The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
 | I. |
OF THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE PRINCE, KYNGE EDWARDE THE FORTH, PER SKELTONIDEM LAUREATUM. |
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| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
OF THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE PRINCE, KYNGE EDWARDE THE FORTH, PER SKELTONIDEM LAUREATUM.
Miseremini mei, ye that be my frendis!
This world hath formed me downe to fall:
How may I endure, when that eueri thyng endis?
What creature is borne to be eternall?
Now there is no more but pray for me all:
Thus say I Edward, that late was youre kynge,
And twenty two yeres ruled this imperyall,
Some vnto pleasure, and some to no lykynge:
Mercy I aske of my mysdoynge;
What auayleth it, frendes, to be my foo,
Sith I can not resyst, nor amend your complaining?
Quia, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
This world hath formed me downe to fall:
How may I endure, when that eueri thyng endis?
What creature is borne to be eternall?
4
Thus say I Edward, that late was youre kynge,
And twenty two yeres ruled this imperyall,
Some vnto pleasure, and some to no lykynge:
Mercy I aske of my mysdoynge;
What auayleth it, frendes, to be my foo,
Sith I can not resyst, nor amend your complaining?
Quia, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
I slepe now in molde, as it is naturall
That erth vnto erth hath his reuerture:
What ordeyned God to be terestryall,
Without recours to the erth of nature?
Who to lyue euer may himselfe assure?
What is it to trust on mutabilyte,
Sith that in this world nothing may indure?
For now am I gone, that late was in prosperyte:
To presume thervppon, it is but a vanyte,
Not certayne, but as a cheryfayre, full of wo:
Reygned not I of late in greate felycite?
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
That erth vnto erth hath his reuerture:
What ordeyned God to be terestryall,
Without recours to the erth of nature?
Who to lyue euer may himselfe assure?
What is it to trust on mutabilyte,
Sith that in this world nothing may indure?
For now am I gone, that late was in prosperyte:
To presume thervppon, it is but a vanyte,
Not certayne, but as a cheryfayre, full of wo:
Reygned not I of late in greate felycite?
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Where was in my lyfe such one as I,
Whyle lady Fortune with me had continuaunce?
Graunted not she me to haue victory,
In England to rayne, and to contribute Fraunce?
She toke me by the hand and led me a daunce,
And with her sugred lyppes on me she smyled;
But, what for her dissembled countenaunce,
I coud not beware tyl I was begyled:
Now from this world she hath me excyled,
When I was lothyst hens for to go,
And I am in age but, as who sayth, a chylde,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Whyle lady Fortune with me had continuaunce?
Graunted not she me to haue victory,
In England to rayne, and to contribute Fraunce?
She toke me by the hand and led me a daunce,
5
But, what for her dissembled countenaunce,
I coud not beware tyl I was begyled:
Now from this world she hath me excyled,
When I was lothyst hens for to go,
And I am in age but, as who sayth, a chylde,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
I se wyll, they leve that doble my ȝeris:
This dealid this world with me as it lyst,
And hathe me made, to ȝow that be my perys,
Example to thynke on Had I wyst:
I storyd my cofers and allso my chest
With taskys takynge of the comenalte;
I toke ther tresure, but of ther prayȝeris mist;
Whom I beseche with pure humylyte
For to forgeve and have on me pety;
I was ȝour kynge, and kept ȝow from ȝowr foo:
I wold now amend, but that wull not be,
[Quia,] ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
This dealid this world with me as it lyst,
And hathe me made, to ȝow that be my perys,
Example to thynke on Had I wyst:
I storyd my cofers and allso my chest
With taskys takynge of the comenalte;
I toke ther tresure, but of ther prayȝeris mist;
Whom I beseche with pure humylyte
For to forgeve and have on me pety;
I was ȝour kynge, and kept ȝow from ȝowr foo:
I wold now amend, but that wull not be,
[Quia,] ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
I had ynough, I held me not content,
Without remembraunce that I should dye;
And more euer to incroche redy was I bent,
I knew not how longe I should it occupy:
I made the Tower stronge, I wyst not why;
I knew not to whom I purchased Tetersall;
I amendid Douer on the mountayne hye,
And London I prouoked to fortify the wall;
I made Notingam a place full royall,
Wyndsore, Eltam, and many other mo:
Yet at the last I went from them all,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Without remembraunce that I should dye;
And more euer to incroche redy was I bent,
I knew not how longe I should it occupy:
I made the Tower stronge, I wyst not why;
I knew not to whom I purchased Tetersall;
I amendid Douer on the mountayne hye,
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I made Notingam a place full royall,
Wyndsore, Eltam, and many other mo:
Yet at the last I went from them all,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Where is now my conquest and victory?
Where is my riches and my royal aray?
Wher be my coursers and my horses hye?
Where is my myrth, my solas, and my play?
As vanyte, to nought al is wandred away.
O lady Bes, longe for me may ye call!
For I am departed tyl domis day;
But loue ye that Lorde that is soueraygne of all.
Where be my castels and buyldynges royall?
But Windsore alone, now I haue no mo,
And of Eton the prayers perpetuall,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Where is my riches and my royal aray?
Wher be my coursers and my horses hye?
Where is my myrth, my solas, and my play?
As vanyte, to nought al is wandred away.
O lady Bes, longe for me may ye call!
For I am departed tyl domis day;
But loue ye that Lorde that is soueraygne of all.
Where be my castels and buyldynges royall?
But Windsore alone, now I haue no mo,
And of Eton the prayers perpetuall,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Why should a man be proude or presume hye?
Sainct Bernard therof nobly doth trete,
Seyth a man is but a sacke of stercorry,
And shall returne vnto wormis mete.
Why, what cam of Alexander the greate?
Or els of stronge Sampson, who can tell?
Were not wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to frete?
And of Salomon, that was of wyt the well?
Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell,
Yet for al his bewte wormys ete him also;
And I but late in honour dyd excel,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Sainct Bernard therof nobly doth trete,
Seyth a man is but a sacke of stercorry,
And shall returne vnto wormis mete.
Why, what cam of Alexander the greate?
Or els of stronge Sampson, who can tell?
Were not wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to frete?
And of Salomon, that was of wyt the well?
Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell,
Yet for al his bewte wormys ete him also;
And I but late in honour dyd excel,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
7
I haue played my pageyond, now am I past;
Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld:
This al thing concluded shalbe at the last,
When death approchyth, then lost is the felde:
Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,
Nor nought would conserue me here in my place,
In manus tuas, Domine, my spirite vp I yelde,
Humbly beseching thé, God, of thy grace!
O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbrace
Benyngly now to pray for me also;
For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld:
This al thing concluded shalbe at the last,
When death approchyth, then lost is the felde:
Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,
Nor nought would conserue me here in my place,
In manus tuas, Domine, my spirite vp I yelde,
Humbly beseching thé, God, of thy grace!
O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbrace
Benyngly now to pray for me also;
For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |