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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 | A Metrical History of England |  |
“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.
“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.
“Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
“Save what beats there.—Filial ingratitude!”
Shakespeare.
HENRY THE SECOND.
Cross'd in his pow'r by those whom most he lov'd;
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!
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.
St. Dunstan being dead and gone,
Some evil genius sent his sprite,
In Becket's form, to curb the throne.
Than I can say in these brief rhymes,
He gain'd all Dunstan gain'd before,
All Wolsey got in after times.
This upstart, who deserv'd a rope?
Of dignity he form'd a trade,
And sold his master to the Pope!
The meddling Monk, who yet return'd
More honour'd, tho' much less content,
While treason in his heart still burn'd.
Some hint to drop in angry mood,
Which caus'd, who heard their zeal to prove,
Unhappily, in Becket's blood.
And public ignominious pain,
Submitted! ne'er was Prince before
So humble, nor is like to be again.
For which too oft he'd given cause,
Struck Becket with a legal hand,
Instead of shame the King had gain'd applause.
Their homage to the King, whose prosp'rous day,
And most unnatural wars,
In unenjoy'd possession, dies away.
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.
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:
“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:
Quando? Natali. Quis locus? Ara dei.
Imitated by J. P. Andrews.
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.
ROSAMOND's BOWER.
A PARODY.
THE ARGUMENT.
“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.”
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.
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.
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” hueTo 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,
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.
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.
| A Metrical History of England | |