saw no Sunne, nor did yee view the Day,
Except a Candle, yee beheld no Light,
The thick Stone-Wals, those Blessings kept away.
What could be fear'd? yee could not hurt the Night,
For then Teares wholly hind'red yee of Sight:
O then, from whence should Henrie's Hate arise,
That I saw nothing, yet that I had Eyes!

The wretched'st Thing, the most despised Beast,
Enjoyes that Sense as gen'rally as we,
The very Gnat, or what then that is least,
Of Sight, by Nature kindly is made free.
What Thing hath Mouth to feed, but Eyes to see?
O, that a Tyrant then should me deprave,
Of that which else all living Creatures have!

409

Whilst yet the light did mitigate my mone,
Teares found a meane, to sound my sorrowes deepe,
But now (aye me) that Comfort being gone,
By wanting eyes, wherewith I erst did weepe,
My cares alone concealed I must keepe.
O God, that blindnesse, darkning all delight,
Should above all things give my sorrow sight!

Where sometime stood the Beauties of this face,
Lampes cleerly lighted, as the Vestall flame,
Is now a Dungeon, a distressefull place,
A Harbor fit for Infamie and Shame:
Which but with horrour one can scarsly name,
Out of whose darke grates, miserie and griefe,
Starved, for vengeance daily begge reliefe.

The day abhorres me, and from me doth flye,
Night still me followes, yet too long doth stay,
Th'one I o'rtake not, though it still be nye,
Th'other comming vanisheth away,
But what availeth, either night, or day?
All's one to me, still day, or ever night,
My light is darknesse, and my darknesse light.

O yee, wherewith I did my comfort view,
Th'all covering Heaven, and Glorie that it beares,
No more that sight shall e'r be seene of you!
The blessed Sunne, that every mortall cheeres,
Eclips'd to me, eternally appeares,
Robert, betake thee to the darksome Cell,
And bid the World eternally farewell.

His speech thus ending; Fortune Discontent,
Turned her selfe, as shee away would flie,
Playing with Fooles, and Babes incontinent,
As never touch'd with humane miserie,
As what she was, her selfe to verifie,
And straight forgetting what she had to tell,
To other speech, and Girlish laughter fell.

410

When gracefull Fame, convaying thence her charge,
(As first with him, she thither did resort,)
Gave me this Booke, wherein was writ at large,
His life, set out, though in this Legend short,
T'amaze the World, with this so true report:
But Fortune, angrie with her Foe, therefore
Gave me the gift that I should still be poore.

FINIS.

411

THE LEGEND OF MATILDA.

If yet a Muse there happily remayne,
That is by truth so diligently taught,
As caring not on foolish things to faine,
Will speake, but what with Modestie shee ought;
If this be such, which I so long have sought,
By her I crave, my life may be reveal'd,
Which blacke Oblivion hath too long conceal'd.

Oh, if such favour I might hap to find;
Here on this earth, but once to speake agen,
And to disburthen my oppressed mind,
By the endevour of a powerfull Pen,
In these my sorrowes, happie were I then:
Foure hundred yeeres by all men over-past,
Finding one friend to pittie me at last.

O, you, of him, so happily elect,
Whom I intreat to prosecute my Storie,
Lady, most deare, most worthy of respect,

To the Authours vertuous Mistris, whom Matilda intreateth she may bee patternd by: in the two Stanza's

The Worlds rar'st Jewell, and your Sexes Glorie,
It shall suffice, if you for me be sorrie,
Reading my Legend, builded by his Verse,
Which must hereafter serve me for a Herse.

Be you the patterne, by whose perfect view,
Like your faire selfe he wisely may me make,
For sure alyve, none fitter is then you,
Whose forme unspotted Chastitie may take:
Be you propitious, for whose only sake,
For me I know, hee'll gladly doe his best,
So you and I may equally be blest.

412

The beauteous Paramour of Henry the Second.

Bright Rosamond, exceedingly is graced,
Inrolled in the Register of Fame,
Nay, in our Sainted Kalender is placed,
By him who strives to stellifie her name,
Yet will the modest say, She was too blame;
Though full of state, and pleasing be his Rime,
Yet all his skill cannot excuse her Crime.

The faire Concubine of Edward the Fourth. Elstred the Paramour of King Locryne, supposed the eldest Sonne of Brute, which Elstred with her Daughter Sabrina, were by Guendoline, Wife to the said Locrine, drowned in that River (now by us) cald Severne.

The Wife of Shore winnes generall applause,
Finding a Pen laborious in her Prayse.
Elstred reviv'd to plead her pittied cause,
After the envie of so many dayes:
And happie's he their Glorie high'st can rayse.
Thus the loose Wanton liked is of many:
“Vice still finds Friends, but Vertue seldome any.

To vaunt of my Nobilitie were vaine,
Which were, I know, not bett'red of the best,
Nor would beseeme an Honourable Straine,
And me a Mayden fits not of the rest:
All transitorie Titles I detest,
A vertuous Life, I meane, to boast alone:
“Our Birth's, our Sires, our Vertues be our owne.

“Thou that do'st fetch thy long Descent from Kings,
“If from the Gods derived thou could'st be,
“And shew'st th'atchiev'ments of those wondrous things;
“Which thou thy selfe then livedst not to see,
“These were their owne, and not belong to thee,
“If thou do'st staine that Honour which was theirs,
“Who could not leave their Vertues to their Heires.

Heaven powr'd downe more abundance on my Birth,
Then it before had usually bestow'd,
And was in me so bountifull to Earth,
As though her very utmost she had show'd,
Her Graces so immeasurably flow'd,
That such a shape, with such a spirit inspir'd,
Even of the wisest made me most admir'd.

413

Upon my Brow sat Beautie in her Pride,
To her beholders ministring her Law,
And to them all her Bounties so divide,
As did to her their due attention draw;
And yet mine Eye did keepe her so in awe,
As that which only could true Vertues measure,
Ordain'd by Nature to preserve her Treasure.

My carriage such, as did content the wise,
My tongue did that sweet decencie retaine,
As of the yonger, was not deem'd precise,
Nor of the aged was accounted vaine,
So well instructed to observe the meane,
As if in Nature, there were scarce that good,
Which wanted in the temper of my bloud.

In me so did she her perfections varie,
As that the least, allow'd not of compare,
And yet so well did teach me them to carrie;
Then they could be, as made them seeme more rare,
Or in my portion would have none to share,
Or in her grace would none should be but I;
Which she had made the Minion of the Skie.

Whence Fame began my Beautie first to blaze,
And soone became to lavish in the same,
For she so stuft her Trumpet with my prayse,
That every place was fild up with my name,
For which Report, thou too much wert to blame,
“But to thy doome, is Beautie subject still:
“Which hath beene cause of many Ladies ill.

This tattling Gossip hath a thousand eies,
Her ayrie bodie hath as many wings,
Now about earth, now up to Heaven she flies,
And here, and there, with everie breath she flings,
Hither, and thither, Lyes and Tales she brings,
Nothing so secret, but to her appeareth,
So doth she credit every thing she heareth.

414

“And Princes eares stand open to Report,
“All strive to blaze a Beautie to a King,
“Which is the only subject of a Court,
“Whither Fame carries, and whence she doth bring;
“And which of either, she doth loudly ring:
Thither aye me, unhappily she brought,
Where I my bane infortunately caught.

There stood my Beautie boldly for the Prize,
Where the most cleere and perfect Judgements be,
And of the same, the most Judiciall Eyes
Did give the Goale impartially to me:
So did I stand unparaleld and free,
And as a Comet in the Evening Skie,
Strooke with amazement every wondring Eye.

Which soone possest me of Imperiall John,
And of my Soveraigne, him my subject made,
By this, his Freedome was quite overthrowne,
Him, and his power, this wholly did invade,
From this, no Reason could the King disswade,
This taught his eies, their due attendance still,
This held the reines which over-rul'd his will.

The Lord Robert Fitzwater, a man of great Nobilitie, descended of the Baynards, and Standard bearer of London, by Descent.

When my grave Father, great that time in Court,
And by his Bloud thought equall to the best,
Having his Eare oft strooke with this Report,
Which, as ill newes, it hardly could digest,
And on my good since all his hopes did rest,
He soone pursude it, by those secret Spies,
Which still in Court attend the Princes eyes.

And to the World although he seem'd to sleepe,
Yet sought he then the Kings intent to sound,
And to himselfe, as secrets he did keepe,
What his fore-sight had providently found:
So well this wise Lord could conceale his wound,
Yet wislyer cast, how dangerous it might prove,
To crosse the course of this Impatient Love.

415

For as he found how violent a flame,
My Youth had kindled in this lustfull King,
So found he too, if he should stop the same,
Upon us both what mischiefe it might bring:
Which knowne to him, so dangerous a thing,
He thought to prove how He could Me perswade,
Ere for my safetie further meanes he made.

Deare Girle, quoth he, thou seest who doth awaite,

The Lord Fitzwaters wise counsell to his faire Daughter: in the nine following Stanza's

T'intrap thy Beautie, bred to be thy foe,
That is so faire, and delicate a Baite,
As every eye it selfe would here bestow:
Whose power the King too sensibly doth know,
Of his Desire that what the end may bee,
Thy Youth may feare, my Knowledge doth foresee.

Thinke, how thou liv'st here publikely in Court,
Whose priviledge doth every meane protect,
Where the ensample of the greater sort,
Doth more then Oportunitie effect,
None thriving here that stand upon respect,
Being a Lotterie whereat few doe winne,
And yet those seldome neither, but by sinne.

Here everie day thou hast to tempt thy sight,
All that thy youth to pleasure may provoke,
That still at hand, wherein thou tak'st delight,
Which with thy Sex doth strike too great a stroke,
Having withall Imperious Power thy Cloke,
With such strong Reasons on his part propounded,
As may leave Vertue seemingly confounded.

Many the waies, that lead thee to thy fall,
But to thy safetie, few, or none to guide thee,
And when thy danger is the great'st of all,
Even then thy succour is the most denyde thee:
Sundry the meanes from Vertue to divide thee,
Having withall Mortalitie about thee,
Frailtie within, Temptation neere without thee.

416

“The Letchers Tongue is never void of guile,
“Nor wants he Teares, when he would winne his prey,
“The subtilst Tempter hath the smoothest stile,
“Syrens sing sweetlyest when they would betray:
“Lust of it selfe had never any stay,
“Nor to containe it, bounds could have devised,
“But most when fild, is least of all sufficed.

And to availe his pleasure is there ought,
That such a Prince hath not within his power?
And thus be sure hee'l leave no meanes unsought,
Soft golden drops did pierce the Brazen Towre,
Watching th'advantage of each fitting houre,
Where every minute serves to doe amisse,
Thy banefull Poyson spiced with thy blisse.

And when this lustfull and unbrideled rage,
Which in him now doth violently raigne,
Time shall by much sacietie asswage,
Then shall thy fault apparant be, and plaine,
To after-ages ever to remaine,
“Sinne in a Chaine leads on her Sister Shame,
“And both in Gives are fettred to Defame.

Kings use their Loves as Garments they have worne,
Or as the meate whereon they full have fed,
The Saint once gone, who doth the Shrine adorne?
Or what is Nectar, on the ground if shed?
What Princes wealth redeemes thy Mayden-head,
Which should be held as precious as thy breath,
Whose dissolution consummates thy death?

The stately Eagle from his highest stand,
Through the thin Ayre the fearefull Fowle doth smite,
Yet scornes to touch it lying on the Land,
When he hath felt the sweet of his delight,
But leaves the same a prey to every Kite.
“With much we surfet, Plentie makes us poore,
“The wretched Indian scornes the Golden Ore.

417

When every Period pointing with a Teare,
He in my Bosome made so wide a Breach,
As it each Precept firmely fixed there,
His Counsell as continually to preach,
My Father so effectually could teach,
So that his Words I ever after found,
As grav'd on an inviolable ground.

The King, whose Love deluded was the while,
Yet in his Bosome bare this quenchlesse fire,
Finding his Hopes like Flatt'rers to beguile,
And not one jot to further his Desire,
But gone thus farre he meant not to retire,
And thinkes, if fitly he could find but place,
His Words had power to purchase him my Grace.

For since all former Practices did faile,
Nor to his Mind ought kindly tooke effect,
He with himselfe resolv'd me to assaile,

Having before assayled her by Letters and Messengers.

And other meanes doth utterly neglect:
In spight what Feare could any way object,
His Courage doth all hindrances confute,
And me accosting thus commenc'd his Suite.

Know, Girle, quoth he, that Nature thee ordayned,

King Johns Courting of Matilda: in eight Stanza's following.

(As her brav'st Piece, when Shee to Light would bring,
Wherein Her former Workmanship Shee stayned)
Only a Gift to gratifie a King,
And from all other, as a seld-seene Thing,
Seal'd thee a Charter dated at thy Birth,
To be the fayr'st that e'r was made of Earth.

Hoord not thy Beautie, when thou hast such store:
Wer't not great pittie it should thus lye dead,
Which by thy lending might be made much more?
(For by the use should every thing be fed)
Yea, and to Him, so hard for thee bestead,
Yet no more lesned then the Sunne, whose sight,
Though it light all things, loseth not his light.

418

From those two Starres such Streames of Lightning glide,
As through Mens eyes doe pierce the Flintiest Heart,
Which thou by closing, striv'st in vaine to hide,
For through their Lids their subtill Rayes doe Dart,
Such Power wise Nature did to them impart,
Those two bright Planets, cleerer then the Seven,
That with their Splendor, light the World to Heaven.

Were Art so curious in her selfe to know,
Thy Rare perfections rightly in their kind,
In Beautie thy Divinitie to show,
O! it were able to transport the Mind,
Beyond the Bounds by Heaven to it assign'd:
But, O in thee, their excellence is such,
As Thought cannot ascend to, once to touch.

He is thy King, who is become thy Subject,
Sometime thy Lord, now Servant to thy Love,
Thy Angell Beauties be his onely object,
Who for thy sake a thousand deaths dares prove.
“A Princes Prayer should much compassion move:
Let Wolves and Beares be cruell in their kinds,
But Women meeke, and have relenting Minds.

Vouchsafe to looke upon these brimfull Eyes,
With Tydes of Teares continually frequented,
Where Love without food, hunger-starven lyes,
Which to betray me, trayterously consented,
And for the fact being lawfully convented,
Is in these Waters judg'd to have his beeing,
For his presumption through these Eyes Thee seeing.

Sit thou commanding under mine Estate,
Having thy Temples, honoured with my Crowne,
A Beautie destin'd for no meaner Fate,
And make the Proud'st to tremble with a Frowne,
Raise whom thou wilt, cast whom it please thee downe,
Be thou alone the Rect'resse of this Ile,
With all the Titles I can thee instile.

419

What if my Queene, repyning at our Blisse,

As great Ladies have their Argoses, so great Lords have their Mercuries. A Fable most frequent.

Thee as did Juno, Joves deare Darling keepe?
Mine Ile preserve as that Great God did his,
Wise Mercury lul'd Argus Eyes to sleepe,
“Love ever Laughes, when Jealousie doth Weepe,
When most Shee stirs, my Power shall keepe her under,
Shee may raise Stormes, but I doe rule the Thunder.

Thus having made an entrance for his Love,
Which he beleev'd assuredly in Time,
Of better newes the Messenger might prove,
By which, he after to his Joyes might Clime,
Hoping a fayre Full to ensue this Prime,
Leaves me, not knowing well which way to turne Mee,
Warm'd with the Fire, that unawares might burne Mee.

Upon my Weakenesse which so strongly wrought,

Riches and Honour are great Temptations to Youth and Beautie.

That in my Brest a Mutinie arose,
Feare, and Desire, a doubtfull Combat fought,
Like two most eager and ambitious Foes,
Th'one fayne would winne, th'other would not lose,
By this oft cleered, and by that accused,
Whilst still, I fear'd, by both to be abused.

And in my Selfe, my Selfe suspected Treason,
Knowing who watch'd to winne Me for his Prey,
And in so fit and dangerous a Season,
When Youth and Beautie bare so great a sway,
And where He batterie still to me might lay,
Who girt so strongly every way about,
Well might I feare, I could not long hold out.

But setting all these sundrie Doubts aside,
From Court resolv'd I secretly to goe,
And to what Place my happy Starres should guide,
There, I my selfe determin'd to bestow,
Untill Time might this Passion over-blow,
Or, if at least it wrought not, the extrusion
Might strengthen me, yet, in my Resolution.

420

When my brave Sire, that never me forsooke,
But many a sweet Sleepe for my safetie brake,
Much being pleased with the course I tooke,
As one that truely suffred for my sake,

So called of one Baynard, a Noble man, who was Founder thereof, in the time of the Conquerour.

Did his aboad at Baynards Castell make,
Whom since I thus had left the Court, to leave me
To his Protection, gladly did receive me.

Whence all those sorrowes seem'd to me, exil'd,
Where in my Life I long before did waste,
The present Time, and happily beguild,
To thinke what perill I had lately past,
There in my Freedome fortunately plac't,
Even as a Bird escap'd the Fowlers snare,
Which former Danger warned to beware.

When the proud King, whose purposes were crost,
Which this my flight had hapned to prevent,
And that those Meanes to which he trusted most,
Were those, which most had hindred his intent,
Finding his Suite preposterously went,
Another Course bethinks himselfe to runne,
Else farther off, then when he first begunne:

And thenceforth plotteth to disperse the Masse,
Which lay so full betwixt Him and the Light,
That in his Suite the only hindrance was,
And (least expected) wrought Him most despight,
Finding the Cause why Matters went not right,
He must forecast my Father to remove,
Or he was like to walke without his Love.

Thus scarsly cur'd of this late sickly Qualme,
And that my Heart sat happily at ease,
But as a Ship, that in a quiet Calme
Flotes up and downe on the unsurging Seas,
By some rough Gust which some ill Starre doth rayse,
Is driven backe into the troubled Mayne,
Even so was I, that safely else had layne.

421

For this great King, whom thus I did reject,
First seeks in Court my Father to disgrace,
Thereby to give the People to suspect,
To fault in some thing sitting neere his Place,
Them by all meanes it urging to imbrace,
To which, if cleerely he could find the Way,
He made no doubt, but once to have a Day.

And for his purpose to promoove his Hate,
Into the Plot, he his Court Devils drew,
Cunning in all the Stratagems of State,
Which he suborn'd my Father to pursue,
By whose devices he soone overthrew
That Noble Lord, which succour should have given
To me, that then was from all refuge driven.

And not their cleere and far-discerning sight,

The Friends of the Lord Fitz-Water, stucke so close to him against the King, about Matilda, that they raysed a Civill Warre in the Kingdom.

Into the Quarrell that did throughly looke,
Nor our Allies that to their utmost might,
'Gainst his proceedings on our part that stooke,
And at our need us never once forsooke,
Of the Kings malice could th'effect prevent,
But to Exile my Father must be sent.

Not all his service to his Soveraigne done,
In Warre couragious, and in Counsaile sound,
Which from King John compassion might have wonne,
To him, who faithfull evermore was found,
“Ingratitude, how deeply do'st thou wound!
“Sure, first devised to no other end,
“But to grieve those whom nothing could offend.

Forlorne, and hopelesse, left before my Foe,
By my ill Fortune, basely thus betrayd,
Never poore Mayden was besieged so,
And all depressed that should lend me ayd,
Such waight the Heaven upon my Birth had layd,
“But yet her selfe true Vertue never loseth,
“'Gainst her faire course, though Hell it selfe opposeth.

422

Imbarqu'd for France, his sad dejected Eyes
Swolne up with Teares in most abundant store,
His ill lucke threatned by the lowring Skyes,
Feare him behind, and sorrow him before,
He under Saile, from sight of either Shore,
Wasteth withall, his sad laments in vaine,
To the rude Waters only to complaine.

A Simile of the extreme shifts that Matilda was drawne to.

When, like a Deere, before the Hounds imbost,
When him his strength beginneth to forsake,
Leaves the smooth Launds to which he trusted most,
And to the Covert doth himselfe betake
Doubling, and creepes from Brake againe to Brake,
Thus still I shift me from the Princes Face,
Who had me then continually in Chace.

The Coast thus cleer'd, Suspicion layd to rest,
And each thing fit to further his intent,
It with much pleasure quieted his Brest,
That every thing so prosperously went,
And if the rest successefully consent:
Of former ayde I being quite forsaken,
He hopes, the Fort might in short time be taken.

“A Princes Armes are stretch'd from Shore to Shore,
“Kings sleeping, see with Eyes of other Men,
“Craft finds a Key to open any Dore,
Little it boots my selfe in Walls to pen,
The Lambe was closed in the Lyons Den,
Whose watchfull Eyes too easily descry'd me,
And found me soon'st, where sur'st I thought to hide me.

My Paths by Spyes he diligently noted,
O'r me he held so vigilant a Watch,
And on my Beautie he so fondly doted,
That at each Looke he enviously did catch,
And readie still attending at my Latch
He had those, that continually did Ward,
Treason my Hand-mayd, Falshood was my Guard.

423

And since with me it fell so crosly out,
That to my shifts so hardly he me drave,
For some new course, I thought to cast about,
Where safer Harbour happily to have:
For this was not sufficient me to save,
His Power so spacious every way did lye,
That still I stood in his ambitious Eye.

And feare which taught me every meane to prove,
And with my selfe of many to debate,
Me at the last it pleas'd the Powers to move,
To take upon me a Religious state,
The Holy Cloyster none might violate,
Where after all these Stormes I did indure,
There, I at last might hope to live secure.

Wherefore, to Dunmow I my selfe convayd

This Lady was of the Baynards Family, who were Lords of Dunmow.

Into an Abbey, happily begunne,
By Juga, of our Ancestry, a Mayd,
At whose sole charge that Monast'rie was done,
Wherein Shee after did become a Nunne,
And kept her Order strictly with the rest,
Which in that Place Virginitie profest,

Where I my selfe did secretly bestow
From the vaine World, which I too long had try'd,
Me, my affliction taught my selfe to know,
My Youth and Beautie gently that did chide,
And by Instruction, as a skilfull Guide,
Printed withall such coldnesse in my Blood,
That it might so perpetuate my good.

The King, who heard, Me safely thus to bee
Set in my Cloyster, strongly discontent,
That Me from thence he had not power to free,
Which his sad brest, seem'd strongly to torment:
But since, that I so wilfully was bent,
And He, past hope then, ever to enjoy me,
Resolv'd, by some meanes, lastly to destroy me.

424

Great Men, when they will doe mischiefe, want not their instruments.

And finding one most fit for such a Fact,
To whom he durst his secret Thoughts impart,
One, for his King, that any thing would Act,
And for the purpose wanted not his Art,
That had a strong Hand and relentlesse Hart,
On him, the King (with me poore Mayd enrag'd)
Impos'd my Death, and him thereto engag'd.

Who making haste the fatall Deed to doe,
Thither repayres, but not as from the King,
For well he knew what did belong thereto,
Nor therein needed any Tutoring,
But as one sent upon some needfull thing,
With a smooth Count'nance and a settled Brow,
Obtayn'd to get in where I payd my Vow.

Where I alone, and to his Tale expos'd,
(As one, to him a willing Eare that lent)
Himselfe to me, he but too soone disclos'd,
And who it was that thither had him sent,
From Point to Point relating his intent,
Who, whilst I stood strooke dumbe with this invasion,
He thus pursues me strongly with perswasion.

The Murtherers speech to Matilda, before he poysoned her: in sixe Stanza's following.

Heare but (saith he) how blindly thou do'st erre,
Fondly to dote upon thine owne Perfection,
When as the King thee highly will preferre,
Nay, and his Power attendeth thy Protection,
So indiscreetly sort not thy Election,
To shut that in a melancholy Cell,
Which in a Court ordayned was to dwell.

Yet further thinke, how dang'rous is his offer,
If thy neglect doe carelessly abuse it;
Art thou not mad, that thus do'st see a Coffer,
Fild up with Gold, and profferd, to refuse it?
So farre, that thou want'st Reason to excuse it,
Thy selfe condemning in thine owne good hap,
Spilling the Treasure cast into thy Lap.

425

Wrong not thy faire Youth, nor the World deprive
Of these rare Parts which Nature hath thee lent,
'Twere pitie thou by Niggardise should'st thrive,
Whose wealth by waxing craveth to be spent,
For which, thou of the wisest shalt be shent,
Like to some rich Churle hoording up his pelfe,
Both to wrong others, and to starve himselfe.

What is this vaine and idle Reputation,
Which to the shew you seemingly respect?
Only the weakenesse of Imagination,
Which, in Conclusion, worketh no effect,
And lesser can the Worshippers protect,
That only standeth upon fading Breath,
And hath at once the Being and the Death.

A feare that grew from doting Superstition,
To which your weake Credulitie is prone,
And only since maintayned by Tradition,
Into our Eares impertinently blowne,
By Folly gathered, as by Errour sowne,
Which us still threatning, hindreth our desires,
Yet all it shewes us, be but painted Fires.

Perswade thy selfe this Monast'rie to leave,
Which Youth and Beautie justly may forsake,
Doe not thy Prince of those high Joyes bereave,
Which happy Him, more happy Thee may make,
Who sends me else, thy Life away to take,
For dead to him if needsly thou wilt prove,
Dye to thy selfe, be buryed with his Love.

Rage, which resum'd the likenesse of his Face,

Matilda in miserable perplexitie.

Whose Eye seem'd as the Basiliske to kill,
The horror of the solitarie Place,
Being so fit wherein to worke his Will,
And at the instant he my Life to spill,
All seem'd at once my o'rethrow to further,
By feare disswaded, menaced by murther.

426

In this so great and peremptorie Tryall,
With strong Temptations sundrie wayes afflicted,
With many a yeelding, many a denyall,
Oft-times acquitted, often-times convicted,
Terror before me lively stood depicted,
When as it was, that but a little Breath
Gave me my Life, or sent me to my Death.

But soone my Soule had gath'red up her Powers,
Which in this need might friendlike give her ayd,
The resolution of so many howers,
Whereon her selfe shee confidently stayd
In her distresse, whose helps together layd,
Making the State which shee maintayned good,
Expell'd the feare usurping on my Blood.

The brave resolution of a chaste Ladie.

And my lock'd tongue, did liberally inlarge,
From those strict limits wherein long confin'd
Care had it kept, my Bosome to discharge,
And my lost spirits their wonted strength assign'd
Into mine eyes which comming as refin'd,
Most bravely there mine Honour to maintayne,
Checkt his Presumption with a coy Disdayne.

Who finding Me inviolably bent,
And for my Answere only did abide;
Having a Poyson murd'ring by the scent,
If to the Organ of that sense apply'd,
Which for the same, when fittest time He spy'd,
Into my nostrils forcibly did strayne,
Which in an instant wrought my deadly bane.

With his rude tuch, my Vaile disordred then,
My Face discovering, my delicious Cheeke
Tinkted with Crimson, faded soone agen,
With such a sweetnesse, as made Death seeme meeke,
And was to him beholding it most like,
A little sparke extinguish'd to the Eye,
That glowes againe e'r suddenly it dye.

427

And whilst thereat amazed he doth stand,
Wherein he then such excellencie saw,
Ruing the spoile done by his fatall hand,
What naught before, Him this at last could awe,
From his sterne Eyes, as though it Teares would draw,
Which wanting them, wax'd suddenly as dead,
Grieving for me, that they had none to shead.

When Life growne faint, hies lastly to my heart,
The only Fort to which She had to take,
Feeling cold Death, to seize on every part,
A strong Invasion instantly to make.
Yet e'r She should Me utterly forsake,
To Him who sadly stood Me to behold,
Thus in mild words, my griefe I did unfold:

Is this the Gift, the King on Me bestowes,

Matilda's last words to him that had given her the Poyson: in three Stanza's.

Which in this sort he sends thee to present Me?
I am His Friend, what gives He to His Foes,
If this in Token, of His Love be sent Me?
But 'tis his Will, and must not discontent Me:
Yet after (sure) a Proverbe this will prove,
The Gift King John bestow'd upon His Love.

When all that Race in memorie are set,
And by their Statues, their Atchievements done,
Which wonne abroad, and which at home did get,
From Sonne to Sire, from Sire againe to Sonne,
Grac'd with the spoyles, that gloriously they wonne:
O, that of Him, it only should be said,
This was King John, the Murth'rer of a Maid!

O, keepe it safely from the mouth of Fame,
That none doe heare of this unhallowed Deed,
Be secret to Him, and conceale his Shame,
Lest after-Ages hap the same to reade,
And that the Letters shewing it doe bleed!
O, let the Grave mine Innocencie hold,
Before of Him, this Tyrannie be told!

428

Thus having spoke, my sorrowes to asswage,
The heavie burthen of my pensive brest,
The Poyson then that in my braine did rage,
His deadly Vigour forcibly exprest,
Not suffring me to stand upon the rest,
Longer for Him, it was no time to stay,
And Death call'd on, to hasten Me away.

Thus in my Closet being left alone,
Upon the floore uncomfortably lying,
The Fact committed, and the Murth'rer gone,
Arrived at the utmost point of dying,
Some of the Sisters, Me by chance espying,
Call'd all the rest, that in most wofull plight,
Came to behold that miserable sight.

A Simile of Matilda, at her dying, with her Sister-hood about Her.

Thus like a Rose by some unkindly blast,
'Mongst many Buds, that round about it grow,
The with'ring Leaves improsp'rously doth cast,
Whilst all the rest, their soveraine Beauties show:
Amidst this goodly Sister-hood even so,
Nipt with cold Death, untimely did I fade,
Whilst they about me, pittious wailing made.

A good Conscience, the greatest and last Comfort in Death.

And my sad Soule upon Her sudden flight,
So soone forsaken of each severall sense,
With all the horrour Death could her affright,
Strongly disturbed at her parting hence,
All Comfort fled her; for her last defence,
Doth to Her spotlesse Innocence betake her,
Which left Her not, when all the rest forsake Her.

“To shew, our Pleasures are but Childrens Toyes,
“And as meere shaddowes, or like bubbles passe,
“As Yeeres increase, so waning are our Joyes,
“Forgotten as our Favours in a Glasse,
“A very Tale of that which never was:
“Even so, Death us, and our Delights can sever,
“Vertue alone abandoneth us never.

429

My Spirit thus from Imprisonment enlarg'd,
Glad to have got out of her earthly Roome,
My Debt to Nature faithfully discharg'd,
And at the houre appointed on my Toombe:
Such was the Heavens inevitable Doome,
Me Baynards Castle to the World did bring,

The two places made famous by Matilda.

Dunmow, againe my place of burying.

And scarsly was my breathlesse Body cold,
But ev'ry-where my Tragedie was spred,
For tattling Fame in ev'ry place had told,
My Resolution being lately dead,
Ruing my Bloud so prodigally shed,
And to my Father, flyes with this mischance,
That time remayning in the Court of France.

His losse too great to be bewaild with Teares,
It was not Words that could expresse his Woe,
Griefe had her selfe, so settled in his Eares,
No more might enter, nothing out might goe.
Scarce since Man was, was Man perplexed so,
Enough of Sorrow is alreadie showne,
And telling His, were to renew mine owne.

Let it suffice Me, that I here relate,
And beare My selfe the burthen of My ill,
If to the Life I have express'd My Fate,
It's all I aske, and I obtayne my Will.
“For that true Sorrow needs not others Skill;
“Enough's that present bitternesse we taste,
“Without remembring of that which is past.

Some say, the King repentant for this Deed,
When his Remorce to thinke thereof Him drave,
Poorly disguised in a Pilgrims Weed,
Offered His Teares on my untimely Grave,
For which, no doubt, but Heaven his Sinne forgave,
And my Bloud, calling for Revenge, appeas'd,
He from the Sinne, I from my Labours eas'd.

430

To his Mistris, as She began, so She endeth her Legend.

Thus told my Storie, I my Love devise
To you deare Madame, fitt'st with you to rest,
Which all my Vertues daily exercise
That be inprinted in your patient brest,
By whom alone I rightlyest am exprest,
For whom my Prayse, it grieves Me, is too scant,
Whose happie Name an Epethite shall want.

Then, most sweet Lady, for a Maidens sake,
To shead one teare if gently you but daigne,
For all my Wrongs it full amends shall make,
And be my passe to the Elizian Plaine,
In your chaste Eyes such power there doth remaine,
As can th'afflicted prosp'rously deliver,
Happie be they, who looke upon them ever.

FINIS.

431

THE LEGEND OF PIERCE GAVESTON.

From gloomie shaddowes of eternall Night,
Shut up in Darknesse, endlesly to dwell,
O, here behold, Me miserable Wight,
Awhile releas'd, my Tragedie to tell,
Let Me have leave my Sorrowes to impart,
Somewhat to ease my sad afflicted Heart.

Goddesse of Armes, and Arts, Pallas Divine,

The Goddesse of Wisdome and Armes.

Let thy bright Fauchion lend Me Cypresse Boughes,
Be thou assisting to this Poet of mine,
With Funerall Wreath's ingarlanding His Browes,
Pittying my Woes, when none would heare Me weepe,
That for my Sorrowes, layes His owne to sleepe.

Thou mournfulst-Mayden of the Sacred Nine,

The Muse of Tragedie.

That Balefull sounds immovably do'st breathe,
With thy swolne Visage, and thy blubb'red Eine,
Let Me to Thee, my sad Complaints bequeathe.
Ne'r to thy Selfe canst thou winne greater Glorie,
Then in exactly setting forth my Storie.

Tell how the Fates my giddie Course did guide,
Th'inconstant turnes of ev'rie changing houre,
By many a low Ebbe, many a lustie Tide,
Many a smooth Calme, many a sowsing Showre,
The height whereto, I lastly did ascend,
Bend my Beginning to my Fatall End.

When our first Edward, sat on Englands Throne,

A most excellent King. The first of that name after the Conquest.

Long-shanks, who long victoriously did raigne,
First of that Name, and Second yet to None:
In what to Knight-hood ever did pertayne;
My Life began, a Life so full of Blisse,
Then in His Dayes, those happie Dayes of His.

432

Vertue did then Mens hearts so much inflame,
That no Promotion could be got with Gold;
For in his dayes He that desired Fame,

A happie and blessed Raigne.

Bought it of Him, that it full dearely sold,
Hatefull Excesse so much did not devoure,
Law had lesse force, and honestie more Power.

And since swift Time so violently preyes,
Upon those Ages that even holiest be;
Let Me remember those so happie Dayes;
In these sad houres, which my vex'd Eyes doe see,
With greater griefe to make me to deplore
These, when I thinke of those that were of yore.

Then Muse, lo, I obsequiously appeale
To thee, (my life since I intend to show)
That thou of Me wilt faithfully reveale,
Even what the most Inquisitive would know,
Whilst here my Soule inbodyed did abide,
In this vaine World, which pampred Me with Pride.

Descended as some skilfull Heralds set downe from a Castle of that name.

By Birth a Gascoyne, of a faire Descent,
And of our House, the Heire My Father borne,
In all His Warres, that with King Edward went,
To Him His Liegeman, and a Souldier sworne,
And in our Countrey left His whole Estate,
To follow Him, who seem'd to governe Fate.

Whose trust that Great King highly did imploy,
And neere His Person had Him for the same,
Who with my Selfe, then but a little Boy,
Into the Court of Famous England came,
Whereas the King for Service by Him done,
Made Me a Page to the brave Prince his Sonne.

The excellent shape and features of Pierce Gaveston.

All Men in Shape I did so farre excell;
(The Parts in Me such Harmonie did beare)
As in my Modell, Nature seem'd to tell,
That Her perfection She had placed here,
As from each Age reserving the rar'st Feature,
To make Me up, Her excellentest Creature.

433

My Lookes so powerfull Adamants to Love,
And had such Vertue to attract the Sight,
That they could fix it, or could make it move,
As though it followed some Celestiall Light,
That where my Thoughts intended to surprize,
I at my pleasure conquer'd with mine Eyes.

As if some great Apelles in his Art,

A Simile of his perfections.

Would that the World His Master-piece should know,
Imagination doing then her part;
When he had done the utmost he could doe,
For that rare Picture to fit out a Mind,
This one was I, the Wonder of my kind.

This daintie Bait I layd for Edwards Love,
Which soone upon Him got so sure a Tye,
As no misfortune e'r could it remove,
When She the utmost of Her force did trye,
Nor death it selfe had after power to sunder,
O seld-seene Friendship, in the World a Wonder!

Love, on this Earth, the only Meane thou art,
Whereby we hold Intelligence with Heaven,
And it is thou that only do'st impart,
The good that to Mortalitie is given.

An admiration of Love.

O, Sacred Bond, by Time that art not broken!
O thing Divine, by Angels to be spoken!

Thus with young Edward, bath'd in worldly Blisse,
Whilst Tutors care His wandring Yeeres did guide,
I liv'd, enjoying whatsoe'r was His:
Who ne'r my Pleasure any thing deny'd.
Whose watchfull Eye so duly Me attended,
As on my safetie, if His life depended.

But whether it my rare Perfections were,
That wonne my youth such Favour in His Eye,
Or it pleas'd Heaven (to shew it held Me deare)
To showre on Me this Blessing from the Skye,
I know not, but it rightly could direct,
That could produce so powerfull an effect.

434

O thou dread Booke, where our Fates are enroll'd,
Who hath so cleere Eyes, as to looke into thee?
What is that Man, by whom thou art controll'd,

An admiration of the power of Fate.

Or hath the Key of Reason to undoe thee,
When none but Heaven, thy darke Decrees can know,
Whose depth we sound not, which dwell here below?

The soule Her liking easly can espye,
(By Sympathie, to Her by Heaven assign'd)
Through Her cleere Windowes, the wel-seeing Eye,
Which doth convay the Image to the Mind,
Without advisement, and can apprehend,
That whose true cause, Mans knowledge doth transcend.

Jove is fained in the shape of an Eagle, to beare away Ganimed a Phrygian boy, and to make him his Cup-bearer in Heaven.

This Edward in the Aprill of his Age,
Whilst yet the Crowne sat on his Fathers head,
Like sportfull Jove, with his rapt Phrygian Page,
Me with Ambrosiall Delicacies fed,
He might command that was the Soveraign's Sonne,
But my direction only must be done.

My Will a Law, authentically past,
My Yea, by Him was never cross'd with No,
In His affection chain'd to Me so fast,
That as my shaddow still he seem'd to goe,
To Me this Prince, so plyant was in all,
Still as an Eccho answering to My call.

My Smiles His life, so joy'd He in my sight,
That His Delight was led by my Desire,
From my cleere Eyes, so borrowing all His Light,

The Ancients so faine the Sunne and Moone, the Children of Latona.

As pale-fac'd Cynthia, from her Brothers fire.
He made my Cheeke, the Pillow for His Head,
My Brow His Booke, my Bosome was His Bed.

Venus, so called of a Hill where She was honoured.

Like faire Idalia, bent to amorous sport,
With young Adonis, in the pleasant shade,
Expressing their affections in that sort,

A Simile of the wantonnesse of Prince Edward and Gaveston.

As though her utmost passion should perswade
The one of us, the other still to move,
To all the tender Dalliances of Love.

435

The Table thus of our Delight was lay'd,
Serv'd with what Dainties Pleasure could devise,
And many a Syren sweetly to us play'd,
But Youth had not, us therewith to suffice:
For we on that insatiately did feed,
Which our Confusion afterwards did breed.

For still I spurr'd up his untam'd Desire,

The Prince another Phaeton.

Then sitting in the Chariot of the Sunne,
My blandishments were Fuell to that fire,
Wherein He fry'd: I for his flight begunne
To wax His Wings; and taught Him Art to flie,

Gaveston, another Dedalus to his Icarus, the Prince.

Who on His backe, might beare Me through the Skie.

Whilst the vaine World so cunningly could winne
Us, Her false Flatteries, who too long did trust,
Till having lost the Clue which led us in,
We wandred in the Labyrinth of Lust:
“For when the Soule is nusl'd once in Vice,
“The sweet of Sinne, makes Hell a Paradice.

Who to the full, thy vilenesse, World, e'r told,

An Exclamation against the World.

What is in Thee, that's not extremely ill?
A lothsome Shop, where poysons only sold,
Whose very entrance instantly doth kill,
Nothing in Thee but villanie doth dwell,
And all thy wayes lead head-long into Hell.

The King, whose trust I lewdly had betrayd,

As Phaeton, when he undertooke to guide his Fathers Chariot.

His Sonne, like Phaeton, vent'ring on the Skies,
Perceiv'd his course was per'lous to be stayd,
For he was Grave, and wonderfully wise,
And if with skill he curb'd not his desire,
Edward might easly set his Throne on fire.

This was a corsive to old Edwards dayes,

The King grievously perplexed for the ill courses of his Sonne.

And without ceasing fed upon his Bones,
That in the Day bereav'd him of his ease,
Breaking his Nights sleepe with continuall mones,
This more depres'd, and sadlyer way'd him downe,
Then the care else, belonging to his Crowne.

436

And though he had judicially descryde
The cause, from whence this maladie first grew,
It was no cure, unlesse he could provide
Meanes to prevent the danger to ensue,
Wherefore, he for his purpose made them way,
Against my courses, that had ought to say.

When those in Court, my Opposites that were,
This faire advantage and could finely take,
And for my Fall, what did to them appeare,
So fitly for their purposes to make,
Thereon their Forces instantly to ground,
Me to the World perpetually to wound,

What thing so false, but taken was for truth,
So that on me a scandall it might bring,
By such as stucke not to accuse my Youth,
To sinne in the unnaturall'st thing,
And all fore-passed outrages awake,
Me to Mankind contemptible to make?

Pierce Gaveston banished the Kingdome.

Wherefore, the Prince more straitly was bestow'd,
In forrayne Realmes and I adjudg'd to roame,
And sharply censur'd to be held abroad,
Who had betrayd my hopefull trust at Home,
Adjudg'd to dye, were I by any found,
After my set Day, on the English ground.

That, as astounded with a mightie blow,
I stood awhile insensible of payne,
Till somewhat wakened by my colder woe,
I felt the wound, by which my Joyes were slayne,
By which I faynted hourely, more and more,
Nor could I thinke, what cure could me restore.

A Simile of Gavestons departure from the Prince.

But as a Turtle for her loved Make,
Whose Youth her deare Virginitie injoy'd,
Sits shrowded in some solitarie Brake,
With melancholy pensivenesse annoy'd,
Thus without comfort sate I all alone,
From the Sweet Presence of Prince Edward gone.

437

My Beautie, that disdayn'd the Summers sight,
Now fouly beaten with bleake Winters stormes,
My Limbs were put to travell Day and Night,
So often hugg'd in Princely Edwards Armes,
Those Eyes oft viewing Pleasure in her pride,
Saw fearefull Objects on their either side.

Whilst in these Tempests I was strangely tost,
My selfe confining in my native France,
By many a sad calamitie still crost,
Inseparables to my sore mischance,
Others that stem'd the Current of the Time,
Whence I had falne, strove suddenly to Clime.

Like the Camelion, whilst Time turnes the hue,

A God of Sea, fayned to take sundrie shapes.

And with false Proteus puts on sundrie shapes,
This change scarce gone, a second doth ensue,
One fild, another for promotion gapes,
Thus doe they swarme like Flyes about the brim,
Some drownd, and some doe with much danger swim.

And some, on whom the Sunne shone wondrous fayre,
Yet of the Season little seem'd to vaunt,
For there were Clouds hung in the troubled Ayre,
Threatning, that they of their desires might want,
Which made them flagge, prepared else to flye,
Whilst with their Falls, they fading Honour buy.

When posting Time, that never turnes againe,
Whose winged Feet flie swiftly with the Sunne,
By the Fleet houres attending on his Traine,
His Revolution fatally begunne,
And in his course brought suddenly about,
That, which before the wiser sort did doubt.

For whilst King Edward wholly doth attend,

The death of Edward Longshanks.

A happy Voyage to the Holy Land,
For which the Laytie mightie Summes did lend,
Even whilst this businesse hotly was in hand,
See, but to me what fortune there can fall,
This Conquerors death hath quickly alterd all.

438

Never was there of the English a more excellent King then Edward the first.

Should I presume his Prayses to report,
Thinking thereby to grace his so great Name,
My meane indevours would fall farre too short,
And I too much should but impaire his Fame,
Ile leave that to some sacred Muse to tell,
Upon whose Life a Poets Pen might dwell.

Scarce was his Body lap'd up in the Lead,
Before his dolefull Obsequies were done,

The Coronation of Edward the second.

When Englands Crowne was set on Edwards head,
With whom too soone my joyfull dayes begun,
As the black Night at the approching Day,
My former sorrowes vanished away.

So called of the Towne of Carnarvon in Northwales, where he was borne.

Edward Carnarvon calls me from Exile,
Whom Edward Longshanks banish'd to his death,
I, whom the Father held most base and vile,
Was to the Sonne as precious as his Breath,
What th'old King writ, the yong King forth did blot,
“Th'alive's remembred, dead mens words forgot.

The faire Wind wafts me to that wish'd-for Place,
And sets me safely on that blessed Shore,
From whence I seem'd, but banish'd for a space,
That my returne might honor'd be the more,
There to my lov'd Lord, happily to leave me,
Whose Armes were cast wide open to receave me.

A Roman Lady that dyed with extreme joy.

Who would have seene that Noble Roman Dame,
O'rcome with joy, give up her vitall Breath,
Her Sonne returning, sounded in by fame,
When thankefull Rome had mourned for his death.
Might here behold her personated right,
At my approch, to my deare Edwards sight.

A Metaphor from the motions of the Celestiall Bodies.

My Jove, now Lord of the Ascendant is,
In an Aspect, to promise happy speed,
And such on me that influence of his,
As prays'd the Course, wherein we did proceed,
Yet most prodigious it to some appeares,
Telling the Troubles of ensuing Yeares.

439

When like to Midas all I touch'd was Gold,
Upon me showr'd, as into Dana's Lap,
For, I obtayned any thing I would,
So well had Fortune lotted out my hap,
“For Princes Treasures like to Oceans are,
“To whom all Rivers naturally repayre.

The Isle of Man, the first, to me he gave,

Pierce Gaveston his Reliefe, Offices, & Marriage: in the foure following Stanza's.

He could not stay, untill I would demand,
And to be sure to give, ere I could crave,
I next received from his bounteous Hand,
Faire Wallingford, which many yeeres had beene,
The wealthy Dower of Elianor the Queene.

Those Summes his Father had beene levying long,
By Impositions, for the Warre abroad,
Other his Princely benefits among,
At once on me he liberally bestow'd,
When some that saw, how much on me he cast,
Perceiv'd, his wealth could not maintayne his waste.

He gave me then his Secretaries place,
Thereby to trayne me in affaires of State:
Me in those Roomes, that I was in, to grace,
And Earle of Cornwall frankly did create,
Besides, in Court more freely to partake me,
Of England, he High Chamberlayne did make me.

And to the Royall Blood me to aly,

Pierce Gaveston marryed Isabel, the third Daughter of the Earle of Glocester, which the Earle had by the Kings Sister.

(Which did but backe my humour of Ambition)
In Bands of Wedlocke did to me affie,
A Lady of an excellent condition,
Which Joane of Acres his deare Sister bare,
To th'Earle of Gloster, that right Noble Clare.

O blessed Bountie, giving all content!

An admiration of Bountie.

The only Fautresse of all Noble Arts,
That lend'st successe to every good intent,
A grace that rests in the most Godlike Hearts,
By Heaven to none, but happy Soules infused,
Pitie it is, that ere thou wast abused.

440

When those here first that my Exile procur'd,
Which in my Heart still hated did abide,
As they before, by no meanes me endur'd,
So were they now impatient of my pride,
“For Emulation ever did attend
“Upon the Great, and shall so to the end.

The policy of an advanced Favourite.

To crosse whom, into favour I wrought those,
That from meane Places lifted up by me,
Being factious Spirits, were fittest to oppose
Them, that perhaps too powerfull else might be,
That against Envie raysed by my Hand,
Must uphold me, to make themselves to stand.

Having my Frame so cunningly contriv'd,
To boulster me in my ambitious Wayes,
I shew'd the King my hate to be deriv'd,
From those high Honours that he on me layes,
Drawing him on (my courses to partake)
Still to maintayne what he himselfe did make.

Thus did my Youth but exercise extreames,
My heed was Rashnesse to forerunne my Fall,
My Wit but folly, and my Hopes but dreames,
My Counsell serv'd my selfe but to inthrall,
Abusing me but with a vaine Illusion,
And all together hasting my Confusion.

King Edward espoused to Isabel the French Kings Daughter.

When as King Edward hastneth his repaire,
T'espouse the Princesse Isabel of France,
Daughter to Philip that was call'd the Faire,

Gaveston Protector of the Kingdome.

By which he thought his strength much to advance,
And here at Home to perfect my command,
He left me the protection of the Land,

Giving me Power so absolute withall,
That I dranke pleasure in a plentious Cup,
When there was none me to account to call,
All to my Hands so freely rendred up,
That Heaven on me no greater blisse could bring,
Except to make me greater then my King.

441

Thus being got as high as I could clime,
With this abundance beyond measure blest,
I thought t'imbrace the benefit of Time,
Fully to take what freely I possest,
“Holding for truth, that he is worse then mad,
“Fondly to spare a Princes wealth that had.

Their counsell then continually I crost,
As scorning their Authoritie and Blood,
And those things that concern'd their Honours most,
In those against them evermore I stood,
And things for publique privately did spend:
To feed my Ryot that could find no end:

Untill false Fortune, like a treacherous Foe,
Which had so long attended on my Fall,
In the playne Path wherein I was to goe,
Layd many a baite to trayne me on withall,
Till by her skill shee cunningly had brought me
Into the Trap, where shee at pleasure caught me.

For when the Barons hotly went in Hand,

An especiall cause of the Barons hatred to Gaveston.

With Tilts and Turney's for the Kings returne,
To shew the French the glorie of the Land,
The fixed Day I labour'd to adjourne,
Till all their charge was lastly overthrowne,
Who could abide no Glorie but mine owne.

Thus sought my Fate me forward still to set,
As though some Engine seys'd me with a slight:
One mischiefe soone a Second doth beget,
The Second brings a Third but on too right,
And every one it selfe imployeth wholly,
In their just course to prosecute my folly.

For when the Barons found me to retayne,
Th'ambitious course wherein I first began,
And deeply felt, that under my disdayne,
Into contempt continually they ran,
They tooke up Armes to remedie their wrong,
Which their cold Spirits had suffred but too long;

442

The Barons, the second time rise against Gaveston.

Me boldly charging to abuse the King,
A wastefull Spender of his Wealth and Treasure,
A secret Thiefe of many a sacred Thing,
And that I led him to unlawfull Pleasure,
Who never did in any thing delight,
But what might please my Bestiall appetite:

That like a sicknesse on the Land was sent,
Whose hatefull courses the chiefe cause had beene,
The Common-wealth thus totter'd was and rent,
And worse and worse yet every day foreseene.
Thus was I scandall'd publiquely of many,
Who pitied none, not pitied was of any.

And since I thus was match'd by Men of might,
The King, my danger that discreetly way'd,
Seeing them to pursue me with such spight,
Me into Ireland secretly convay'd,
Till with my Peeres, my peace he might procure,
Or might my safetie otherwise assure.

A Simile of the great care King Edward had of his Darling Gaveston.

Like one whose House remedilesly burning,
Seeing his Goods long heap'd together lost,
The mischiefe no whit lesned by his mourning,
Taketh some one thing that he loveth most,
And to some sure place doth with that retire,
Leaving the rest to th'mercy of the Fire.

The King findeth out shift to shaddow the exile of his Minion.

And he that nought deare for me did deeme,
So it might serve to cover my disgrace,
To make my absence otherwise to seeme,
And to the World to beare a fayrer Face,
Lest my Exile suggested by their hate,
In England here perhaps might wound my State:

By their wise Counsell that were him about,
Of Ireland he me Deputie doth make,
And caus'd it each-where to be given out,
My Journey therefore thither I did take,
To stop their mouth's that gladly would imbrace
The least thing, that might sound to my disgrace.

443

Whereas he set me in that Princely sort,
As in my place might purchase me Renowne,
With no lesse Bountie to maintayne a Court,
Then hourely crav'd th'Revenues of a Crowne,
Thither his Bountie so much did me bring,
That though he raign'd, yet there was I a King.

There were few Weeks, but some the Channell crost

The extreme dotage of the King.

With sundrie Presents of a wond'rous price,
Some Jewell that him infinitely cost,
Or some rich Robe of excellent device,
That they which saw what he upon me threw,
Well might discerne, some change must needs insue.

And since the Flow me followed in this wise,
The fulnesse I as amply entertayne,
It had beene folly to have seem'd precise,
To take that, which fell on me like the Rayne,
Such as before no Age had ever seene,
And since he was, I thinke, hath seldome beene.

So that, when the bold Barony had found

The Barons found themselves over-wrought by the King.

The cunning us'd in covering of my flight,
That shifted me but to a surer ground,
On which, they vainely had bestow'd their might,
Perceiv'd farre off, that greater perill rose,
Then they could find how fitly to dispose.

Like those that strive to stop some swelling Sourse,

A Simile of the Barons and Gaveston.

(Whose plentie none can comprehend in bounds)
Which climes above th'Opposers of his course,
And that which should incircle it, surrounds,
That so innated in it selfe is blest,
That 'tis the more, the more it is deprest.

For fearing much the Force I had abroad,

The Barons knowing Gaveston to be ambitious, thought it not fit to give him too much power in Ireland.

Who knew the way, the Irish hearts to win,
They thought me better here to be bestow'd,
And for the State more safely farre therein,
Where though my spoile they hop'd not to prevent,
Yet could they see the giddy course I went.

444

Of which they scarsly had conceiv'd the thought,
And did thereto but seemingly descend,
But that the King immediately it caught,
Nor car'd he by it, what they did intend,
Plot what they could, so he thereby might gayne me,
Once in his Court againe to intertayne me.

An admiration of the Majesty of Kings.

What is so hard, but Majestie commands,
Yea, and severely humbleth with the Eye?
Whose very Nod acts with a thousand Hands,
In it such Vertue secretly doth lye,
Having t'uphold it, the high power of Fate,
It is Emperious, both o'r Love and Hate.

This King, who no occasion could neglect,
That ought, me to my happinesse might win,
Did with such care my businesses effect,
And ever was so fortunate therein,
That he to passe in little time did bring,
What most Men thought to be a doubtfull thing.

When Posts away with their full Packets went,
Me out of Ireland instantly to call,
Allow'd of by the generall consent,
Although not lik'd of inwardly of all,
Yet 'twas sufficient that it freedome gave me,
But to be here, where he desired to have me.

My proud Sayles swelling with a prosp'rous Wind,
The boyst'rous Seas did homage to mine Eyes,
And much above their usuall course were kind,
All lowring Clouds abandoning the Skyes,
Nothing discern'd in any Starre to feare me,
Fortune her selfe sate at the Helme to stere me.

What time the King a Progresse needs would make

Canarvon the chiefe Towne of one of the Shires of North Wales where the King was borne.

Into North-Wales, His Native Place to see,
Which was indeed, but only for my sake,
Who at West-Chester, knew to meet with Mee,
And there, with all the State He could devise,
To doe Me honour, in the Peoples eyes.

445

Where, for my Landing, long He did provide,
That nought might want to nourish my Delight,
And at each Lodging as along We ride,
He entertaind Me, with some pleasing sight,
And that the Realme our Friendship might report,
We entred London in this Royall sort.

Which prov'd sharpe Spurres to my untam'd Desire,
Lending the Reines to my lascivious Will,
And put Me forth upon my full Careere,
On places slipperie, and my manage ill,
Small my fore-sight, and over-much my haste,
Which Me, alas, infortunately cast.

King Edwards Eare when having at command,

Pierce Gavestons insatiable Covetousnesse and Pride, exprest in the three Stanza's following.

Who ought would have, He must Me entertaine;
And yet before it past my gripple hand,
I shar'd the great'st part to my private gaine,
Nor car'd I what from any I could wring,
So I might Coine into my Coffers bring.

Then daily beg'd I great Monopolies,
Taking the Lands belonging to the Crowne,
Transporting all the best Commodities,
Usefull to England, needed of her owne,
And basely sold all Offices, till then:
The due Reward of wel-deserving Men.

And being inconsiderately proud,
Held all things vile that suted not my vaine,
Nothing might passe, but that which I allow'd,
A great opinion to my wit to gaine,
Giving vile Termes and Nick-names of Disgrace,
To Men of great Birth, and of greater Place.

Whereby brake out that execrable Rage,
Which long before had boyled in their Bloud,
Themselves by Oath against Me they engage,
Who thus had all Authoritie with-stood,
And in the Quarrell up their Armes doe take,
Or to marre all, or better it to make.

446

The Barons objections against Gaveston.

They durst affirme my Mother was a Witch,
And in the fire condemned burnt to be,
And I her Sonne, so rightly of her pitch,
She had bequeath'd her Sorceries to Me,
Urging it on, for a most certaine thing,
That I by Magicke wrought upon the King.

And into France they charg'd Me to convay
A goodly Table of pure Massie Gold,
A Relike kept in Windsor many a day,
Which to King Arthur did belong of old,
Upon whose margent, as they did surmise,
There were ingraven Merlins Prophesies.

And by appealing to the Sea of Rome,
They soone procur'd a Legate to the Land,
With Malediction, by the Churches doome,
Upon that Man which on my part should stand,
The King suspending, should He not consent,
To ratifie the Baronies intent.

Which they to purpose prosp'rously effect,
Then at full strength, to counterpoyse his force,
Having withall the Clergie to direct,
Them the best way, in their resistlesse course,

Pierce Gaveston, the third time banished.

Till at the last King Edward they procure,
By solemne Oath Me ever to abjure.

Th'uncertaine issue of each earthly thing,
Set out most lively in my star-crost State,
That doth remaine in Fortunes managing,
Appearing in my variable Fate:
On Me that frown'd and flatt'red Me so oft,
Casting Me downe, then setting Me aloft.

Pierce Gaveston goeth for Flanders.

To Flanders then my present course I cast,
Which as the fair'st, so fittest for my ease:
“That way is saf'st that soonest can be past,
All, not my Friends, that were abroad at Seas,
Such Friends in France, they daily did procure,
That there my Selfe I doubted to secure.

447

Where though I chang'd my Habit and my Name,
Hoping thereby to live unknowne to any;
Yet swift Report had so divulg'd my Shame,
My hatefull Life was publish'd to too many,
That as I past through every Street along,
I was the Tale of every common Tongue.

From whence I found a secret meanes, to have
Intelligence with my kind Lord the King,
Who fail'd no Mon'th, but He Me notice gave,
What the proud Barons had in managing,
And labour'd then, as He had done before,
Me into England safely to restore.

For which relying on my Soveraignes Love,
To whom as Life I had beene ever deare,
Which ne'r then now, I had more need to proove,
Who strove t'obtaine, if any meane there were,
A Dispensation for His former Oath,
In their despight that thereto seem'd most loth.

Which long debating, We resolv'd at length,
Since I by Marriage strongly was alli'd,
I at this pinch should stand upon my strength,
And should for England, hap what could betyde,
And in a Ship that for my Passage lay,
Thither my Selfe to secretly convay.

Where safely landed on the wished Shore,

The third time that Gaveston had bin recald from Exile.

With speed to Court I closely Me betooke,
Yet gave the King Intelligence before,
About what time, He there for Me should looke,
Who was devising when I should arrive,
The surest way, my safety to contrive.

Which the Lords finding, whilst their bloud was hot,
That to themselves then only were to trust,
For what before was done, avail'd them not,
And for my sake, they found the King unjust,
Bringing thereby, whilst trifling they doe stand,
Spoile on themselves, and perill on the Land.

448

Who was so dull, that did not then distaste,
That thus the King His Nobles should neglect?
And those in Court, We for our purpose plac'd,
Gave us just cause their dealings to suspect,
And they that view'd Us with the pleased'st Eye,
Yet at our Actions often look'd awry.

The King goeth to Yorke, to gather power against the Barons

Which made King Edward presently provide
A chosen Convoy of His chiefest Friends,
To guard Me safe to Yorke, to be supply'd
With Forraine Succours, and to Scotland sends,
To Warlike Baliol, and to Wales, from whence,
He hop'd for Power to frustrate their presence.

The two Marches of Wales and Scotland.

But they His Agents, quickly intercept,
Not then to seeke, in so well-knowne a thing,
And both the Marches they so strictly kept,
That none could enter to assist the King,
Only to chastise my abhorred sinne,
Who had the Cause of all these Troubles bin.

A Simile expressing Gavestons incertaine estate.

Thus like a Ship despoiled of her Sailes,
Shoov'd by the Wind against the streamfull tyde,
This way the one, that way the other hales,
Now tow'rds this Shore, and now tow'rds that doth ryde,
As that poore Vessell's, such my brittle stay,
The neerer Land, the neerer cast away.

An Exclamation against Civill Discention.

Thou Kingdomes Corsive, home-begotten Hate,
In any Limits never that wast bounded,
When didst thou yet seize upon any State,
By Thee that was not utterly confounded?
How many Empires be there that doe rue Thee?
Happie the World was, till too well it knew Thee.

Thus of all succour utterly bereft,
Only some small force that We had at Sea,
For us to trust to, Fortune had us left,
On which our Hopes, upon this Upcast lay,
Which We to hasten speedily doe make,
Our former Courses, forced to forsake.

449

Our present perill hapning to be so,
That did for aide importunately call,
Wherefore in Yorke, as safest from the Foe,
He left Me to the keeping of the Wall,
Till His Returne Me further aide might give,
Whom more and more, He studied to releeve.

The Barons then from Bedford setting on,

Bedford, the place where the Barons gathered their power against Gaveston.

Th'appointed Randy where they gath'red head,
When they had notice that the King was gone,
Tow'rds Yorkeshire with celeritie them sped,
To seize my Person purposed that were,
Whose presence else might make them to forbeare.

When leaving Yorke, to Scarborough I post,

A place of mighty strength, so called of the scituation: as much to say, as standing upon a Rocke, for the old Inhabitants of those Countries called Rockes, Scars.

With that small Force, the Citie had to lend Me,
The strongest Fort, that stood upon the Coast,
And of all other likest to defend Me,
Which at the worst, from whence in their Despight,
The Hils at hand might priviledge my Flight.

But they which kept the Countrey round about,
Upon each passage set so watchfull Spies,
Of well-wall'd Yorke that I was scarsly out,
But on their light-Horse after Me they rise,
And suddenly they in upon Me came,
Ere I had time to get into the same.

Thence with intent tow'rds Oxford to convay Me,
When by the way, as Birds doe at the Owle,
Some wondred at Me, some againe did bay me,
As hungrie Wolves at Passengers doe howle:
Each one rejoycing that I thus was caught,
Who on the Land these Miseries had brought.

Conducted thus to Dedington at last,

A Towne of Oxfordshire, not farre from Banbury.

Where th'Earle of

Aymer de Valence.

Pembrooke will'd Me to be stay'd,
To understand before they further past,
What by the King could on my side be sayd,
About this Businesse, and tow'rds Edward went,
T'acquaint Him with the generall intent.

450

Warwicke standeth in the Verge of the old Forrest of Arden, wherefore he called Him so.

But th'Earle of Warwicke (lying but too neere)
The Dogge of Arden that I us'd to call,
Who mortall Hatred did Me ever beare,
He whom I most suspected of them all,
Thither repayring with His powerfull Band,
Seized upon Me with a violent hand.

To Warwicke Castle carrying Me along,
(Where He had long desired Me to get)
With Friends and Tenants absolutely strong,
Whom all the puisant Baronie abet,
Which, since occasion offred them such hold,
Hasten my Death by all the meanes they could.

North from the Towne, a mile, or very neere,
A little Hill in publike view doth lye,

Guyes Cliffe, so called of Guy of Warwick's Statue there preserved, in which place Hee lived an Heremeticall life, when He grew aged.

That's called Blacklow, of the Dwellers there,
Neere to the ancient Hermitage of Guy,
To which, the Lords Me as a Traytor led,
And on a Scaffold tooke away my Head.

My Life and Fortunes lively thus exprest,
In the sad Tenor of my Tragique Tale,
Let Me returne to the faire fields of rest,
Thither transported with a prosp'rous gale,
And leave the World my Destinie to view,
Bidding it thus eternally adiew.

451

THE LEGEND OF GREAT CROMWELL.

Awak'd, and trembling betwixt Rage and Dread
With the lowd slander (by the impious Time)
That of my Actions every-where is spred,
Through which to honour falsly I should clime:
From the sad dwelling of th'untimely dead,
To quit Me of that Execrable Crime,
Cromwell appeares, his wretched plight to show,
Much that can tell, as one that much did know.

Roughly not made up in the common mould,
That with the vulgar vilely I should die,
What thing so strange of Cromwell is not told?
What man more prays'd? Who more condemn'd then I?
That with the World when I am waxed old,
Most't were unfit that Fame of Me should lie,
With Fables vaine my Historie to fill,
Forcing my good, excusing of my Ill.

You, that but hearing of my hated Name,
Your ancient Malice instantly bewray,
And for my sake your ill-deserved Blame,
Upon my Legend publikely shall lay;
Would you forbeare to blast Me with Defame,
Might I so meane a priviledge but pray,
He that three Ages had endur'd your wrong,
Heare Him a little who hath heard you long,

Since Romes sad Ruine here by Me began,
Who Her Religion pluckt up by the Root,
Of the false World such Hate for which I wan,
Which still at Me her poisned'st Darts doth shoot;
That to excuse it, doe the best I can,
Little, I feare, my labour Me will boot
Yet will I speake my troubled Heart to ease,
Much to the Minde, Her selfe it is to please.

452

O powerfull Number, from whose stricter Law,
Heart-mooving Musike did receive the Ground
Which Man to faire Civility did draw,
With the brute Beast when lawlesse He was found:
O, if according to the wiser Saw,
There be a high Divinitie in sound,
Be now abundant prosp'rously to aide
The Pen prepar'd, my doubtfull Case to plead.

Cromwell borne at Putney.

Putney the Place made blessed by my Birth,
Whose meanest Cottage simply Me did shrowd,
To Me as dearest of the English Earth;
So of my bringing that poore Village proud,
Though in a time when never lesse the Dearth
Of happie Wits, yet Mine so well allow'd,
That with the best She boldly durst prefer
Me, that my breath acknowledged from Her.

Twice flow'd proud Thames as at my comming wood,
Striking the wondring Bord'rers with Feare,
And the pale Genius of that aged floud,
To my sicke Mother labouring did appeare,
And with a Countenance much distracted stood,
Threatning the Fruit Her pained Wombe should beare:
My speedy Birth being added thereunto,
Seem'd to fore-tell, that much I came to doe.

Who was reserved for those worser daies,
As the great Ebbe unto so long a Flow,
When what those Ages formerly did raise,
This, when I liv'd, did lastly overthrow,
And that great'st Labour of the World did seize,
Only for which immedicable Blow
Due to that Time, Me dooming Heaven ordain'd,
Wherein Confusion absolutely raign'd,

Vainly yet noted this prodigious Signe,
Often Predictions of most fearefull things,
As Plagues, or Warre, or great Men to decline,
Rising of Commons, or the Death of Kings;
But some strange Newes though ever it divine,
Yet forth them not immediately it brings,
Untill th'effects Men afterward did learne,
To know that Me it chiefly did concerne.

453

Whilst yet my Father by His painfull Trade,
Whose labour'd Anvile only was His Fee,
Whom my great tow'rdnesse strongly did perswade,
In Knowledge to have educated Mee:
But Death did Him unluckily invade,
Ere He the fruits of His Desire could see,
Leaving Me young, then little that did know,
How Me the Heavens had purpos'd to bestow.

Hopelesse as helplesse most might Me suppose,
Whose meannesse seem'd their abject breath to draw:
Yet did my Brest that glorious fire inclose,
Which their dull purblind Ignorance not saw,
Which still is settled upon outward Showes,
The Vulgars judgement ever is so raw,
Which the unworthiest sottishly doe love,
In their owne Region properly that move.

Yet Me my Fortune so could not disguise,
But through this Cloud were some that did Me know,
Which then the rest, more happie or more wise,
Me did relieve when I was driven low,
Which as the stayres by which I first did rise,
When to my hieght I afterward did grow,
Them to requite, my Bounties were so hie,

Cromwell famous for thankfulnesse.

As made my Fame through every Eare to flie.

That height and Godlike puritie of Minde,

Men of the greatest Bloud, not alwayes most vertuous.

Resteth not still, where Titles most adorne
With any, nor peculiarly confinde
To Names, and to be limited doth scorne:
Man doth the most degenerate from kinde,
“Richest and poorest both alike are borne;
“And to be alwaies pertinently good,
“Followes not still the greatnesse of our Bloud.

Pitie it is, that to one vertuous Man
That Marke him lent, to Gentrie to advance,
Which first by Noble industrie he wan,
His baser Issue after should inhance,
And the rude Slave not any good that can,
Such should thrust downe by what is his by chance:
As had not He beene first that him did raise,
Ne'r had his great Heire wrought his Grandsires praise.

454

How weake art thou that makest it thy end,
To heape such worldly Dignities on thee,
When upon Fortune only they depend,
And by her changes governed must bee?
Besides the dangers still that such attend,
Livel'est of all Men pourtrayed out in mee,
When That, for which I hated was of all,
Soon'st from me fled, scarce tarrying for my fall.

You that but boast your Ancestors proud Stile,
And the large Stem whence your vaine Greatnesse grew,
When you your selves are ignorant and vile,
Nor glorious Thing dare actually pursue,
That all good Spirits would utterly exile,
Doubting their worth should else discover you,
Giving your selves unto Ignoble things;
Base I proclaime you, though deriv'd from Kings.

Vertue, but poore, God in this Earth doth place,
'Gainst the rude World to stand up in his right,
To suffer sad affliction and disgrace,
Not ceasing to pursue her with despight:
Yet when of all shee is accounted base,
And seeming in most miserable plight,
Out of her Power new Life to her doth take,
Least then dismayd, when all doe her forsake.

That is the Man of an undaunted spirit,
For her deare sake that offereth him to dye,
For whom, when him the World doth disinherit,
Looketh upon it with a pleased Eye,
What's done for Vertue thinking it doth merit,
Daring the proudest menaces defie,
More worth then Life, how ere the base World rate him,
Belov'd of Heaven, although the Earth doth hate him.

Injurious Time, unto the Good unjust,
O! how may weake Posteritie suppose
Ever to have their merit from the Dust,
'Gainst them thy partialitie that knowes!
To thy report, O who shall ever trust,
Triumphant arches building unto those,
Allow'd the longest memorie to have,
That were the most unworthy of a Grave!

455

But my cleere mettle had that powerfull heate,
As it not turn'd with all that Fortune could:
Nor when the World me terriblest did threat,
Could win that place, which my high thoughts did hold,
That waxed still more prosperously great,
The more the World me strove to have controll'd,
On mine owne Columnes constantly to stand,
Without the false helpe of anothers Hand.

My Youthfull course thus wisely did I steere,
T'avoid those Rocks my wracke that else did threat:
Yet some faire Hopes from farre did still appeare,
If that too much my wants did me not let:
Wherefore my Selfe above my Selfe to beare,
Still as I grew, I knowledge strove to get,
To perfect that which in the Embryon was,
Whose Birth, I found, Time well might bring to passe.

But when my meanes to faile me I did find,
My selfe to Travell presently I tooke,
For 'twas distastefull to my Noble mind,
That the vile World into my wants should looke,
Being besides industriously inclinde,
To measure others Actions with my Booke,
My Judgement more to rectifie thereby,
In matters that were difficult and hye.

When, loe, it hapt, that Fortune as my Guide,

Cromwell Secretarie to the Merchants.

Of me did with such providence dispose,
That th'English Merchants then, who did reside
At Antwerpe, me their Secretarie chose,
(As though in me to manifest her pride)
Whence to those Principalities I rose,
To plucke me downe, whence afterward shee fear'd,
Beyond her Power, that almost shee had rear'd.

When first the wealthy Netherlands me trayn'd,
In wise Commerce most proper to that Place,
And from my Countrie carefully me wayn'd,
As with the World it meant to winne me Grace,
Where great experience happily I gayn'd;
Yet here I seem'd but tutor'd for a space,
For high imployment otherwise ordayn'd,
Till which, the Time I idlely entertayn'd.

456

Geffrey Chambers sent to Rome by the Towne of Boston, to renew the Pardons for the said Towne, for the maintenance of their Port, wan Cromwell to goe along with him. Cromwells forwardnesse to any course that might raise him.

For Boston businesse hotly then in hand,
The charge thereof on Chambers being layd,
Comming to Flanders, hapt to understand
Of me, whom he requested him to ayd;
Of which, when I the benefit had scand,
Weighing what time at Antwerpe I had stayd,
Soone it me wonne faire Italy to trie,
Under a cheerefull and more luckie skie:

For what the meanest cleerely makes to shine,
Youth, Wit, and Courage, all in me concurre:
In every project, that so powerfull Trine,
By whose kind working bravely I did sturre,
Which to each high and glorious designe
(The Time could offer) freely did me spurre,
As, forcing Fate, some new thing to prepare,
(Shewing successe) t'attempt that could me dare:

Where now my Spirit got roomth it selfe to show,
To the fayr'st pitch to make a gallant flight,
From things that too much earthly were and low,
Strongly attracted by a Genuine light,
Where higher still it every day did grow;
And being in so excellent a plight,
Crav'd but occasion happily to prove,
How much it sate each vulgar Spirit above.

The good successe th'affaires of England found,
Much prays'd the choice of me that had beene made:
For where most Men the depth durst hardly sound,
I held it nothing boldly through to wade,
My selfe, and through the straitest wayes I woond.
So could I act, so well I could perswade,
As meerely Joviall in my selfe was I,
Compos'd of freedome and alacritie.

Cromwell sung Freemens Songs to the Pope, which were strange at Rome.

Not long it was ere Rome of me did ring,
(Hardly shall Rome so full dayes see agen)
Of Freemens Catches to the Pope I sing,
Which wan much licence to my Countrimen,
Thither, the which I was the first did bring,
That were unknowne to Italy till then:
Light humours, them when judgement doth direct,
Even of the Wise winne plausible respect.

457

And those, from home that Pensions were allow'd,
And there did for Intelligence remayne,
Under my power themselves were glad to shrowd,
Russell and Pace, yea, oftentimes were fayne,

Two Secretaries imployd in France.

When as their Names they durst not have avow'd,
Me into their Societie t'retayne,
Rising before me, Mightie as they were,
Great though at home, yet did they need me there.

In forraine parts neere Friends I yet forsake,
That had before beene deeply bound to mee,
And would againe I use of them should make,
But still my Starres command I should be free,
And all those offers lightly from me shake,
Which to requite, I fettred else might bee;
And though that oft great perils me oppung,
And meanes were weake, my mind was ever strong.

Yet those great wants, Fate to my Youth did tye,
Me from the pompe of those rich Countries drive,
Thereby inforc'd with painfull industrie,
Against affliction manfully to strive,

Cromwells noble and undaunted Spirit.

Under her burthen faintly not to lye:
But since my good I hardly must derive,
Into the same I thought to make my way,
Through all the Power against me shee could lay.

As a Comedian and my life I led,

Cromwell driven to hard shifts.

For so a while my need did me constraine,
With other my poore Countrimen (that plai'd)
Thither that came in hope of better gaine:
Whereas when Fortune seem'd me low to tread
Under her feete, shee set me up againe,
Untill her use bad me her not to feare,
Her good and ill that patiently could beare.

Till Charles the fift th'Emperiall Power did bend

The siege of Rome by the Duke of Burbon.

'Gainst Rome, which Burbon skilfully did guide,
Which fast-declining Italy did rend;
For th'Right that him her Holinesse denide,
Wholly her selfe inforced to defend
'Gainst him that justly punished her pride,
To which my selfe I lastly did betake,
To see thereof what fortune meant to make.

458

And at the siege with that great Generall serv'd,
When he first girt her stubborne waste with steele,
Within her Walls who well-neere being starv'd,
And that with faintnesse shee began to reele,
Shewing her selfe a little as shee swarv'd:
First her then noting I began to feele,
Shee, whose great power so farre abroad did roame,
What in her selfe shee truely was at home.

That the great Schoole of the false World was then,
Where her's their subtill practices did vie,
Amongst that mightie confluence of Men,
French plots propt up by English policie,
The German powers, false shuffling, and agen
All countermin'd by skilfull Italy,
Each one in possibilitie to win,
Great rests were up, and mightie hands were in.

Here first to worke my busie brayne was set,
(My inclination finding it to please
This stirring World which strongly still did whet)
To temper in so dangerous assayes,
Which did strange formes of policies beget;
Besides in times so turbulent as these,
Whereto my studies wholly I did bend
To that which then, the wisest made their end:

Cromwell maketh use of his travell.

And my experience happily me taught
Into the secrets of those Times to see,
From whence to England afterward I brought
Those slights of State deliv'red there to mee,
In t'which there then were very few that sought,
Nor did with th'humour of that age agree,
Which after did most fearefull things effect,
Whose secret working few did then suspect.

When though 'twere long, it hapned yet at last,
Some Hopes me homeward secretly allur'd,
When many perils strangely I had past,
As many sad calamities endur'd:
Beyond the Moone, when I began to cast,
By my rare parts what place might be procur'd,
If they at home were to the Mightie knowne,
How they would seeme compared with their owne.

459

Or if that there the Great should me neglect,
As I the worst that vainely did not feare,
To my experience how to gayne respect
In other Countries that doe hold it deare,
I no occasion vainely did reject,
Whil'st still before me other rising were,
And some themselves had mounted to the skie,
Little before unlike to thrive as I.

When now in England Bigamie with blood
Lately begot by Luxurie and Pride,
In their great'st fulnesse peremptorie stood;
Some that those courses diligently ey'd,
Slily were fishing in that troubled Flood,
For future changes wisely to provide,
Finding the World so rankely then to swell,
That till it brake, it never could be well.

But floting long upon my first arrive,
Whil'st many doubts me seemed to appall,
Like to a Barke that with the Tide doth drive,
Having nought left to fasten it withall,
Thus with the Time by suffring I doe strive
Into what Harbour doubtfull yet to fall;
Untill inforc'd to put it to the chance,
Casting the fair'st, my fortune to advance.

Making my selfe to mightie Woolsey knowne,

Cardinall Woolsey at that time in the height of his Glorie.

That Atlas, which the governement upstay'd,
Who from meane place in little time was growne
Up to him, which that weight upon him lay'd,
And being got the neerest to his Throne,
He the more easly this great Kingdome sway'd,
Leaning thereon his wearied selfe to breathe,
Whil'st even the Greatest sat him farre beneath.

Where learned More and Gardiner I met,
Men, in those Times, immatchable for wit,
Able that were the dullest Spirit to whet,

The excellentest Men of those times.

And did my humour excellently fit,
Into their Ranke and worthily did get
There as their proud Competitor to sit.
“One Excellence to many is the Mother,
“Wits doe, as Creatures, one beget another.

460

The Builder of White Hall and Hampton Court.

This Founder of the Palaces of Kings,
Whose Veines with more then usuall Spirit were fild,
A Man ordayned to the mighti'st Things,
In Oxford then determining to build
To Christa Colledge, and together brings
All that thereof the great Foundation wills,
There me imployes, whose industrie he found
Worthy to worke upon the noblest Ground.

Yet in the entrance wisely did he feare
Coyne might fall short, yet with this worke on fire,
Wherefore such Houses as Religious were,
Whose being no necessitie require,
But that the greater very well might beare,
From Rome the Card'nall cunningly did hire,
Winning withall his Soveraigne to consent,
It colouring with so Holy an intent.

This like a symptome to a long disease,
Was the forerunner to this mightie Fall,
And but too unadvisedly did ceaze
Upon the part that ruinated all,
Which, had the Worke beene of so many dayes,
And more againe, recover hardly shall:
But, loe, it sunke, which Time did long uphold,
Where now it lyes even levell'd with the mold.

Thus, thou great Rome, here first wast overthrowne,
Thy future harmes that blindly couldst not see,
And in this worke they only were thine owne,
Whose knowledge lent that deadly wound to thee,
Which to the World before had they not showne,
Ne'r had those secrets beene descry'd by mee,
Nor by thy wealth so many from the plow,
Worne those high Types wherein they flourish now.

For which, my Master Woolsey might and mayne,
Into such favour with the King me brought,
Tow'rds whom my selfe so well I did demeane,
As that I seem'd to exercise his thought,
And his great liking strongly did retayne,
With what before that Card'nall had me taught,
From whose example, by those Cells but small,
Sprang the subversion lastly of them all.

461

Yet many a let was cast into the way,
Wherein I ranne so steadily and right,
And many a snare my Adversaries lay,
Much wrought they with their power, much with their slight,
Wisely perceiving that my smallest stay
Fully requir'd the utmost of their might,
To my ascendant hasting then to clime,
There as the first predomining the time.

Knowing what wealth me earnestly did woo,
Which I through Woolsey hapned had to find,
And could the Path most perfectly unto,
The King thereafter earnestly inclin'd,
Seeing besides what after I might doe,
If so great Power me fully were assign'd,
By all their meanes against me strongly wrought,
Lab'ring as fast to bring their Church to nought.

Whil'st to the King continually I sue,
And in this businesse faithfully did stirre,
Strongly t'approve my judgement to be true,
'Gainst those who most supposed me to erre,
Nor the least meanes which any way I knew
Might grace me, or my purposes preferre
Did I omit, till I had wonne his Eare,
Most that me mark'd, when least he seem'd to heare.

This wound to them thus violently given,
Envy, at me her sharpest Darts did rove,
Affecting the Supremacy of Heaven,
As the first Gyants warring against Jove,
Heap'd Hills on Hills, the Gods till they had driven,
The meanest Shapes of Earthly things to prove:
So must I shift from them that 'gainst me rose,
Mortall their hate, as mightie were my Foes.

But their great force against Me wholly bent,
Prevail'd upon my purposes so farre,

Cromwell in danger to have beene thrust out of the Kings Favour.

That I my Ruine scarsly could prevent,
So momentarie worldly Favours are,
That till the utmost of their spight was spent,
Had not my spirit maintain'd a manly Warre,
Risen they had, when I had layne full low,
Upon whose Ruine after I did grow.

462

When the Great King, their strange Reports that tooke,
Who as pernicious as they potent were,
And at the faire growth of my Fortune strooke,
Whose deadly Malice blame Me not to feare,
Me at the first so violently shooke,
That they this frame were likely downe to beare,
If Resolution with a settled Brow,
Had not upheld my peremptorie Vow.

Yet these Encounters thrust Me not awry,
Nor could my Courses force Me to forsake,
After this Shipwracke I againe must try,
Some happier Voyage hopefull still to make:
The Plots that barren long we see doe lie,
Some fitting Season plentifully take.
“One fruitfull Harvest frankly doth restore
“What many Winters hindred have before.

That to account I strictly call my Wit,
How it this while had managed my State,
My Soule in counsell summoning to sit,
If possible to turne the course of Fate,
For wayes there be the greatest things to hit,
If Men could find the peremptorie gate,
And since I once was got so neere the Brinke,
More then before, 't would grieve Me now to sinke.

Secretarie Russell, after Earle of Bedford, and Hayles Master of the Rolles, labour for Cromwell.

Russell, whose Life (some said) that I had sav'd
In Italy, one that Me favoured most,
And Reverend Hayles, who but occasion crav'd
To shew his Love, no lesse that I had cost,
Who to the King perceiving Me disgrac'd,
Whose favour I unluckily had lost,
Both with Him great, a foot set in withall,
If not to stay, to quallifie my Fall.

High their regard, yet higher was their hap,
Well-neere quite sunke, recover Me that could,
And once more get me into Fortunes Lap,
Which well my selfe might teach Me there to hold,
Escap'd out of so dangerous a trap,
Whose prayse by Me to Ages shall be told,
As the two props by which I only rose,
When most supprest, most trod on by my Foes.

463

This Me to urge the Premunire wonne,

The Clergy falne into a Premunire.

Ordain'd in Matters dangerous and hie,
In t'which the heedlesse Prelacie were runne,
That backe unto the Papacie did flie,
Sworne to that Sea, and what before was done,
Due to the King, dispensed were thereby,
In t'which first entring offred Me the Meane,
That to throw downe, alreadie that did leane.

This was to Me that over-flowing Sourse,
From whence His Bounties plentifully spring,
Whose speedie current with unusuall force
Bare Me into the Bosome of the King,
By putting Him into that readie course,
Which soone to passe His Purposes might bring,
Where those which late imperiously controld Me,
Strooke pale with feare, stood trembling to behold Me.

When State to Me those Ceremonies show'd,
That to so great a Favourite were due,
And Fortune still with Honours did Me load,
As though no meane, She in my rising knew,
Or Heaven to Me, more then to Man had ow'd,
(What to the World unheard of was and new.)
And was to other sparing of her store,
Till She could give, or I could aske no more.

Those high Preferments He upon Me laid,
To make the World Me publikely to know,
Were such, in judgement rightly being wai'd,
Seemed too great for Me to undergoe,
Nor could His Hand from powring on be stai'd,
Untill I so abundantly did flow,
That looking downe whence lately I was clome,
Danger bad Feare, if further I should rome.

For first from Knighthood rising in degree,
The Office of the Jewell-house my lot,
After, the Rolles he frankly gave to Me,
From whence a Privie Counseller I got,

Cromwels greatnesse.

Then of the Garter: and then Earle to be
Of Essex: yet sufficient these were not,
But to the great Vicegerencie I grew,
Being a Title as Supreme as new.

464

Poore and mean people, to whom He had beene beholding, he would take knowledge of, as he rode, and liberally reward.

So well did Me these Dignities befit,
And Honour so Me every way became,
As more then Man, I had beene made for it,
Or as from Me it had deriv'd the Name:
Where was he found? whose love I not requit,
Beyond His owne imaginarie aime,
Which had Me succor'd neerely being driven,
As things to Me that idly were not given?

What Tongue so slow, the Tale shall not report

Francis Friscobald a Florentine.

Of Hospitable Friscobald and Mee,
And shew in how reciprocall a sort
My thankes did with his Courtesie agree,
When as my Meanes in Italy were short,
That Me reliev'd, I lesse that would not bee,
When I of England, was Vicegerent made,
His former Bounties lib'rally repaid?

The Storie of the Lord Cromwell and Friscobald, in the thirteene following Stanza's.

The manner briefly gentler Muse relate,
Since oft before it wisely hath beene told,
The sudden change of unavoided Fate,
That famous Merchant reverend Friscobald,
Grew poore, and the small remnant of His State,
Was certaine Goods to England He had sold,
Which in the hands of Creditors but bad,
Small hope to get, yet lesser Meanes He had.

Hither His Wants Him forcibly constrain'd,
Though with long travell both by Land and Seas,
Led by this Hope, that only now remaind,
Whereon His Fortune finally He layes,
And if He found that Friendship here were fain'd,
Yet at the worst it better should Him please,
Farre out of sight, to perish here unknowne,
Then unreliev'd be pittied of His Owne.

It chanc'd as I tow'rd Westminster did ride,
'Mongst the great concourse passing to and fro,
An aged Man I happily espide,
Whose outward lookes much inward griefe did show,
Which made Me note Him, and the more I ey'd
Him, Me thought more precisely I should know:
Revolving long, it came into My minde,
This was the Man to Me had beene so kind.

465

Was there withall so joyed with His sight,
(With the deare sight of His so reverend Face)
That I could scarsly keepe Me from t'alight,
And in mine armes Him kindly to embrace;
Weighing yet (well) what some imagine might,
He being a Stranger, and the publike place,
Checkt my affection, till some fitter houre,
On Him my Love effectually might showre.

Never, quoth I, was Fortune so unjust,
As to doe wrong to thy most Noble Heart,
What Man so wicked could betray the trust
Of one so upright, of so good desert?
And though obey Necessitie thou must,
As when th'wast great'st, the same to Me thou art,
Let Me alone the last be left of all,
That from the rest declin'd not with thy Fall.

And calling to a Gentleman of mine,
Wise and discreet that well I knew to bee,
Shew'd Him that Stranger, whose dejected Eyne,
Fixt on the Earth, ne'r once lookt up at Mee,
Bid yonder Man come home to Me and dine
(Quoth I) bespeake Him reverently you see,
Scorne not His Habit, little canst thou tell,
How rich a Minde in those meane Rags doth dwell.

He with my Name that kindly did him greet,
Slowly cast up His deadly-mooving Eye,
That long time had beene fixed on His feet,
To looke no higher then His Miserie,
Thinking Him more Calamitie did greete,
Or that I had supposed Him some Spie,
With a deep sigh that from His heart He drew,
Quoth He, His Will accomplisht be by you.

My Man departed, and the Message done,
He whose sad Heart a strange Impression strooke,
To thinke upon this accident begunne,
And on Himselfe suspiciously to looke,
Into all doubts He fearfully doth runne,
Oft Himselfe cheering, oft himselfe forsooke:
Strangely perplext, He to my House doth come,
Not knowing why judg'd, nor dreading yet His doome.

466

My Servants set His comming to attend,
That were therein not common for their skill,
Whose usage yet the former did amend:
He hop'd not good, nor guiltie was of ill,
But as a Man whose thoughts were at an end,
Fortune (quoth He) then worke on Me thy will:
Wiser then Man I thinke He were that knew,
Whence this may come, or what will it ensue.

His Honour'd presence so did Me inflame,
That being then in presence of my Peeres,
I sdaigned not to meete Him as He came,
(That very hardly could containe my teares)
Kindly salute Him, call Him by His name,
And oft together aske Him how He cheeres;
Which still along maintaining the extreme,
The Man thought sure, He had beene in a Dreame.

At length to wake Him, gently I began
With this demand, If once He did not know
One Thomas Cromwell, a poore Englishman,
By Him reliev'd when He was driven low?
When I perceiv'd He my remembrance wan,
Yet with His teares it silently did show:
I wept for woe, to see mine Oast distrest:
But He for joy, to see His happie Ghest.

Him to the Lords I publisht by my praise,
And at my Table carefully Him set,
Recounting them the many sundrie wayes,
I was to this good Gentleman in debt,
How great He was in Florence in those dayes,
With all that Grace or Reverence Him might get:
Which all the while yet silently He heares,
Moisting, among, His Viands with His teares.

And to lend fulnesse lastly to His Fate,
Great Summes I gave Him, and what was His due,
Made knowne, my Selfe became His Advocate,
And at my Charge His Creditors I sue,
Recovering Him unto His former State:
Thus He the World began by Me anew,
That shall to all Posteritie expresse
His honour'd Bountie, and My Thankfulnesse.

467

But Muse recount, before thou further passe,
How this great change so quickly came about,
And what the cause of this sad downfall was,
In every part the spacious Realme throughout,
Being effected in so little space,
Leave not thereof Posteritie to doubt,
That to the World obscured else may bee,
If in this place revealed not by Thee.

If the whole Land did on the Church relie,
Having full Power Kings to account to call,
That to the World red only Policie,
Besides Heavens Keyes to stop or let in all,
Let Me but know from Her Supremacie,
How She should come so suddenly to fall:
'Twas more then Chance sure put a hand thereto,
That had the power so great a thing to doe.

Or ought there were had biding under Sunne,
Who would have thought those Edifices great,
Which first Religion holily begunne,
The Church approv'd, and Wisdome richly seat,
Devotion nourish'd, Faith allowance wonne,
With what might make them any way compleat,
Should in their Ruines lastly buryed lye,
But that begunne and ended from the Skye?

And the King late obedient to Her Lawes,

King Henry the Eight writ a Booke against Martin Luther.

Against the Clerke of Germanie had writ,
As He that first stirr'd in the Churches cause,
Against Him greatliest that oppugned it,
And wanne from Her so gratefull an applause,
Then in Her Favour chiefly that did sit,
That as the prop, whereon She only stay'th,
Him She instil'd Defender Of The Faith.

But not their Power, whose Wisdomes them did place,
In the first ranke, the Oracles of State,
Who that opinion strongly did imbrace,
Which through the Land received was of late,
Then ought at all prevailed in this Case;
O powerfull Doome of unavoyded Fate,
Whose depth not weake Mortalitie can know!
“Who can uphold what Heaven will overthrow?

468

When time now universally did show
The power to it peculiarly annex'd,
With most abundance then when She did flow,
Yet every houre still prosp'rously She wex'd,
But the World poore did by loose Riots grow,
Which served as an excellent pretext,
And colour gave to plucke Her from Her Pride,
Whose only Greatnesse suffred none beside.

Likewise to that, Posteritie did doubt,
Those at the first not rightly to adore,
Their Fathers that too credulous devout,
Had to the Church contributed their store,
And to recover only went about,
What their great Zeale had lavished before,
On Her a strong hand violently laid,
Preying on that, they gave for to be pray'd.

Besides, the King set in a course so right,
Which I for Him laboriously had tract,
(Who till I learn'd Him, had not knowne His Might)
I still to prompt His Power with Me to act,
Into those Secrets got so deepe a sight,
That nothing lastly to His Furth'rance lackt,
And by Example it to Him was showne,
How Rome might here be easly overthrowne.

In taking downe yet of this goodly Frame,
He suddenly not brake off every band,
But tooke the Power first from the Papall Name,
After awhile let the Religion stand,
When limbe by limbe He daily did it lame,
First, tooke a Legge, and after tooke a Hand,
Till the poore semblance of a Bodie left,
But all should stay it, utterly bereft.

State Policie overwrought the Church Government.

For if some Abbey hapned void to fall,
By death of Him that the Superiour was,
Gaine, that did first Church-libertie enthrall,
Only Supreme, promoted to the Place,
'Mongst many bad, the worst most times of all,
Under the colour of some others Grace,
That by the Slander, which from Him should spring,
Into contempt it more and more might bring.

469

This time from Heaven when by a secret course,
Dissension universally began,
(Prevailing as a Planetarie sourse)

About this time there were great dissensions in all Religions, almost through the knowne World.

I'th'Church beleeving, as Mahumetan,
When Luther first did those Opinions nurse,
Much from great Rome in little space that wan,
It to this change so aptly did dispose,
From whose sad Ruine, ours so great arose.

When here that fabrique utterly did faile,
Which powerfull Fate had limited to Time,
By whose strong Law it naturally must quaile,
From that proud height to which it long did clime,
Letting 'gainst it the contrary prevaile,
Therein to punish some notorious Crime,
For which at length just dooming Heaven decreed,
That on Her Buildings Ruine here should feed.

Th'authoritie upon Her Shee did take,

The Church discovering her own imperfections, brought Her Authoritie into contempt.

And use thereof in every little thing,
Finding Her selfe how oft She did forsake,
In Her owne bounds Her selfe not limiting,
That awfull feare and due Obedience brake,
Which Her reputed Holinesse did bring,
From slight regard and brought Her into Hate,
With those that much dislik'd of Her Estate.

Seeing those parts She cunningly had plaid,
Beliefe to Her great Miracles to winne,
To the wise World were every day bewrai'd,
From which the doubt did of Her power begin,
Damnation yet to question what She said,
Made most suspect the Faith they had beene in,
When their Salvation easly might be bought,
Found not this yet the way that they had sought.

When those ill humours rip'ned to a head,
Bred by the ranknesse of the plentious Land,
And they not only strangely from her fled,
Bound for her ancient Libertie to stand,
But what their Fathers gave her being dead,
The Sonnes rap'd from her with a violent Hand,
And those her Buildings most of all abus'd,
That with the waight their Fathers Coffins brus'd.

470

The wisest and most provident but build,
For time againe but onely to destroy,
The costly Pyles and Monuments we gild,
Succeeding Time shall reckon but a toy,
Vicissitude impartially will'd,
The goodlyest things be subject to annoy,
And what one Age did studiously maintayne,
The next againe accounteth vile and vaine.

Abbey Lands raysed a new Gentrie upon their desolution of the Houses.

Yet Time doth tell, in some things they did erre,
That put their helpe her braverie to deface,
When as the Wealth, that taken was from her,
Others soone raysed, that did them displace,
Their Titles and their Offices confer
On such before, as were obscure and base,
Who would with her, they likewise downe should goe,
And o'rthrew them that her did overthrow.

And th'Romish Rites that with a cleerer sight
The wisest thought they justly did reject,
They after saw, that the received Light
Not altogether free was from defect,
Mysterious things being not conceived right,
Thereof bred in the ignorant neglect,
For, in opinion something short doth fall,
Wants there have beene, and shall be still in all.

Idlenesse of Religious Men, were the Churches overthrow.

But negligent Securitie and Ease
Unbridled Sensualitie begat,
That only sought his appetite to please,
As it in midst of much abundance sat,
The Church not willing others should her praise,
That shee was leane, when as her Lands were fat,
Her selfe to too much libertie did give,
Which some perceiv'd that in those times did live.

The vision of Pierce Plowman.

Pierce the wise Plowman, in his vision saw
Conscience sore hurt, yet sorer was afraid
The seven great Sinnes to Hell him like to draw,
And to wise Clergie mainly cry'd for aide;
Falne ere he wist (whom perill much did awe)
On uncleane Priests whil'st faintly he him staid,
Willing good Clergie t'ease his wretched case,
Whom these strong Gyants hotly had in chase.

471

Clergie call'd Fryers, which neere at hand did dwell,
And them requests to take in hand the cure,
But for their Leechcraft that they could not well,
He listed not their dressing to endure,
When in his eare Need softly him did tell
(And of his knowledge more did him assure)
They came for gayne, their end which they did make,
For which on them the charge of Soules they take.

And voluntarie Povertie profest,
By food of Angels seeming as to live;
But yet with them th'accounted were the best,
That most to their Fraternitie did give,
And beyond number that they were increast:
If so (quoth Conscience) thee may I beleeve,
Then 'tis in vaine more on them to bestow,
If beyond number like they be to grow.

The Frier soone feeling Conscience had him found,
And hearing how Hypocrisie did thrive,
That many Teachers every-where did wound,
For which Contrition miserably did grieve:
Now in deceit to shew himselfe profound,
His former hopes yet lastly to revive,
Gets the Popes Letters, whereof he doth shape
Him a disguise, from Conscience to escape.

And so towards goodly Unitie he goes,
A strong-built Castle standing very hie,
Where Conscience liv'd, to keepe him from his Foes,
Whom, lest some watchfull Centinell should spie,
And him should to the Garrison disclose,
His Cowle about him carefully doth tie,
Creepes to the Gate, and closely thereat beat,
As one that entrance gladly would intreat.

Peace, the good Porter, readie still at hand
It doth un-pin, and prayes him God to save,
And after salving kindly doth demand
What was his will, or who he there would have?
The Frier low lowting, crossing with his Hand,
T'speake with Contrition (quoth he) I would crave.
Father (quoth Peace) your comming is in vaine,
For, him of late, Hypocrisie hath slaine.

472

God shield (quoth he) and turning up the eyes,
To former health I hope him to restore,
For in my skill his sound recoverie lyes,
Doubt not thereof if setting God before.
Are you a Surgeon, Peace againe replyes?
Yea (quoth the Frier) and sent to heale his sore:
Come neere (quoth Peace) and God your comming speed,
Never of helpe Contrition had more need.

And for more haste he haleth in the Frier,
And his Lord Conscience quickly of him told,
Who entertayn'd him with right friendly cheere:
O Sir (quoth he) intreat you that I could
To lend your hand unto my deare Cousin here,
Contrition, whom a sore disease doth hold,
That wounded by Hypocrisie of late,
Now lyeth in most desperate estate.

Sir (quoth the Frier) I hope him soone to cure,
Which to your comfort quickly you shall see,
Will he awhile my dressing but endure;
And to Contrition therewith commeth hee,
And by faire speech himselfe of him assure,
But first of all going thorow for his Fee:
Which done (quoth he) if outwardly you show
Sound, 't not availes if inwardly or no.

But secretly assoyling of his sin,
No other med'cine will he to him lay,
Saying that Heaven his silver him should win,
And to give Friers, was better then to pray,
So he were shriev'd, what need he care a pin?
Thus with his Patient he so long did play,
Untill Contrition had forgot to weepe:
This the wise Plowman shew'd me from his sleepe.

He saw their faults that loosely lived then,
Others againe our weaknesses shall see:
For this is sure he bideth not with men,
That shall know all to be, what they should bee:
Yet let the faithfull and industrious Pen
Have the due Merit; but returne to mee,
Whose fall this while blinde Fortune did devise,
To be as strange as strangely I did rise.

473

Those secret Foes yet subt'ly to deceive,
That me maligning, lifted at my State,
The King to marry forward still I heave,
(His former Wife being repudiate)
With Anne, the Sister of the Duke of Cleave,
The German Princes to confederate,
To backe me still 'gainst those against me lay,
Which as their owne retayn'd me here in pay.

Which my destruction principally wrought,
When afterward abandoning her bed,
Which to his will to passe could not be brought,
So long as yet I bare about my head,
The only Man her safetie that had sought,
Of her againe and only favoured,
Which was the cause he hasted to my end,
Upon whose fall Hers likewise did depend.

For in his high distemp'rature of blood,

King Henrie the eight his Tyrannie.

Who was so Great, whose Life he did regard?
Or what was it that his desires withstood,
He not invested, were it ne'r so hard?
Nor held he me so absolutely good,
That though I crost him, I could not be spar'd,
But with those things I lastly was to goe,
Which he to ground did violently throw.

When Winchester, with all those Enemies,

Stephen Gardiner Bishop of Winchester.

Whom my much power from Audience had debarr'd,
The longer time their mischiefes to devise,
Feeling with me how lastly now it far'd,
When I had done the King what did suffice,
Lastly thrust in against me to be heard,
When what was ill, contrarily turn'd good,
Making amayne to th'sheading of my blood.

And that the King his action doth deny,
And on my guilt doth altogether lay,
Having his Ryot satisfied thereby,
Seemes not to know how I therein did sway,
What late was Truth, now turn'd to Heresie:
When he by me had purchased his prey,
Himselfe to cleere, and satisfie the sin,
Leaves me but late his instrument therein.

474

Cromwell overthrowne by the Lawes that he caused to be made.

Those Lawes I made my selfe alone to please,
To give me power more freely to my Will,
Even to my Equals hurtfull sundrie wayes,
(Forced to things that most doe say were ill)
Upon me now as violently seyze,
By which I lastly perisht by my Skill,
On mine owne Necke returning (as my due)
That heavie Yoke wherein by me they drew.

My Greatnesse threatned by ill-boding eyes,
My actions strangely censured of all,
Yet in my way, my giddinesse not sees
The Pit wherein I likely was to fall:
O were the sweets of mans felicities
Often amongst not temp'red with some Gall!
He would forget by his o'rweening skill,
Just Heaven above doth censure good and ill.

Things over ranke, doe never kindly beare,
As in the Corne, the Fluxure when we see
Fills but the Straw, when it should feede the Eare,
Rotting that time, in ripening it should bee,
And being once downe, it selfe can never reare:
With us well doth this Simile agree,
(By the Wise man) due to the Great in all,
By their owne weight being broken in their fall.

Selfe-loving Man what sooner doth abuse,
And more then his prosperitie doth wound?
Into the deepe but fall, how can he chuse
That over-strides whereon his foote to ground?
Who sparingly prosperitie doth use,
And to himselfe doth after-ill propound,
Unto his height who happily doth clime,
Sits above Fortune, and controlleth Time.

Not choosing what us most delight doth bring,
And most that by the generall breath is freed,
Wooing that Suffrage, but the vertuous Thing,
Which in it selfe is excellent indeed,
Of which the depth and perfect managing
Amongst the most, but few there be that heed,
Affecting that agreeing with their blood,
Seldome enduring, and as seldome good.

475

But whil'st we strive too suddenly to rise
By flatt'ring Princes with a servill tong,
And being Soothers to their tyrannies,
Worke our much woes by what doth many wrong,
And unto others tending injuries,
Unto our selves it hapning oft among.
In our owne Snares unluckily are caught,
Whil'st our attempts fall instantly to naught.

The Councell Chamber place of my Arrest,
Where chiefe I was, when greatest was the store,
And had my speeches noted of the best,
That did them as high Oracles adore:
A Parliament was lastly my Enquest,
That was my selfe a Parliament before,
The Towre-Hill Scaffold last I did ascend:
Thus the great'st Man of England made his end.

FINIS.