VIII. QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.
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“Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William duke of
Guienne, and count of Poictou, had been married sixteen years
to Louis VII. king of France, and had attended him in a
croisade, which that monarch commanded against the infidels;
but having lost the affections of her husband, and
even fallen under some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome
Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured a divorce
from her, and restored her those rich provinces, which by
her marriage she had annexed to the crown of France. The
young count of Anjou, afterwards Henry II. king of England,
tho' at that time but in his nineteenth year, neither discouraged
by the disparity of age, nor by the reports of Eleanor's
gallantry, made such successful courtship to that princess,
that he married her six weeks after her divorce, and got
possession of all her dominions as a dowery. A marriage thus
founded upon interest was not likely to be very happy: it
happened accordingly. Eleanor, who had disgusted her first
husband by her gallantries, was no less offensive to her second
by her jealousy: thus carrying to extremity, in the
different parts of her life, every circumstance of female
weakness. She had several sons by Henry, whom she spirited
up torebel against him; and endeavouring to escape to
them disguised in man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered
and thrown into a confinement, which seems to have contitinued
till the death of her husband in 1189. She however
survived him many years: dying in 1204, in the sixth year
of the reign of her youngest son, John.”
See Hume's Hist. 4to. Vol. 1. p. 260. 307. Speed, Stow, &c.
It is needless to observe, that the following ballad (given
from an old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; whatever
gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband,
none are imputed to her in that of her second.
Queene Elianor was a sicke womàn,
And afraid that she should dye:
Then she sent for two fryars of France
To speke with her speedilye.
The king calld downe his nobles all,
By one, by two, by three;
“Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee.”
A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshàll,
And fell on his bended knee;
That whatsoever queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.
Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere queen Elianor sayes
No harme thereof shall fall.
Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to queen Elianor goe
Like fryar and his brother.
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.
When that they came before the queene
They fell on their bended knee;
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.
Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,
As I suppose you bee?
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.
We are two fryars of France, they sayd,
As you suppose we bee,
We have not been at any masse
Sith we came from the sea.
The first vile thing that ever I did
I will to you unfolde;
Earl marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
With a heavye heart spake hee.
The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you Ile not denye,
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison king Henrye.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.
The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde,
All in fair Woodstocke bower.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.
Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,
And I love him the best of all.
Do you see yonders little boye,
A catching of the balle?
That is king Henryes youngest sonne,
And I love him the worst of all.
His head is fashyond like a bull;
His nose is like a boare.
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
I love him the better therfore.
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde:
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.
The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee,
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe,
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.