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A Metrical History of England

Or, Recollections, in Rhyme, Of some of the most prominent Features in our National Chronology, from the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Commencement of the Regency, in 1812. In Two Volumes ... By Thomas Dibdin

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LINE OF PLANTAGENET;
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163

LINE OF PLANTAGENET;

OR THE HOUSE OF ANJOU.


166

“With thee, Plantagenet, from civil broils
“The land awhile respired, and all was peace.
“Then Becket rose, and impotent of mind,
“Bid murd'rous priests the sov'reign frown contemn,
“And, with unhallow'd crosier, bruised the crown.
“Yet yielded not supinely tame a prince
“Of Henry's virtues, learn'd, courageous, wise,
“Of fair ambition.”
Shenstone.

“Still must that tongue some wounding message bring,
“And still thy priestly pride provoke thy King;
“For this are ‘foreign oracles’ explored,
“To teach the land to murmur at its lord.”
Vide Pope's Homer.

(FAIR ROSAMOND.)

“A maid unmatch'd in manners as in face,
“Skill'd in each art, and crown'd with ev'ry grace;
“Not half so dear were wedded ‘Ellen's’ charms,
“When first her blooming beauties met my arms.”
Ibidem.

“The tempest in my mind
“Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
“Save what beats there.—Filial ingratitude!”
Shakespeare.

HENRY THE SECOND.

Throughout his day much sorrow Henry prov'd,
Cross'd in his pow'r by those whom most he lov'd;

167

A constant warfare was his reign on earth,
By sons fomented, who disgraced their birth;
His Queen too, (tho' tis said much cause was hers
To doubt his faith, yet story often errs),
Join'd to oppose her husband and her lord,
And lift against his crown rebellion's sword!
Becket, another curse of Henry's life,
Adds to the foes he found in sons and wife;
Becket, the kingdom's bane, the popedom's glory,
With temper scarcely I relate the story,
A proof, since told ye in most homely fashion,
We can do nothing well, when in a passion.

A NEW LEGEND OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET.

King Henry and the realm to spite,
St. Dunstan being dead and gone,
Some evil genius sent his sprite,
In Becket's form, to curb the throne.
Archbishop, Chancellor, and more
Than I can say in these brief rhymes,
He gain'd all Dunstan gain'd before,
All Wolsey got in after times.

168

And what return to Henry made
This upstart, who deserv'd a rope?
Of dignity he form'd a trade,
And sold his master to the Pope!
Rebellion into exile sent
The meddling Monk, who yet return'd
More honour'd, tho' much less content,
While treason in his heart still burn'd.
Repeated insult Henry drove
Some hint to drop in angry mood,
Which caus'd, who heard their zeal to prove,
Unhappily, in Becket's blood.

169

The King to penance keen and sore,
And public ignominious pain,
Submitted! ne'er was Prince before
So humble, nor is like to be again.
Had but the justice of the land,
For which too oft he'd given cause,
Struck Becket with a legal hand,
Instead of shame the King had gain'd applause.
Ireland and Wales and Scotland pay
Their homage to the King, whose prosp'rous day,

170

Shorten'd by civil jars,
And most unnatural wars,
In unenjoy'd possession, dies away.
Henry, his son, was by his father crown'd,
As England's King, an early death he found.
Jeffery and William too, the latter died
A child,—the former fell in martial pride.
Richard and John succeeded to the throne
In turn,—with shame the Muse makes known,
That Richard, who with Gallia's King took part,
His sire subduing, broke a parent's heart.
A story told of Woodstock bow'r, I wis,
I might be deem'd neglectful did I miss,
Whether correct, or but by fancy penn'd,
My humble tale your leisure doth attend.
 

“Is there not one of the crew of lazy, cowardly knights, whom I maintain, that will rid me of this turbulent priest, who came to court but t'other day on a lame horse, with nothing but his wallet behind him?” These words unfortunately animated to action Reginal Fitz-urse, William de Tracey, Hugh de Morvil, and Richard Brito.

Berington's Life of St. Thomas a Becket.

The vulgar of Glocestershire have proverbially assigned a whimsical punishment for one of the families concerned in the assassination, thus:

“The Tracies,
“Have always the wind in their faces.”

James Petit Andrews sportively adds, “No very severe judgment on a summer's day.”

His ill-bred haughtiness was such, that when the English prelates, in one body, represented to him the consequences which must inevitably attend his turbulent obstinacy, he answered only, “I hear you.” Nothing could exceed his pride, or the splendor of his household. Before his advancement to the primacy he had been used to travel attended by two hundred knights and other gay domestics: eight waggons were in his suite, two of those bore his ale, three the furniture of his chapel, of his bed-chamber, and of his kitchen, and the other three carried provisions and necessaries. Twelve pack-horses bore his money, plate, &c. to each waggon was chained a fierce mastiff, and on each pack-horse there sat a baboon.

The following Epitaph, among others, was made on Becket:

Quis moritur? Præsul. Cur? Pro grege. Qualiter? Ense.
Quando? Natali. Quis locus? Ara dei.

Imitated by J. P. Andrews.

Who's slain? The Primate. How? In dire affray.
Why? For his flock. When? On his natal day.
Say where? 'Twas where we kneel to heaven and pray.

At this coronation, young Henry, on his father's humility being pointed out, arrogantly replied, “A great honour truly, for the son of a King to be waited on by the son of an Earl!” At other times too, he requited his father's tenderness with most unfilial ingratitude, a sense of which, is said, at length to have broken his own heart. His body was carried towards Roan, but the clergy and citizens of Mans took it by force and interred it in their cathedral, near the Old Geoffry Plantagenet, whence it was ultimately taken and re-interred at Roan. King Henry, in allusion to the ingratitude of his sons, had an allegorical picture painted for his palace at Windsor, representing an old eagle, his young ones fighting with him, and one scarcely fledged striving to peck out his eyes; the last he used to say was John, whom he loved best of all. Giraldus Cambrensis.


171

ROSAMOND's BOWER.

A PARODY.

THE ARGUMENT.

“Henry the Second keepeth (with much care,)
“Lord Cliffor'ds daughter, Rosamond the faire;
“And whilst his sonnes do Normandy invade
“He, forced to France, with wond'rous cost hath made
“A labyrinthe in Woodstocke, where unseene
“His love might lodge safe from his iealous queene.”
Drayton.

I

Embow'r'd sat a lover and lady so gay,
Where jas'mine with lilies were curl'd,
They gaz'd on each other with tender delight;
The warrior was Harry Plantagenet hight,
And the lady the Rose of the World.

II

Said the fair, “when you follow the drum and the fife,
“I shall wish by my side you had tarried,
“For as soon as you leave me your termagant wife,
“Will be certain to frighten me out of my life,”
For, I'm sorry to say, he was married.

172

III

“Oh, hush these suspicions,” Plantagenet said,
“Offensive to Ellen and me,
“For if she, by anger or jealousy led,
“Should alarm you, while I am abroad, by my head,
“Who's at home, I shall soon let her see.”

IV

“Besides” cried the King, “can my beautiful rose
“Fear surprize in this intricate place?
“Where it answers no purpose to follow one's nose,
“Unless a silk clue, that you know of, disclose
“A road none could ever yet trace.”

V

They parted in sorrow; poor girl, she turn'd cold,
She ne'er felt so nervous before;
Nor yet many days had elaps'd, when, behold!
The Queen, with a reg'ment of troopers, so bold,
'Gan thunder at Rosamond's door.

173

VI

Their swords on the porter the Grenadiers drew,
The poor man was sadly distrest;
The Queen tried a bribe, soon discover'd the clue,
And of poison so sable, or steel polish'd blue,
Ask'd Rosamond “which she liked best?”

VII

The “Flow'r of the World” changed her “redolent” hue
To white, while she sank on her knee;
The tear on her cheek look'd like heaven-dropp'd dew,
When she said “If, dear ma'am, it's the same thing to you,
“Not either, I thank you, for me.”

VIII

Her majesty threaten'd, her victim complied,
She drank, and Plantagenet's power
The death of his mistress reveng'd on his bride,

174

And shut her, from that, to the day that she died,
Up three pair of stairs in a tow'r.

IX

Should couples take warning from “Rosamond's Bow'r,”
Not vainly the Muse has harangued;
And, ladies, if rivals shou'd fall in your pow'r,
The Commons consult, or instead of the tow'r,
If you kill them, you're sure to be hang'd.
 

The phrase of letting a person know “Who's at home,” has (unless the oustom is very much out,) since obtained considerably in domestic circles.

Rosamond was buried at Godstow, and the following quaint Epitaph inscribed on her tomb.

Hic jacet in Tumba Rosa Mundi, non Rosamunda,
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.
Thus imitated by J. P. Andrews. Here lies, not Rose the Chaste, but Rose the Fair,
Her scents no more perfume but taint the air.


177

“Against whose fury and unmatch'd force
“The awless lion could not wage the fight,
“Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.”
Shakespeare.

“When Richard Cœur de Lion reign'd,
“Which means a lion's heart.”
Swift.

“Cœur de Lion loves the wars,
“Richard's joys are blows and scars,
“Conquer'd Pagans fly before him,
“Christian warriors all adore him.”
Opera of Richard.

“Here the cowl'd zealots, with united cries,
“Urg'd the Crusade:—
“Of ten fair suns that roll'd their annual race
“Not one beheld him on his vacant throne:
“While haughty Longchamp 'mid his livery'd files
“Of wanton vassals spoil'd his faithful realm.
“Battling in foreign fields; collecting wide
“A laurel harvest for a pillaged land.”
Shenstone.

RICHARD CŒUR DE LION.

O, gallant Prince! who loved to roam,
When you had better stay'd at home;
Whose subjects at thy crowning slew
Many an unoffending Jew.

178

Who conquer'd Cyprus, which denied
A lodging to yourself and bride,
(For on his road to Holy Land,
He stopp'd to win a lady's hand,)
Who 'gainst the Turks flew in a passion,
Because just then it was the fashion.
With Saladin the sword wou'd try,
Without once ever asking why;
Who in each battle did the work,
Of cleaving Saracen and Turk,
And kept the Infidels at bay,
While jealous Philip walk'd away!
Who, (for he was impertinent,)
Kick'd Austria from the royal tent,
(For so the tale appears to us, it
Being set down “pede percussit,”)

179

Who found, returning, to thy cost,
The mem'ry of that kick not lost,
And was by Austria's lads surrounded,
And 'till great ransom paid, impounded.
Or, as your Troubadour folks tell,
Was fiddled out by one Blondel,

180

Fiddled or not (excuse me hyper-
Critics) Old England paid the piper.
Who made with Saladin a truce,
(As was the war) of little use.
Whose brother John took arms, and then
You made him lay 'em down again.
Who beat King Philip out of measure,
And lost your life while seeking treasure.
 

Once, during this campaign, Richard was dangerously sick, and his disorder required fresh fruit and snow to render it cool: the generous Saladin sent both in profusion, and thus preserved the life of the only foe he dreaded. Vita Saladini.

The Saracens so dreaded his name they would say to their restive horses, “What do you start at, do you think you see King “Richard?”

To encourage the soldiers in repairing the ruined wall of Acre, (a spot which has since acquired such additional celebrity from the distinguished gallantry of Sir Sidney Smith and his brave associates,) Cœur de Lion not only laboured in person, but appointed hours for other leaders to work at the head of their men. All chearfully obeyed, except the Duke of Austria, who sent word that his father having been neither bricklayer nor mason, he had not learned either business. The English King hearing this insolent speech repeated to his face by the haughty Duke, “cum pede percussit” Anglice kicked him out of his tent, and ordered his banner to be disgraced. Brompton.

King Richard was a passionate lover of poetry, and bears a rank among the Provencal Poets or Troubadours, who were the first of the modern Europeans that distinguished themselves by attempts of that nature.

Hume.

Crescimbini, in his Commentary on the Lives of the Provencal Poets, says that Richard composed a sonnet which he sent to Princess Stephanetta, wife of Hugh de Baux, and other sonnets, while a prisoner, which he sent to Beatrix, Count of Provence; the whole of one the latter productions is given in the Catalogue of Royal Authors, one or two verses will be sufficient here to give an idea of the supposed softness of the Provencal dialect.

REIZ RIZARD.
Ja nus hom pris non dira sa raison,
Adreitamout se com hom dolent non,
Mas per conort pot il faire chanson,
Pro adamis, mas povre son li don,
Onta j avron, se por ma Reezon,
Soi fai dos yver pris.
Or sachon ben mi hom e mi baron,
Engles, Norman, Pettavin & Gascon,
Que ge navoie si' povre compagnon,
Que laissasse por aver en preison,
Ge nol di pas, por nulla retraison,
Mas anquar soise pris.

While besieging the Castle of Chalons, or Choley, where it was supposed a treasure lay concealed, which Richard claimed, and where “an Arbalaster standing upon the wall, and seeing his time, charged his steel bow with a square arrow, making first his prayer to God that he would direct that shot and deliver the innocency of the besieged from oppression, mortally wounded the King in the left shoulder: the anguish and peril whereof was extremely increased by the unskilfulness of the chirurgeon.” Medulla Historiæ Anglicanæ.

O, gallant Prince! such store of deeds
To tell, my pen must mending needs,
Therefore I only, valiant King,
Have set down what I wish'd to sing;

181

For in thy reign, I'm told, a bard
Found it a subject keen and hard,
And much was forced his brain to tax,
Even to sing thy battle axe,
With all its murd'rous hews and hacks.
This version shall conclude my page,
And shew the genius of thy age.

182

SPECIMEN of POETRY,

IN THE YEAR 1190.

[King Richard, I understonde]

King Richard, I understonde,
When he went out of En-ge-londe;
Let make an axe, for the nones,
To break therewith the Sarasyns bones.
The head thereof was wrought full weel,
Therein was twenty pounds of steele;
And when he came to Cyprus londe,
This axe taketh he in honde,
The Griffons fast away they rapp'd
All that he hit, he also frapp'd.
And the prison when he came to,
With his axe he smote right thro'
Dores, barres, and iron chaynes!
Warton.
 

Griffons.—Heathens.

Frapp'd—Knocked down.


185

“When England's ancient Barons, clad in arms,
“And stern with conquest from their tyrant King
“(Now render'd tame) did challenge and secure
“The charter of thy freedom.”
Akenside.

“When faithless John usurp'd the sully'd crown,
“What ample tyranny! Six tedious years
“Our helpless fathers in despair obey'd
“The Papal interdict; and who obey'd
“The Sov'reign plunder'd.”
Shenstone.

“Throw thine eye
“On yon young boy.—I'll tell thee what, my friend,
“He is a very serpent in my way,
“And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread
“He lies before me.”
Shakespeare.

“No Italian Priest
“Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
“But, as we, under heav'n are supreme head,
“So under him, that great supremacy,
“Where we do reign, we will alone uphold.
“So tell the Pope; all reverence set apart
“To him, and his usurp'd authority.”
Ibidem.

K. John.
“Thus have I yielded up into your hands
“The circle of my glory.”

Pandulph.
“Take again,
“From this my hand, as holding of the Pope
“Your sovereign greatness and authority.”

Shakespeare.


JOHN.

At length a dawn of freedom 'gins to streak
The gloomy horizon! and Lackland's reign,

186

Most inauspiciously begun, concludes
With privilege for which our fathers fought,
Knee-deep in slaughter; and, to which their sons,
True to each other, ever will adhere.
Success but seldom blest the claim of right
In days when strength and skill too frequent won
The regal circle; else had Arthur's name,
With supercession legal, graced the roll
Where John's is now recorded—but what is,
We're told is right.—Had Arthur, haply, reign'd
His milder sway had fail'd create the cause
Which did the glorious great effects produce,
Of England's freedom, and of England's rights.
As if too conscious of his tottering claim,
And, that his crown sat lightly on his head,
Four times inaugurated was the King.
Philip of France, whose envy ne'er cou'd bend
The warlike mind of Richard, now declares
Against the title of his brother John,
And in behalf of Arthur, claims the throne.

187

Arthur! unfortunate! thy seat usurp'd
By an ambitious uncle, and thy right
Made, by pretended friendship, but a plea,
To sanctify it's interested views!
The English Barons murmur and deny
Their aid to John, who yet o'ercomes his foes;
And Arthur, captive, youthful, innocent,
Nor author of the war that Phillip wag'd,
Dies in imprisonment.—By some we read,
And our great Bard, with magic minstrelsy,
Has sung the tale, that from his prison walls,
Attempting hopeless egress, he was dash'd
Against the earth below, and found, alas!
The spirit of his uncle “in those flints
With which 'twas bedded.” Other stories tell
That murder, (that so frequent blot upon
Our English reigns, related, and to come,)

188

With circumstantial cruelty, depriv'd
The Prince of life.
Philip of France, on this pretext, proclaim'd
King John a traitor and a murderer;
Seiz'd on his French possessions, while the Pope
In all concurring, and, pretending right
To chuse our Church Directors, John defies
(The sole good deed he did) the pow'r of Rome;
The Vatican, with thunder loud, replies;
And England excommunicate, cut off
From ev'ry human privilege, cou'd still,
Firm in herself, have scorn'd th' unblest decree,
Which dared to arrogate an awful right
By heaven's almighty power alone possess'd.

189

At length with meanness equal to his pride,
For pride and meanness are concomitant,
The land, the people, King, the crown itself,
Are pros trate thrown beneath the Pontiff's fect;
The Barons feel just anger, and disdain
To serve a Prince who owns himself a slave.
And soon, of filaments from this disgrace
And other grievances, most justly drawn,
Was Magna Charta woven, and the King
After subscription tried too oft to break
The golden compact, which has since upheld
Our legal title as a People Free.

190

Winding beneath the earth, a spacious range
Of subterranean chambers yet is seen,
Where first, in secresy, the Barons met
To frame the code of Freedom.—Short the space
From hence to where my humble cot is hid,
By wild sequester'd scenery, and oft,
Bending my footsteps downwards, do I seek
The rock-hewn seats that round the cave remain,
And muse with awfully-delighted mind,
While witchery of fancy brings to view
Majestic forms, and men of other times;
Those aged peers whose venerable locks
A crested helm, the terror oft of France,
Concealed in iron bands,—those youthful lords,

191

Who proud of martial splendour, shone in arms,
Which, back reflecting ev'ry torch's blaze,
With double light the sacred vault illumed.
There mitred Langton, with Fitzwalter brave,
Clare, Albermarle, and Gloster, Hereford,
Mowbray, and Oxford, Delaval, and Say,
Norfolk, De Ros, and bands of heroes more,
Retired to fan the patriotic fire,
Which bursting into day at Runnimede,
With rays of glory lighten'd all the land.
The King's bad faith the civil wars renew'd,
And Lewis, son of France, call'd in, was own'd
As England's master: but the patriot lords,
Ill brooking Gallic rule, to John restored
His regal state, short time by him enjoy'd.
At Newark Castle (not at Swinestead, where
Our legendaries tell a fearful tale
Of monks and poison,) John respired his last.
 

Argentre, in his “Histoire de Bretagne,” says that, John came late one evening, and took his nephew out of prison; that he rode with him to a cliff that overhung the sea; that there he stabb'd him, and drawing his body by the heels to the brink of the precipice, threw it into the ocean.

“Fair Eleanora! wou'd no gallant mind
“The cause of love, the cause of justice own,
“Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd,
“To see them sparkle on their native throne?
“Oh, shame of Britons! in one sullen tow'r
“She wet with royal tears her daily cell,
“She found keen anguish ev'ry rose devour,
“They sprung, they rose, they faded, and they fell.

Shenstone.

Eleanor, of Bretagne, the lawful heiress of the English Crown upon the death of Arthur,—esteem'd the beauty of her time, she died in Bristol Castle, after suffering forty years imprisonment.

The following short sketch of what the people gained by Magna Charta, is an abridgement from Hume, by the ingenious James Petit Andrews.

“Immunities granted to Barons, are extended to their vassals.”

“No Baron to levy money from his vassals, except for attending the King to war, repairing his castles, and the highways and bridges.”

“Measures to be equal through the realm.”

“Merchants not to be illegally taxed.”

“Free egress, and regress to Freemen.”

“Cities to preserve their privileges, and only to be taxed by Parliament.”

“Bridges to be equitably built or supported.”

“Freemen to dispose of goods by will, or, if intestate, their next heir to succeed.”

“The King's Purveyor not to sieze goods, &c.”

“Courts of Justice not to follow the King, but to be stationary, open, and equal to all men.”

“Justice not to be paid for, nor refused to any one, (this was a necessary proviso in a realm where bribes were received by the King to a great amount, and shamelessly set down in books kept for that purpose,) Sheriffs not to put any one on trial without good cause and lawful witnesses.”

“No Freeman to be in any way injured in person or goods, except by the law of the land. [Query,—would that be an injury, D.] Redress to be given to those who have suffered illegally. No extravagant fines to be levied on Freemen. No villain, i. e. rustic, to be deprived of his cart or other instruments of husbandry by fine.”

At Reigate, in Surrey, it is still called “The Baron's Cave.”

The story of John's being poisoned at Swinestead Abbey is of a late date, and deserves no credit. Anderson.