The life of Cardinal Wolsey :: :: University of Virginia Library

The life of Cardinal Wolsey

By George Cavendish, his gentleman usher. And metrical visions, from the original autograph manuscript. With notes and other illustrations, by Samuel Weller Singer

Cavendish, George (1500-1561?)

II.

VOL. II.

METRICAL VISIONS.

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iii

II. VOL. II.

METRICAL VISIONS.

BY GEORGE CAVENDISH. CONCERNING THE FORTUNES AND FALL OF THE MOST EMINENT PERSONS OF HIS TIME. NOW FIRST PRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL AUTOGRAPH MANUSCRIPT.

PROLOUG DE L'AUCTOR G. C.

In the month of June, I lying sole alone
Under the umber of an oak with bows pendant,
Whan Phœbus in Geminys had his course overgone
And entered Cancer, a signe retrogradant,
In a mean measure his beams radyant,
Approaching Leo, than mused I in mynd
Of fykkellness of Fortune and the course of kynd;

How some are by fortune exalted to riches,
And often such as most unworthy be;
And some oppresed in langor and sykness,
Some wayling, lakkyng welthe, by wretched povertie;
Some in bayle and bondage, and some at libertie:
With other moo gystes of fortune varyable;
Some pleasant, some mean, and some onprofitable.

But after dewe serche and better advisement,
I knewe by Reason that oonly God above
Rewlithe thos thyngs, as is most convenyent,
The same devysing to man for his behove:
Wherefore Dame Reason did me persuade, and move
To be content with my small estate,
And in this matter no more to vestigate.

Whan I had debated all thyng in my mynd,
I well considered myne obscure blyndnes;
So that non excuse could I see or fynd,
But that my tyme I spent in idelnes;
For this me thought, and trew it is doughtles,
That since I ame a reasonable creature,
I owght my reason and wytt to put in ure.

Than of what matter myght I devise to wright,
To use my tyme and wytte to excercyse,
Sithe most men have no pleasour or delight

In any history, without it sownd to vice:
Alass! shold I than, that ame not young attise
With lewed ballatts, faynt harts to synne,
Or flatter estatts some favor of them to wynne.

What than shall I wright? the noble doughtyness
Of estatts that used is now a dayes?
I shall than lak matter; for gredy covetousnes
Of vayne riches, which hathe stopt all the wayes
Of worthy chyvallry, that now dayly sore dekayes:
And yet thoughe some behave them nobly,
Yet some ther be that dayly doth the contrarye.

For some lovyth meat fynne and delicious,
And some baudye brothes, as their educasion hath be;
So some lovethe virtue, and some tales vicious:
Sewerly suche tales (get ye non of me,
But to eschewe all ociosite
Of Fortune's fykellnes) hereafter shall I wright,
How greatest estatts she overthrowyth by myght.

Thoughe I onworthe this tragedy do begyne,
Of pardon I pray the reders in meke wyse;
And to correct where they se fault therein,
Reputing it for lak of connyng exercyse.
The cause that moved me to this enterprise
Especyally was that all estatts myght see
What it is to trust to Fortune's mutabylitie.

With pen and ynke I toke this work in hand,
Redy to wright the deadly dole and whofull playnt
Of them whose fall the world doth understand;
Which for feare made my heart to faynt:
I must wright playn; colours have I none to paynt;
But termes rude their dolours to compile;
An wofull plaint must have an wofull style.

To whome therefore for helpe shall I nowe call?
Alas! Caliope my calling will utterly refuse;
For mornyng dities and woo of Fortune's falle
Caliope dyd never in hir dyties use;
Wherefore to hir I might my self abuse:
Also the Musis that on Parnasus syng
Suche warblyng dole did never temper stryng.

Now to that Lord whose power is celestiall,
And gwydyth all thyng of sadnes and of blysse,
With humble voyce to the I crie and call,
That thou wouldest direct my sely pen in this:
For, wantyng of thy helpe, no marvel thoughe I mysse;
And by thy grace, though my style be rude,
In sentence playne I may full well conclude.

Nowe by thy helpe this hystory I will begyn,
And from theffect varie nothing at all;
For if I shold, it ware to me great synne
To take uppon me a matter so substancyall,
So waytie, so necessarie, of fame perpetuall:
And thus to be short, oon began to speke
With deadly voyce, as thoughe his hart wold breke.

QUOD G. C.

FINIS

[METRICAL VISIONS]

LE HISTORYE.

CARDINALIS EBORACENSIS.

O Fortune! (quod he) shold I on the complayn,
Or of my negligence, that I susteyn this smart?
Thy doble visage hathe led me to this trayn;
For at my begynnyng thou dydst ay take my part,
Untill ambysion had puffed up my hart
With vainglory, honor, and usurped dignytie,
Forgettyng cleane my naturall mendycitie.

From povertie to plentie, which now I see is vayn,
A cardinal I was, and legate de latere,
A byshope, and archbysshope, the more to crease my gayn
Chauncellor of Englond, Fortune by hir false flatterie
Dyd me advance, and gave me suche auctorytie
That of hyghe and low I toke on me the charge,
All England to rewle, my power extendyd large.

Whan Fortune with favor had set me thus aloft,
I gathered me riches; suffisance could not content;
My fare was superfluous, my bed was fyne and soft;
To have my desiers I past not what I spent:
In yerthe, such abondaunce Fortune had me lent,
Yt was not in the world that I could well requier,
But Fortune strayt wayes did graunt me my desier.

My byldyngs somptious, the roffes with gold and byse
Shone lyke the sone in myd day spere,
Craftely entaylled as connyng could devise,
With images embossed, most lively did appere;
Expertest artificers that ware both farre and nere,
To beautyfie my howssys, I had them at my will:
Thus I wanted nought my pleasures to fullfill.

My galleries ware fayer; both large and long
To walke in them whan that it lyked me best;
My gardens sweet, enclosed with walles strong,
Enbanked with benches to sytt and take my rest:

The knotts so enknotted, it cannot be exprest,
With arbors and alyes so pleasaunt and so dulce,
The pestylent ayers with flavors to repulse.

My chambers garnysht with arras fynne,
Importyng personages of the lyvelyest kynd:
And whan I was disposed in them to dynne,
My clothe of estate there ready did I fynd,
Furnysshed complett according to my mynd;
The subtyll perfumes of muske and sweet amber,
There wanted non to perfume all my chamber.

Plate of all sorts most curiously wrought,
Of facions new, I past not of the old,
No vessell but sylver before me was brought,
Full of dayntes vyands, the some cannot be told;
I dranke my wynne alwayes in sylver and in gold:
And daylye to serve me, attendyng on my table,
Servaunts I had bothe worshipfull and honorable.

My crosses twayne of sylver long and greate,
That dayly byfore me ware carried hyghe,
Upon great horses, opynly in the strete,
And massie pillars gloriouse to the eye,
With pollaxes gylt, that no man durst come nyghe
My presence, I was so pryncely to behold,
Ridyng on my mule trapped in sylver and in gold.

My legantyne prerogatyve was myche to myn avayle,
By vertue whereof I had thys high preemynence:
All vacant benefices I did them strayt retaylle,
Presentyng than my clarke, as sone as I had intellygence:
I prevented the patron, ther vaylled no resistence;
All bysshopes and prelates durst not oons denay,
They doughted so my power, they myght not dysobey.

Thus may you see how I to riches did attayne,
And with suffisaunce my mynd was not content;
Whan I had most, I rathest wold complayne;
For lake of good, alas! how I was blent!
Where shall my gatheryngs and good be spent?

Some oon, perchance, shall me thereof dyscharge,
Whom I most hate, and spend it owt at large.

Sytting in Jugement, parcyall ware my doomes;
I spared non estatte, of hyghe or low degree;
I preferred whom me lyst, exaltyng symple gromes
Above the nobles; I spared myche the spritualtie,
Not passyng myche on the temperaltie;
Promotyng such to so hyghe estate
As unto prynces wold boldly say chek-mate.

Oon to subdewe that did me always favor,
And in that place another to avaunce,
Ayenst all trewthe, I did my busy labor,
And, whilest I was workyng witty whiles in Fraunce,
I was at home supplanted, where I thought most assuraunce:
Thus who by fraud fraudelent is found,
Fraud to the defrauder will aye rebound.

Who workyth fraude often is disceyved;
As in a myrror, ye may behold in me;
For by disceyt, or I had it perceyved,
I was disceyved: a guerdon mete parde
For hyme that wold, ayenst all equite,
Dysceyve the innocent, that innocent was in deede;
Therefore Justice of Justice ayenst me must proceede.

For by my subtill dealyng thus it came to passe,
Cheafely disdayned, for whome I toke the payn;
And than to repent it was to late, alas!
My purpose I wold than have changed fayn;
But it wold not be, I was perceived playn:
Thus Venus the goddesse that called is of love
Spared not with spight to bryng me from above.

Alas! my soverayn Lord, thou didest me avaunce,
And settest me uppe in thys great pompe and pryde,
And gavest to me thy realme in governaunce;
Thy pryncely will why did I set aside,
And followed myn own, consideryng not the tyde,
How after a floode an ebbe comyth on a pace?
That to consider, in my tryhumphe I lakked grace.

Now fykkell Fortune torned hathe hir whele,
Or I it wyst, all sodenly, and down she did me cast;
Down was my hed, and upward went my hele,
My hold faylled me that I thought suer and fast:
I se by experience, hir favor doth not last;
For she full low now hath brought me under,
Though I on hir complayn, alas! it is no wonder.

I lost myne honor; my treasure was me beraft;
Fayn to avoyd, and quykly to geve place,
Symply to depart, for me nothing was laft,
Without penny or pound I lived a certyn space,
Untill my soverayn Lord extendyd to me his grace;
Who restored me sufficient, if I had byn content
To mayntayn myn estate, both of lond and rent.

Yet, notwithstanding, my corage was so hault,
Dispight of mine enemyes rubbed me on the gall,
Who conspyred together to take me with asault;
They travelled without triall to geve me a fall:
I therefore entendyd to trie my frends all;
To forrayn potentates wrott my letters playn,
Desireng their ayd, to restore me to favor againe.

Myn ennemyes, perceiving, caught thereof dysdayn,
Doughtyng the daynger, dreamed on the dought;
In councell consulting, my sewte to restrayn,
Accused me of treason, and brought it so about
That, travelling to my trial, or I could trie it owte,
Death with his dart strake me for the nons,
In Leicester, full lowe, where nowe lyeth my boons.

Loo, nowe you may see what it is to trust
In worldly vanyties that voydyth with the wynd;
For death in a moment consumeth all to dust:
No honor, no glory, that ever man cowld fynd,
But Tyme with hys tyme puttythe all out of mynd;
For Tyme in breafe tyme duskyth the hystory
Of them that long tyme lyved in glory.

Where is my tombe that I made for the nons,
Wrought of fynne copper, that cost many a pound,
To couche in my carion and my rotten boons?
All is but vayn-glory, now have I found,
And small to the purpose, when I am in the ground;
What doth it avaylle me, all that I have,
Seyng I ame deade and layed in my grave?

Farewell Hampton Court, whos founder I was;
Farewell Westminster Place, now a palace royall;
Farewell the Moore, let Tynnynainger passe;
Farewell, in Oxford, my college cardynall;
Farewell, in Ipsewich, my schole gramaticall:
Yet oons farewell, I say, I shall you never see;
Your somptious byldyng, what now avayllethe me?

What avayllyth my great aboundance?
What is nowe left to helpe me in this case?
Nothing at all but dompe in the daunce,
Among deade men to tryppe on the trace;
And for my gay housis now have I this place
To lay in my karcas, wrapt in a sheete,
Knytt with a knott at my hed and my feete.

What avayleth now my feather bedds soft,
Sheets of Raynes, long, large, and wide,
And dyvers devyses of clothes chaynged oft;

Or vicious chapleyns walking by my syde,
Voyde of all vertue, fullfilled with pryde,
Which hathe caused me, by report of suche fame,
For ther myslyvyng to have an yll name.

This is my last complaynt, I can say you no more,
But farewell my servant that faythefull hathe be;
Note well these words, quod he, I pray the therfore,
And wright them thus playn, as I have told them the,
All which is trewe, thou knowest well, parde;
Thou faylledst me not, untill that I dyed,
And now I must depart, I maye no longer byde!

FINIS.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

When he his tale had told, thus in sentence,
His dolorous playnt strake me to the hart;
Pytie also moved me to bewayll his offence,
And with hyme to weepe, when I did advert
In his adversite, howe I did not depart
Tyll mortal death had gevyn him his wound,
With whom I was present, and layed hyme in the ground.

When I had wepte, and lamentyd my fyll,
With reason persuaded, to hold me content,
I espied certyn persons comyng me tyll
Strangely disgwysed, that greatly did lament,
And as me seemed, this was ther intent,
On fortune to complayn, their cause was not slender,
And me to requier their fall to remember.

VISCOUNT ROCHEFORD.

Alas! quod the first, with a full hevy chere,
And countenance sad, piteous, and lamentable,
George Bulleyn I ame, that now doth appere;
Some tyme of Rocheford Viscount honorable,
And now a vile wretch, most myserable,
That ame constrayned with dole in my visage,
Even to resemble a very deadly image.

God gave me grace, dame Nature did hir part,
Endewed me with gyfts of natural qualities:
Dame Eloquence also taughte me the arte
In meter and verse to make pleasaunt dities,
And fortune preferred me to high dignyties
In such abondance, that combred was my witt,
To render God thanks that gave me eche whitt.

It hath not been knowen nor seldome seen,
That any of my yeres byfore this day
Into the privy councell preferred hath been:
My soverayn lord in his chamber did me assay,
Or yeres thryes nine my life had past away;
A rare thing suer seldom or never hard,
So yong a man so highly to be preferrd.

In this my welthe I had God clean forgot,
And my sensuall apetyte I did always ensewe,
Esteming in my self the thyng that I had not,
Sufficient grace this chaunce for to eschewe,
The contrary, I perceyve, causithe me now to rewe;
My folly was such that vertue I set asyde,
And forsoke God that should have been my gwyde.

My lyfe not chaste, my lyvyng bestyall;
I forced wydowes, maydens I did deflower.
All was oon to me, I spared none at all,
My appetite was all women to devoure,
My study was both day and hower,
My onleafull lechery how I might it fulfill,
Sparyng no woman to have on hyr my wyll.

Allthoughe I before hathe both seene and rede
The word of God and scriptures of auctoritie,
Yet could not I resist this onlefull deede,
Nor dreade the domes of God in my prosperitie;
Let myn estatte, therefore, a myrror to you be,
And in your mynd my dolors comprehend
For myne offences how God hath made dissend.

Se how fortune can alter and change hir tyde,
That to me but late could be so good and favorable,
And at this present to frowne and set me thus aside,
Which thoughte hyr whele to stand both firme and stable,
Now have I found hyr very froward and mutable;
Where she was frendly now she is at discord,
As by experience of me Viscount Rocheford.

For where God list to punysh a man of right,
By mortal sword, farewell all resistence;
When grace faylyth, honor hath no force or myght,
Of nobilitie also it defacyth the high preeminence,
And changythe their power to feeble impotence;
Than tornyth fortune hyr whele most spedely
Example take of me for my lewde avoultrie.

All noblemen, therefore, with stedfast hart entyer,
Lyft up your corages, and think this is no fable;
Thoughe ye sit high, conceive yt in your chere,
That no worldly prynce in yerthe is perdurable;
And since that ye be of nature reasonable,
Remember in your welthe, as thyng most necessary,
That all standythe on fortune when she listeth to vary.

Alas! to declare my life in every effect,
Shame restraynyth me the playnes to confess,
Lest the abhomynation wold all the world enfect:
Yt is so vile, so detestable in words to expresse,
For which by the lawe condempned I am doughtlesse,
And for my desert, justly juged to be deade;
Behold here my body, but I have lost my hed.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Another was there redy to complayne
Of his evyll chaunce, crying owt, alas!
And said of all grace, no man more barayn
Than he was, that in his time so happie was,
And now onhappie fortune hath brought to passe;
That where most happiest he was but of late,
Now most onhappiest fortune hath torned hir date.

NORRES.

With welthe, worshipe, and houge aboundaunce,
My soverayn lord extendyd his benygnytie:
To be grome of his stoole he did me avaunce,
Of all his privie chamber I had the soverayntie;
Offices and romes he gave me great plentie:

Horsys, hawks, and hounds, I had of eche sort,
I wanted nothing that was for my disport.

Of welthy life I dought it never a wytt,
Thou knewest well I had, and thereof no man more,
All things of pleasure unto my fantzie fitt,
Till ambyssion blyndyd me that I forthinke sore,
From the midst of the streme dryvyn to the shore;
From welthe I say, alas! to wretchedness and waylyng,
For my mysdemenor to God and to the kyng.

My chaunce was such I had all thyng at wyll,
And in my welthe I was to hym onkynd,
That thus to me did all my mynd fulfyll,
All his benyvolence was clean owt of mynd:
Oh, alas! alas! in my hart how cowld I fynd
Ayenst my soverayn so secretly to conspier,
That so gently gave me all that I desier.

His most noble hart lamented so my chaunce,
That of his clemency he granted me my lyfe,
In case I wold, without dissimulaunce,
The trouthe declare of his onchaste wyfe,
The spotted queen, causer of all his stryfe;
But I most obstynate, with hart as hard as stone,
Denyed his grace, good cause therefore to mone.

To sighe, to sobbe, it ware but wast;
To weep, to waylle, or to lament,
Yt will not prevayle; the tyme is past:
Alas! in tyme why did I not prevent
The rage and fury of fortunes male intent?
But then I did as now all other do,
In tyme of welthe let all these thoughts goo.

Who is more willfull than he that is in welthe?
Who is more folishe than he that shold be wyse?
Who syknes soner doth forget than he that hath his helthe?
Or who is more blynd than he that hath two eyes?
Who hath most welthe doth fortune most dispise;
Even so dyd I for whant of Goddis grace:
What now remayneth but sorrow in thys case?

Sometyme in trust, and now a traytor found;
Sometyme full nighe, but now I stand afarre;
Sometyme at libertie, and now in prison bound;
Sometyme in office, and now led to the barre:
The rigor of the lawe justice will not deferre,
But for myn offences syth needs that I must die;
Farewell my frends, loo helplesse here I lye.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Next hyme followed an other that was of that band,
With teares bespraynt, and color pale as lead,
Yt was Weston the wanton, ye shall understand,
That wantonly lyved without feare or dreade;
For wyll without wytt did ay his brydell leade,
Followyng his fantzy and his wanton lust,
Having of mysfortune no maner mystrust.

WESTON.

Fortune (quod he) not so, but not fearyng God above,
Which knowyth the depthe of every man's mynd,
Whom I forgot to serve in dread and in love
By wanton wyll, for that I was so blynd,
Which caused my welthe full soon to outwynd;

And cheafe of all, and most to be abhord,
For my unkyndnes ayenst my soverayn lord.

Beyng but young, and skant out of the shell,
I was dayntely noryshed under the king's wyng,
Who highly favored me and loved me so well
That I had all my will and lust in every thyng,
Myndyng nothing lesse than chaunce of my endyng;
And for my dethe that present is nowe here,
I looked not for, this fyvetie or threscore yere.

My lust and my wyll ware knytt in alyaunce,
And my wyll folowed lust in all his desier;
When lust was lusty, wyll did hyme advaunce
To tangle me with lust where my lust did requier:
Thus wyll and hot lust kyndeled me the fier
Of filthy concupicence, my youth yet but grean
Spared not, my lust presumed to the queene.

And for my lewd lust my will is now shent,
By whom I was ruled in every motion,
Now wyll and lust makyth me sore to repent;
That wyll was my gwyd, and not sad discression,
Therefore agenst wyll I ame brought to correction;
Who folowyth lust his will to obeye
May chaunce to repent, as I do this day.

Lust then gave cause why will did consent
Willfully to rage, where wytt shold restrayn
So highly to presume; to furnyshe his intent
Will was to sawcy, and wold not refrayn,
Havyng no regard to pryncely disdayn;
Wherefore by Justice now hither am I led
To satisfie the cryme with the losse of my hed.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Then appeared an other his chaunce to declare,
And sayd, that fortune hathe gevyn hyme a fall,
Which sowced hyme in sorrowe, and combred hyme with kare;
Yt avayllyth hyme nothyng to crye and to call,
For frends hathe he none, their helpe is but small
To socoure hyme nowe: loo, what it is to trust
To fykkyll fortune when she dothe chaynge her lust.

BREERTON.

But late I was in welthe, the world can it record,
Floryshyng in favor, freshly beseen,
Gentilman of the chamber with my soverayn lord,

Tyll fortune onwares hath disceyved me clean,
Which pynchethe my hart, and rubbyth me on the splene
To thynk on my fall; remembryng myn estate
Renewyth my sorowe, my repentance comyth to late.

Furnished with romes I was by the kyng,
The best I ame sewer he had in my contrie;
Steward of the Holt, a rome of great wynnyng
In the marches of Wales, the which he gave to me,
Where of tall men I had sewer great plentie
The kyng for to serve, both in town and feld,
Redely furnyshed with horse, spere, and sheld.

God of his justice, forseyng my malice,
For my busy rigor wold punyshe me of right
Mynestred unto Eton, by color of justice:
A shame to speke, more shame it is to wright;
A gentilman born, that thorowghe my myght
So shamefully was hanged upon a gallowe-tree,
Oonly of old rankor that roted was in me.

Now the lawe hath taught me justice to know,
By dyvyn dome, Goddis wordes to be trewe,
Who strykythe with the sword the sword will overthrowe;
No man shall be able the danger to eschewe;
Thexperience in me shall give you a vewe,
That rigor by rigor hath quit me my mede,
For the rigor of justice dothe cause me to blede.

Loo, here is th' end of murder and tyranny!
Loo, here is th' end of envious affeccion!
Loo, here is th' end of false conspiracy!
Loo, here is th' end of false detection
Don to the innocent by cruel correccion!
Althoughe in office I thought myself strong,
Yet here is myn end for mynestryng wrong.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Than came another, which had lyttil joye,
Sayeng, that some tyme I did hyme knowe
In the cardinal's chapleyn a syngyng boy,
Who humbly requered me, and lowted full lowe
To wright his dekay, as last of this rowe;
And that his desier I wold not refuse,
For, by his confession, he dyd them all accuse.

MARKE ALS. SMETON.

My father a carpenter, and labored with his hand,
With the swett of his face he purchast his lyvyng,
For small was his rent, much lesse was his land;

My mother in cottage used dayly spynnyng;
Loo, in what mysery was my begynnyng,
Till that gentil prynce, kyng of this realme,
Toke me de stercore et origens pauperem.

And beyng but a boy, clame uppe the hygh stage,
That bred was of naught, and brought to felicite,
Knew not myself, waxt proud in my corage,
Dysdayned my father, and wold not hyme se;
Wherfore nowe Fortune by hir mutabilitie

Hathe made so cruelly hir power for to stretch,
For my presumption, to dye lyke a wretch.

Loo, what it is, frayle youth to advance
And to set hyme uppe in welthy estate,
Or sad discression had hym in governance
To brydell his lust, which now comes to late;
And thoughe by great favor I lease but my pate,
Yet deserved have I cruelly to be martred,
As I ame juged to be hanged, drawn, and quartred.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

In the myddys of my labor intendyng to take rest,
Beyng fortossed in this my long travayl,
Disposed to pawse, I made me therto prest;
But as I sat musyng on Fortune so frayl,
A lady I saw sobbyng, that happe made to wayl,
Wryngyng of her hands, hir voyce she owt brayd,
Complaynyng on Fortune, thes words to me she sayd.

QUEENE ANNE.

Alas, wretched woman, what shall I do or say?
And why, alas, was I borne this woo to susteyn?
Oh how infortunat I ame at this day,
That raygned in joy, and now in endles payn,
The world universal hathe me in disdayn;
The slander of my name woll aye be grean,
And called of eche man the most vicious quene.

What nedythe me my name for to reherce,
For my fall, I thynk, is yet freshe in the mynd;
I dread my faults shall thy paper perce,
That thus have lyved and byn to God onkynd;
Vices preferryng, settyng vertue behynd,
Hatfull to God, to most men contrarye,
Spotted with pride, viciousnes, and cruelty.

Oh sorrowfull woman, my body and my soule
Shall ever be burdened with slander detestable!
Fame in her register my defame woll enroll,
And to race owt the same no man shall be able,
My lyfe of late hathe byn so abhomynable;
Therfor my frayltie I may both curse and ban,
Whissyng to God I had never known man.

Who was more happier, if I had byn gracious,
Than I of late, and had moore my wyll,
For my soverayn lord of me was so amorous
That all my desiers he gladly did fulfyll;
My hosbond and soverayn thought in me no ill,
He loved me so well, havyng in me great trust:
I turned trust to treason, and he chayngd all his lust.

The noblest prynce that raygned on the ground
I had to my hosbond, he toke me to hys wyfe;
At home with my father a maiden he me found,
And for my sake of pryncely prerogatyfe:
To an erle he advanced my father in his lyfe,
And preferred all them that ware of my bloode;
The most willyngest prynce to do them all good.

Whan Fortune had displayed abrode my freshe sayle,
Also had arryved me in the most joyfull port,
I thoughte that Fortune wold me never fayle,
She was so redy to avance all to my comfort;
But nowe, alas, she is as redy my vice to transport,
Changyng my joy to great indignacion,
Leavyng me in the stormes of depe desperacion.

I may be compared in every circumstance
To Athalia that destroyed Davythes lynne,
Spared not the blood by cruel vengeance
Of Goddis prophets, but brought them to rewyn:
Murder askyth murder, by murder she did fynd,
So in lyke wyse resystyng my quarell
How many have dyed and ended parell.

I was the auctor why lawes ware made
For speking ayenst me, to daynger the innocent;
And with great othes I found owt the trade
To burden mens concyence: thus I did invent
My sede to advance; it was my full intent
Lynnyally to succeed in this Emperial crown:
But howe sone hath God brought my purpose down!

Who that woll presume a purpose to achyve
Without Goddis helpe their matters for to frame,
At thend they shall but skarsly thryve,
And for ther enterprice receyve great blame
At Goddis hands, presumyng to the same
Thexperyence in me, wantyng Goddis ayd,
Wold mount aloft: how sone ame I dekayd!

Yt had byn better for myn assuraunce
To have led my lyfe in meke simplyssitie,
Owt of all daynger of Fortune's dissemblaunce,
Usyng my lyfe in wyfely chastitie
As other women, regardyng myn honestie;
Oh how myche prayse is gevyn to thos
That wold in no case ther chastitie loos.

But well away, evermore the spott
Of my default shall, aye, spryng and be grean;
For who, alas, can bear a greater blott
Than of such lyfe to bear the name onclean?
My epitaphe shall be,—“The vicious quene
Lyethe here, of late that justly lost hir hed,
Bycause that she did spott the kyngis bed.”

But God that dyd abhorre this lothesome deade,
For that I was a quene and lyved not chast
Hathe spotted me, alas, and all my sede;
Oon for a pledge, here left behynd for bast:
Thus after swete sawce folowd an egere tast,
A payment fyt, full well as it apperes
Dewe unto me for myn onjust desiers.

How happy art thou, quene Jane (the kyng's next wyfe),
Whos fame from ferre dayly doth rebound
For usyng of thy chast and sober lyfe;

Allthoughe thou art deade and layed in the ground,
Yet deathe wantithe power thy fame to confound;
For of thy chast sides perpetually to record
Sprong Kyng Edward, that swete and loyal lord.

O lady most excellent, by vertue stellefied,
Assendyng the hevyns, where thou raynest aye,
Among the goddes eternal, there to be deified,
Perpetually to endure unto the last day;
And I, most wretched, what shall I do or saye?
But humbly beseche the, O Lord, for thy passion,
That my worthy deathe may be my crymes purgacion.

Now must I depart, there is non other boote;
Farewell, fayer ladies, farewell, all noble dames,
That sometyme ware obedyent and kneled at my foote,
Eschewe detraction, preserve your honest names,
Geve non occasion a sparke to kyndell flames;
Remember this sentence, that is both old and trewe,
“Who will have no smoke the fier must nedes eschewe.”

Farewell, most gentill kyng; farewell my lovyng make;
Farewell the pieussant prynce, flower of all regally,
Farewell most pityfull, and pitie on me take;
Regard my dolorous woo marcyfully with your eye,
Howe for myn offences most mekely here I dye:
Marcy, noble prynce, I crave for myn offence;
The sharped sword hathe made my recompence.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Fynyshyng hir dole and woful complaynt,
Concludyng the same with a sorrowfull conclusion,
My hart lamentid by carefull constraynt,
To se fortune conceyve such an occasion,
A quene to overthrow from hir royal mancion;
Havying no respect for hir highe renown,
But from hir estate thus cruelly to throwe down.

Thus beyng astonyed with fortune's mutabilitie,
Who no man favoryth, of hyghe or low estate,
Hir assurance standyth not in any sewer tranquilitie,
But, at a soden blast, she saythe to them chek-mate;
Then hir to resyst, alas! it is to late.
Sytting in this muse, for sorow lakkyng brethe,
A nomber dyd appere that suffred paynes of dethe.

MORS DIVERS. PERSONARUM.

Of parsons lamentable, whome fortune did forsake,
And left them in daynger of deathe and worldly shame,
Whom she before encoraged boldly to undertake,
As traytors, to rebell, deservyng that fowle name;
Ther fame detestable, blowen abrode by fame:
And for as myche as ther offences ware not all of oon effecte,
I leave, therefore, the circumstance, ther name to you detecte.

First I will ther names playn to you resite,
Kepyng non order, but as they come to mynd:
As Lord Hussy, Lord Darcy, and Constable the Knight;

Lord Hungerford also, that wrought ayenst kynd;
And Lord Leonard Grey, accused, as I fynd,
Wrongfully, in Ireland, even of very spight:
God send his accusers as they deserved of right.

Aske of the Northe, ther captayn onkouthe;
Bygott and Bulmer, Percy and Nevell,
Lumly the yong, Lord Dacre of the Southe;

And Tempest also, that haynous rebell;
Fortescue, Dyngley, Roydon, Frouds, and Mantell;
Also Carowe and Moore, thank nights bothe twayne;
For ther offences whom justice hathe slayn.

Many moo ther ware that stode in a rowte,
Of priests and prelates, a byshop them among,
For old customes that than ware sought out;
With weepyng and waylyng they tewned ther song,
For certyn abuses sayd they used long:
To tell you ther names, I cannot at this season,
But let them alone, defamed with treason.

THE AUCTOR G. C.

Another there was, of whome I neds must tell:
Cromwell; all men hyme knewe as well as I:
Which in my mynd all others dyd excell
In extort power and insacyat tyrannye.
First advanced to be the kyng's secretarye,
And next set uppe on the toppe of the whele,
Made Erle of Essex and Lord privye seale.

CROMWELL, ERLE OF ESSEX.

Than began he to speke: Such was myn adventure
To be placed, quod he, in hyghe dignytie,

Wenyng my authoritie ever to endure,
And never to be trobled with non adversitie;
But, I perceyve, with royal egles a kight may not flie;
Allthoughe a jay may chatter in a golden cage,
Yet will the eagles disdayne hys parentage.

I rayned and ruled in hyghe estimacion,
From office to office assendyng the degrees;
First in the privye councell was my foundacion,
And cheife secretary with all vantages and fees:
Than folowed me sewters like a swarme of bees.
Thus began fortune on me for to smyle;
I trusted hir so myche that she dyd me begyle.

The title of vice-gerent I had in my style,
Governor of the prelacye and of the lawes devyne;
Also master of the rolls I was, in short while;
Thus began my glory to florish and to shyne,
As thoughe fortune wold hir whele to me resigne:
Unto the state of baron she did me than advaunce,
And next to an erle: thus was fortune's chaunce.

In this hyghe estate I myght not long endure,
Fortune did so chaynge hir favorable chere;
She slipte away all sodenly as it hathe byn her ure,
Hir covert countenance dyd than to me appere;
I trusted hir to myche, I bought hir trust to dere;
She promysed me so fayer, that I could not beware
Of hir disceytfull bayte, till I was in hir snare.

To Aman the Agagite I may be compared,
That invented lawes God's people to confound;
And for Mardocheus a galhowsse he prepared,
To hang him theron, if he myght be found,
Which he erected fyvetye cubytts from the ground,
Wheron Mardocheus to hang was all his trust,
Yet was hymself hanged on theme first.

So wrought I, alas! with the lawes of this realme,
Devised a law ayenst the accused,
Condempnyng without answere, or he could understand
The ground of his offence, it myght not be refused;
Thus straytly the lawes my subtill wytt abused:
Therfor, oon of the first, I ame tastyng on the payn;
Such measure I measured is measured me again.

I may therfore conclude, experience hath me taught
All is but vayn that man doth here invent;
Ther worldly wytt God bryngyth oft to naught,
And with ther workes he is not well content.
Behold my deads, than may you se it evydent,
That for my presumption, wanting Goddis grace,
My lyfe consumed is within a short space.

This is thend of my complaynt, I must therfor depart;
Farewell, my frends! farewell, my foos all;
Take of me ensample and plant it in your hart,
That suche lyke fortune may geve you a lyke fall;
Consider well, therfor, that here ye be mortall:
All thyng hath an end, whye do ye honors crave?
Whan ye shall, as I ame, be covered with your grave.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Thys late Lord Cromwell may warne you all
That foremost ride aloft in the chayer,
Not to trust to fortune, that tomblethe as a ball,
For chaunces uncerteyn, that often fall onware;
To God, se first, your harts ye prepare;
And next after that, in all your doyng,
Observe your faythe and allegyaunce to the kyng.

Pawsyng a while, reformyng of my penne,
For dulled with writyng and feobled was my brayn;
Thus sitting in a muse, I saw too noble men
Present byfore me redy to complayn;
Desiryng me bothe to take on me the payn,
Ther fall to remember, dissended of oon race;
Whome to behold it was a pityous case.

MARKES OF EXETER. LORD MONTAGU

What gretter prerogatyfe, quod they, have we
Of our lyves, or stand in more sykkernes,
Allthough of the lyne imperiall dissendyd we be,

Than hathe the mean sort of fortune's fykkilnes?
If she list to swerve, than is it remedylesse:
We must fortune abyde and suffer all with pacience,
For hyr to resist ther botythe no violence.

I was, quod thoon, a marquis, of late creacion,
Called of Exeter, and lynyally dissended
To the Erledom of Devonshyre by dewe generation;
Alas! all this have I lost; it cannot be amendyd,
For we are accused of purpose pretended,
Our soverayn to offend in such an offence
As nothyng but our heds can make therfore recompence.

That is trewe, quod the other, I must it neds confesse,
For I have felt the smart, whom ye know full well,
Sometyme Lord Montague, and now in great distresse;
Such is my chaunce, I can it not refell,
But with my cosyn here I suffer every dell
Of fortunes lott, and take it in good part,
Gevyng God thanks, therfore, with all my hart.

The blast of our cryme is greater shame
Than is the losse of all our brittel glory,
That we, alas! shold bere the slaunderous name

Of traytors falce in any boke or storye:
What is he of our bloode that wold not be sory
To here our names with vile fame so detected,
Wherewith our posteritie shall always be suspected?

What cause shold we have to be onkynd
Unto our soverayn lord, of hygh magnyficence?
Which, with his regal benyfitts did us hyghly bynd,
To bere to hyme our love and dewe obedyence;
Wherof all the world had intelligence,
That we, of all other, bothe of bloode and otherwyse,
Had least cause his magestie to dispise.

But the evyll spyrytt, that of canckard malygnytie,
Malygned our honor and hyghe renowne,
Disdayned our blood and auncyent dignytie;

Intendyng our overthrowe and to bryng us down,
Accused us of conspiracie agenst the royal crown:
Whos falce accusations ware than regardyd more
Than ever was our trouthe, used alwayes byfore.

Accused by hyme that shold rather excuse,
And defend our truthes with all his trewe endevor;
Oh, howe onkyndly did he us abuse!
The fact onnatural purged will be never,
But allwayes fresh, continuyng still for ever;
Who ayenst nature condempned hathe his brother
To cruel death, so hathe he done his mother.

To the great slaunder and blott of his name,
His credytt is lost, and so is his estymacion,
And he confused; alas! he was to blame,
Hymselfe to overthrowe, and all his generation,
Ayenst God nowe, how can he make purgation,
That so agaynst nature onnaturally hath wrought,
Destroyeng all his blood and brought hymself to nought?

Cruel accuser! thy malice was too strong,
Our fall to conspire by falshod brought abought;
Ayenst all nature thou hast done us great wrong,

Therfore from shame we put the out of dought:
Thou shalt never escape, it is so ferre blowen owt;
For of all kynd of vice, shortly to conclude,
The worst ayenst God is ingratitude.

Though thy necligence bryngythe us to this end,
Yet, that thou mayst have therof remembraunce,
We God humbly beseeche such grace to send
That thou mayst repent or he on the take vengeaunce
For thy great ingratitude: take this for thy penaunce:
Alwayes in thy hart call to thy memory
That by thy oonly meane hedles here we lye.

L'ENVOY DE L'AUCTOR G. C.

Since fortune sparith non of hyghe lynnage,
All men, therfore, be ye not rechelesse,
Prewdently to forsee the daynger of this pilgrimage;
Syth fortune waytithe onwarely you to oppresse,
Be circumspect and advise you in all your busynes,
And with vertewe ay pursue your noble pieussaunce,
Byfore fortune extendyth hir cruel vengeaunce.

For it is not your estates fortune can defend,
Your diligent travel or noble behavour,
Whan flykkeryng fortune doth hirself entend
To cast you out of your prynces favour;
For if a prynce hath caught a deadly savour
Of indygnacion, farewell all treuthe and noblenes;
To the blokke ye must, it is remedyles.

There is no consideration with prynces in ther ire,
And most in especyall ayenst an hyghe estate;
For where dread and dysdayn hath set the hart on fier
Of a wilfull prynce, with mercy not socyatt;
Also where pitie and clemency cannot his ire abate,
There you, myghty peers, must take fortunes chaunce,
To trype on the trace as some hath led the daunce.

To be a lord of royall bloode and dygnytie,
Sometymes, ye se, doth but small avaylle;
For better it ware to be of basse and low degree
Than in suche honor for a while to prevaylle;
A ragyng wynd may torne your brittel sayle,
And dryve you bake agayn, and rove you on some rocke,
Where your noble pates may happe to catche a knock.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Therfor thou, salved smart, for aye shallt be sore,
The great losse most worthy to be playned,
The onware chaunce that passed but of yore,
Wherof the greaffe so depe in me is grayned
That from myn eyen the teares skantly be refrayned
For the great dekay that still comyth me toward,
Of the late quene, whos name was Katheren Howard.

Thus as I sat, the teares in myn eyen,
Of hir the wrake whiles I did debate,
Byfore my face me thought I sawe this quene;
No wytt as I hir laft, God wott, of late,
But all bewepte, in blake and poore estate;
Which prayed me that I ne wold forget
The fall of hir within my boke to set.

QUENE KATHEREN, CALLED KATHEREN HOWARD

O cruel Destiny, (quod she) O Fortune insacyable,
O waveryng world, rollyng lyke a ball!
You are so wayward and so onstable
That never any assuraunce can be in you at all;
To all estates you are ennemyes mortall:
Who list of you to have experyence,
My fall may geve them intelligence.

To be a quene fortune dyd me preferre,
Floryshyng in youthe with beawtie freshe and pure;
Whome nature made shyne equall with the sterre,
And to reynge in felicitie with joy and pleasure,
Wantyng no thyng that love myght procure;
So hyghly beloved, farre beyond the rest,
With my soverayn lord who lodged in his nest.

But well away, how dredfull is the joyell
Of brittel beautie, that grace doth not concerve;
Yf dread of shame do not attend it well,
How lyke is lust to make them for to swerve,
With wanton provokyng, whan reason dothe not preserve
From onleafull licence, which causithe youth, parde,
To breke the fetters of fame and chastitie.

O tender youthe, frayle for to resist
The wanton appetites of carnal delight;
Whan love with lust dothe in youth consist,
Than hard for youthe ayenst vice to fight:
For youthe is blynd and hath no sight,
The trade to consider of honest wyfehod,
Till shame hath beten them with hir rode.

Alas! dame nature, who hathe in every vayn
Endewed me with gyfts, as to hir partie she thought mete:
Beautie, alas! also thou givest me cause to playn!

Why floryshest thou my youthe with thy licoure sweete,
Excellyng all other, from toppe unto the feete?
My blazing beautie is greatly to reprefe,
Chefe cause and ground of all my myschefe.

Who wyshethe beautie or wanton youth desier,
They covet that thyng they shold no wyse do so:
The brond I now repent that late was set on fier
Within my brest, which workythe me all this woo;
What daynger in Cupid's fier I playnly now do knowe:
Beware all ye, therfore, that nature hath you lent
Lyke graces, use them well, lest after ye repent.

Culpeper yong, and I, God wott, but fraylle,
We bothe to feeble our lusts for to resist;
Whan shamefastnes in me began to faylle
Of chastitie, than did I breake the twyst
With Dereham first, that my maydenhed possyst;
Deathe was ther mede, I with shame defaced:
Who shamely dothe, of long will not be raced.

O vessell of vice! O thou frayle youthe!
In whom no vertue can take roote,
Onles that grace have on the rewthe,
To plant in the some vertue sote,
Vice to resist there can be no boote:
Where grace wantithe, and hath of youth no cure,
There vertue in youth hath seldom byn in ure.

Nowe I knowe well (quod she), among my frends all
That here I last the day of my dekaye,
That I ne gett no pompes funerall,
Nor of my blake no man my charge shall paye,
Save that some oon perchance may happe to say,
Suche oon there was, alas! and that was rewthe,
That she hirself distayned with such ontrewthe.

Farewell, my bretherne and frends all arowe!
For all your harmes I oonly ame to blame
That thus have fallen, as all men knowe,

To your dekay and my great shame,
Though I ame well worthy of the same;
Yet pray ye to God, allthoughe that I have swerved,
That my sowle may have better than my body deserved.

EPITAPH.

By prove of me, non can denye
That beautie and lust, ennemyes to chastitie,
Have been the tweyn that hathe dekayed me,
And hathe broughte me to this end ontoward;
Some tyme a queen, and now hedlesse Howard.

CULPEPER.

And I, Culpeper, alas! born in Kent,
Admyttyd, from a boy, to be the kyng's page,
Prowde out of measure, which I may repent,

Drowned in the depthe of myn own outrage,
Over myche wenyng put God out of knowlege;
For by myne abusion of pride and viciousnes,
My lyfe is ended with shame and wredchednes.

Take example of me, I desire you, yong men all,
That rageth in youthe and tradyth the courtly lyfe,
All is but vanytie, your lives be but bestiall;
Bytween will and deade let virtue breake the stryffe,
And suffer vice to asswage, which hath in you prerogatife:
So contynewe ye may to live in your degree;
For if ye followe vice, dought it woll not be.

I folowed my pleasure, of God I had no feare,
Thynkyng myself but idell; and my labour vayn spent
In dyvyn servyce, the tyme that I was there;
For my devocion and my hole entent
Was gevyn to pleasure, such as I did invent:
Nowe I repent, therefore, my necligence to God,
Who hathe me corrected with his dyvyn rod.

Besechyng you, my frends, whom I have left behind,
To pray that Lord, whom I most have offended,
That he of his mercy wyll to me be kynd;
For now to late, my lyfe to be amended,
Wherefore, mercy, good Lord, that for me dissendyd
To shed his precious blood, hangyng on a tree;
Nowe yet, mercy, good Lord, I hartely byseche thee.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

As I drewe towards thend of my boke,
Purposyng to fynyshe that I had begon,
By chaunce, asyde, as I cast my loke,
I aspied a wydowe in blake full woo begon
[OMITTED]
That I wold hir a place here afford,
Whom I oons knew, Jane, Vicountess Rocheford.

VISCOUNTESS ROCHEFORD.

My grave father (quod she) of the Morlas lynne,
My mother of the St. John's; this was my parentage:
And I, alas! that dyd myself inclyne
To spot them all by this my owltrage,
Brought uppe in the court all my yong age,
Withouten bridell of honest measure,
Folowing my lust and filthy pleasure.

Without respect of any wyfely truthe,
Dredles of God, from grace also exempte,
Viciously consumyng the tyme of thys my youth;
And when my beautie began to be shent;
Not with myn owne harme sufficed or content,
Contrary to God, I must it nedes confesse,
Other I entised by ensample of my wredchednes.

Of right me thynkith I ought to be a glass
To all the rest of great estates; and dames
Seyng me nowe, considering what I was,
Without any blott, to kepe their honest names:
Seyng that vice ne endyth without flames;
And thoughe that shame may be wayled all day,
Thereof the blott will not be washt away.

Howe bright among us yet dothe shyne the starre
Of them that ride within the chayer of Fame,
Above all things, which only did preferre
The brewte to kepe of their onbroken name;
As auctors right well dothe testifie the same
Ayenst such vices that wan the victory,
And beare the palme to their eternall glory.

As vertuous Sara, Rebecca, and Racell,
Judyth, Hester, and chast Pennelopie,
And Cornelia, that onbroken kept the shell,
And bare the lampe of onquenched chastitie,
Fleeyng excesse or superfluitie,
Where carnall lust for all his violence
Ne made them breke chastitie or obedyence.

Where sturdy Silla, to nature contrarious,
Enforced by lust hir father's heare to pull;
With Cleopatra, concubyn to Anthonyous,
With vicious Pasiphæ that deled with the Bull;
And Messalyne, insacyatt, that never was full:
But ever thes wretches, vicious and discommendable
To God and nature, they lived abhominable.

Wold to God that I, in my flowryng age,
Whan I did trade the courtly life,
Had fostered byn in a symple village,
Beryng the name of an honest and chast wyfe;
Where now my slaunder for ever shall be ryfe
In every matter, both early and late,
Called the woman of vice insaciatt.

The tyme is past, and I have now receyved
The dewe dett of my onjust desiers,
Prayeng to God my fall may be conceyved
Within their harts that burn in vicious fiers;
The just God, as right allwayes requires,
That hathe me punyshed for my mysgovernaunce,
Ne take of me a greater vengeaunce.

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

Endynge thus hir playnt, another was commyng,
Of corage impotent, and depe worne in age;
Whos pitious dekay, if that I had connyng,
I wold expresse hir grevous dammage;
Althoughe she ware a lady of excellent parentage,
Of the bloode royal lynyally dissendyd,
Yet by cruel fortune at myschefe she ended.

For Fortune, ye know, regardyth non estate;
All estates to hir is oon whan that she list to frown:
Wherefore, ye nobles, beware hir cruel hate;
Non hath more nede than ye of grett renown;
For whan ye are most hyghest then doth she throwe you down,
And tomblyth you hedles from your hygh stages,
Who will not be retayned with now ther fees or wages.

COUNTESS OF SALISBURY

Thys matron hir playnt began in this wyse:
Alas, (quod she) age hath no more assuraunce
Of Fortune's sewertie, whom she dothe dispise,
Than hathe lusty youthe; all hangyth in hir balaunce,
Disposyng as she will to favor or to myschaunce;

Which I have felt, as well thoon as the other,
Although I was the daughter of a kyng's brother.

My father, a Duke, of Clarence was his style,
And brother of Kyng Edward, the IVth of that name,
Who was condempned also, alas, alas, the whyle!
By subtill accusacion, and he nothyng to blame
For a prophane prophesye, of whom than ran the fame;
Condempned therefor to dye, and drownd in a butt of wyne:
Thus by cruel Fortune brought he was to rewyn.

A brother than I had, who also was his heyer,
Yong and tender, and I, God wott, not old,
Laft in the hands of worldly dispayer,
Whos lyfe thorough daynger was both bought and sold;
And so I here remayned in sorrows manyfolde,
Untill my sovereyn lord of his royal clemencye
Restored me againe to the Erledome of Salesbury.

Ledynge thus my lyfe accordyng to myn estate
I was the more estemed for my grave demeanor,
I banysshed allwayes the cause of ryott and debate
Owt of my hall, my chamber, and my bower.

With whome I had non acquaintance day ne hower;
So that my soverayn, for my sad disposicyon,
Assigned me the governaunce and prudent direccion

Of his oonly doughter, than prynces of this land,
Of femynyn vertues the very soverayn flower;
The cuer than of whom I gladlie toke in hand
To governe and rewle as lady governour
Of that swete lady; I dyd my best endevoure,
For whome God I did beseche and pray
That he wold preserve hir long and many a day.

Thus passed I my lyfe, not wyllyng to offend,
But did myself employ, with all my dyligence,
That which was amyse, to se it well amend,
In all thes my places wherof I had premynence:
In mynestryng of justice I never used vyolence,
But with pacyence and charitie asswaged my affeccion,
Beryng in my hart no malice after correction.

Yet at the last, for all my sober lyfe,
The chaunce of fortune I cowld no wyse resist,

Whos crueltie myn honor cruellie did depryfe,
And gave me an overthrowe or ever I it wyst;
With a frownyng countenance she stroke at me hir fyst,
As thoughe she had sayd, in words expresse,
Thou shalt not escape this hand of cruelnes.

I saw no remedy; for deathe with his mace
Gave me chek-mate, led to execucion;
Ther boted no excuse I could fynd, no grace,
I was condempned without examynacion:
Of the Plantagynetts last of that generation,
Which bare that name of old and noble fame,
Some tyme esteemed, and nowe in worldly shame.

O ye matrons that be of noble race,
A myrror make of me, trust not your estate;
Beware of Fortune with hir dissembled face,
Allthoughe she smyle, as she did on me but late,
With face benygn, yet nowe she dothe me hate,
And will no more spare, for all my highe degree;
I warne you all—example take of me.

THE EARLE OF SURREY.

What advantage had I to be a duke's heyr,
Endowed with such qualities as few in my tyme,
Lakkyng nothing that nature myght repayr;
In dewe proportion she wrought hathe every lyme,
Assendyng Fortune's whele, made lyke to clyme;
Syttyng in myn abode, supposing to sitt fast,
With a sudeyn tourne she made me dissend as fast.

Who trustith in honor, and settythe all hys lust
In worldly riches, havyng of them aboundance,
Let hyme beware, and take good hede he must
Of subtill fortune, with dissembling countenaunce;
For whan she smylyth than hathe she least assuraunce,
For the flatteryng world dothe often them begyle
Withe suche vayn vanynes: alas! alas! the whyle.

I have not only myself overthrowen,
But also my father, with heares old and hoore;
Althoughe his acts marsheall be right well knowen,
Yet was myn offence taken so passyng sore
That I nedes must dye, and he in prison for evermore

Shall still remayn, for it will not avaylle
All his great conquests, wherin he did prevaylle.

O Julius Cæsar! O thou mighty conquerour!
What myght thy conquests and all thy victorye
The prevayle? that of Rome was emperour,
Whos prowes yet remaynyth in memorye,
Whan Brewtus, Casseus, with falce conspyracye
Ayenst the in the Capitoll did contend,
Than all thy worthynes could the not defend.

Also Scipio of Affrican, that for the comon wele
Of Rome, the empire, the citie beyng in distresse,
Lykly to be subdewd, than every dele
By Anyball's valyaunt hardynes,
And dyvers noble victoryes, as the history doth express,
That he atchyved to the honor of the town,
Cowld not hym prevayle whan Fortune lyst to frown.

Thes myghtie champions, thes valyaunt men,
Who for the publyke wele travelled all their lyfe,

Regarded not their ease, nowther where or when,
But most valyauntly with corage intentyfe
Defendyd the wele publyke from all myschyfe;
Yet was ther nobles put in oblyvion,
And by matters conspired brought to confusion.

Loo the reward, alas, that men shall have
For all ther travells in ther dayes old,
With a small spot ther honor to deprave;
Alas, it causithe full often men's harts to be cold
Whan suche chaunces they do behold,
How for oon offence a thousand conquests valyaunt
Can have no place, ther lyves make warraunt.

Therfore, noble father, hold yourself content,
And with your captyfe lyve; be you nothing dysmayd,
For you may see in historys, playn and evident,
That many noble persons, as ye are hath byn dekayed;
The chaunce therfore of fortune nedes must be obeyed,
And perpetual prisonment here shall be your gwerdon,
And dethe for my deserts, without remyse and pardon.

For all my knowledge, wisdom, and science,
That God hath me endowed all others to precell,
Gave me here but small preemynence,
All thoughe some ware advaunced in the comon wele
From basse estate, as experience dothe tell,
For suche virtues as vices in me accompted were,
Caused me to be doughted and in great feare.

That thyng which in some deservyth commendation,
And hyghly to be praysed, as virtues comendable,
Beyng esteemed therefore worthy exaltacion,
And to be advanced to dygnyties honorable,
I assure you ware to me nothing profitable;
For suche some tyme as are but vayn and idell
Dysdaynythe all them that owght to rewle the bridell.

Therfore, farewell, my peeres of the noble sect,
Desyryng you all my fall for to behold,
Let it a myrror be, that ye be not infect
Wythe folyshe wytte, wherof be not to bold;
My warnyng to you is more worth than gold:

An old proverbe there is, which trewe is at this day,
The warned is half armed, thus I hard men say.

I thought of no suche shame as now to me is chaunced,
I trusted so my wytt, my power, and myn estate,
Thynkyng more rather highly to be avaunced
Than to be deposed, as I have byn but late;
Be it right or wrong, loo, I have lost my pate:
Ye se thend of many noble estates,
Take a vewe of me, and of some your late mates.

TH'AUCTOR, G. C.

With that he vanyshed, I wyst not whether,
But away he went, and I was left alone,
Whos words and talke I gathered them together,
And in this sentence rewd wrote them everychone;
Yet was my hart with sorrow full woo begone,
So noble a yong man of wytt and excellence
To be condempned for so small offence.

L'ENVOY DE L'AUCTOR.

But nowe behold the busynes that some hathe to overthrowe,
Some suche which after could hurt them but a small,
Mark them well, how they folowe on a rowe,
Stumblyng at the bloke; they doughted not at all
But as they measure—that same to them shall falle,

Thexperience is seen dayly byfore ther eyes,
But will woll not suffer them from folye to arise.

Hope of long lyfe causithe all this desier
With ambycious honor that ther wytt defaces,
Yt makithe them so poore-blynd they cannot se the fier
Which them consumyth playn before ther faces;
But, to be short, it is for lake of graces
Which they myght have, if they wold call to God,
But they be so stoute they feare not his just rod.

Evyn so did he, but now he felythe the smart,
Trustyng than, as they do now, in his tong and wytt,
To prevent all suche myschefs whereof he had his part,
Perceyvyng what wytt is when from God it doth flytt;
Trust in hyme therefore which eternally above doth sytt
Beholdyng your madnes, which ye so myche esteem,
Laughyng therat, and for foly dothe it deme.

L'AUCTOR G. C.

Intendyng here to end this my symple worke,
And no further to wade in this onsavery lake,
My penne was fordulled, my wytts began to lurke,
I sodenly trembled as oon ware in a brake,
The cause I knew not that I shold tremble and shake,
Untill dame Fame I hard blow hir trembling trompe
With woofull blast, brought me in a soden dompe.

Dame Fame I asked, why blowe ye your tromp so shryll
In so deadly a sound? ye make my hart full sorry.
She answerd me agayn, and sayd, Sir, so I wyll.

Deade is that royal prynce, the late VIIIth Harry;
Wherfor adewe, I may no lenger tarry,
For thorowghe the world I must, to blow this deadly blast:
Alas, thes woofull newes made my hart agaste!

I went my wayes, and drewe myself aside,
Alone to lament the deathe of this royall kyng;
Perceyvyng right well dethe wyll stope no tyde
With kyng or kaysier, therefore a wonderouse thyng
To se how will in them dothe raygn, makyng ther ryconyng
Ever to lyve, as thoughe Deathe ware of them afeard
To byd them chekmate, and pluke them by the berd.

To fynyshe thys worke I did myself dispose,
And to conclude the same, as ye before have red,
I leaned on my chayer, entendyng to repose;
In a slepie slomber I felle, so hevy was my hed,
Morpheus to me appered, and sayd he wold me lede
My spyritts to revyve, and my labor to degest,
With whom fantzy was redy, and stayed in my brest.

Fantzy by and bye led me, as I thought,
To a palice royal of pryncely edyfice
Plentyfully furnyshed, of riches it lacked nought;
Astonyed not a littill of the woofull cries
Which I hard there with many wepyng eyes,
Even as we passed from place to place,
I beheld many a pityfull bedropped face.

So that at the last, to tell you playn and right,
We entred a chamber without light of the day,
To whome wax candells gave myche light,
Wherin I perceyved a bed of royall array,
To the which I approched, makyng no delay,
Wherin a prynce lay syke with a deadly face,
And cruel Atrophos standyng in that place.

Clotho I aspied also, that in hir hand did support
A distaffe, wherof the stuffe was well nyghe spent
Which Lachesis doth spynne, as poetts doth report,
Drawyng the lyvely thred, till Attrophos had hent
Hir sharped sheres, with a full consent

To shere the thred, supporter of his life,
Ayenst whome ther botythe no prerogatyfe.

Attendyng on his person was many a worthy grome
Where he lay syke, to whom syknes said chekmate;
Allthoughe he ware a prynce of highe renome,
Yet syknes regarded not his emperyal estate;
Tyme approched of his lyfe the fynall date,
And Attrophos was prest his lyves thred to devyde:
Hold thy hand (quod he) and let thy stroke abyde.

HENRICUS REX LOQUENS, AD MORTEM.

Geve me leve, Attrophos, myself for to lament;
Spare me a lyttyll, for nature makes me sewe;
The fleshe is frayle and lothe for to relent,
For deathe with lyfe cannot be shett in mewe,
They be contraryaunt, ther is no thing more trewe;
For lyfe ayenst dethe allwayes dothe rebell,
Eche man by experience naturally this can tell.

From Clothos distafe my lyvely stuffe is spent,
Which Lachesis the slender thred hathe sponne
Of my lyfe emperyall; and thou, Attrophos, hast hent
The sharped sheres to shere my feoble throme
That the warbeled spendell no more abought shold ronne;
And of my regall lyfe thus hast thou great disdayn
So slender a thred so long shold it susteyn.

But leve of, Attrophos, thou nedes not make suche hast
My symple lyfe with vigor to confound,
Thy sheryng sheres thou shalt but spend in wast,
For the spyndells end alredy is at the ground,
The thred ontwynned cannot more be twound:

Great folly in the, that takes suche idell payne
To slee that thyng that is all redy slayne.

Wherfore leave of, Attrophos, for end of lyfe is deathe,
And deathe I se is end of worldis payn,
What shalt thou wyn than to stope my faynted brethe,
Sythe well thou knowest whan that thou hast me slayn,
To wele or woo I shall oons rise agayn:
Thoughe in thy fury my lyfe nowe thou devour,
To sle me agayn it shall not lie in thy power.

Slee me not, Attrophos, but let [the] spyndell ronne,
Which long hathe hanged by a feoble lynne,
For whan Lachesis hir fyned flees hathe sponne,
The spyndell woll fall; thou seest well with thyn eyne,
No stuffe is laft agayn the threds to twyne:
So slender it is, that with oon blast of wynd
The thred wyll breke, it is so slakly twynd.

But nowe, alas! that ever it shold befall
So famous a prynce, of fame so notable,
That fame with defame shold the same appall,

Or cause my concyence to be so onstable,
Which for to here is wonderous lamentable,
How for the love and fond affeccion
Of a symple woman, to worke all by collusion.

I broke the bond of marriage, and did myself incline
To the love of oon in whome was all my felicitie,
By means whereof this realme is brought in rewyn;
Yet notwithstandyng, I neds wold serve my fantzye,
So that all my lust in hir was fyxt assuredly,
Which for to color, I colored than my case,
Makyng newe lawes, the old I did deface.

With colour of concyence I colored my pretence,
Entendyng therby to sett my bond at lybertie,
My lusts to frequent, and have of them experyence,
Sekyng but my lust of onlefull lecherye,
Wherof the slander remaynethe still in me;
So that my wilfullnes and my shameful trespace
Dothe all my magestie and noblenes deface.

Whan Venus veneryall of me had domynacion,
And blynd Cupido my purpose did avaunce,
Than willfull lust thoroughe indiscression,

Was chosyn juge to hold my balaunce
Of onleful choyse, by whos onhappie chaunce,
Yt hath darked my honor, spotted fame and glory,
Which causithe my concience oft to be full sory.

Alake, therfore, greatly I ame ashamed
That thus the world shold know my pretence,
Wherwith my magestie is slaundred and defamed
Thoroughe this poysoned lecherous offence,
Which hathe constrayned by mortall violence
So many to dye my purpose to attayn,
That nowe more grevous surely is my payn.

Though I ware myghty and royal in pieusaunce,
Havyng all thyngs in myn own domayn,
Yet was my reason under the obeysaunce
Of fleshely lust, fetered in Venus' chayn,
For of my lust, will was my soverayn;
My reason was bridelled so by sensualitie,
That wyll rewled all without lawe and equytie.

After I forsoke my first most lawfull wyfe
And toke an other, my pleasure to fullfill,
I chaynged often, so inconstant was my lyfe;

Deathe was the meade of some that did non ill,
Which oonly was to satisfie my wyll;
I was so desirous, of newe, to have my lust,
Yet could I fynd non lyke the furst.

In excellent virtue and wyfely trouthe,
In pryncely prudence and womanly port,
Which floryshed in hir evyn from hyr youthe,
So well disposed and of so sad a sort,
To all men it was no small comfort;
And synce the tyme that I did hir devorse,
All England lamentethe and hathe therof remorse.

Hir to commend and prayse, evyn at the full,
As she was worthy, it lyethe not in my myghte,
My wytt and connyng is to grosse and dull
Hir worthynes in so rude a style to wright,

Unto pacient Greseld, if ever there ware any;
For lyke hyr paciente there hathe not regned many.

What inconvenyence have I nowe brought to passe,
Thoroughe my wilfullnes of wylfull necligence,
Within this realme, fare from the welthe it was,
It nedes not therfore to geve you inteligence,
For you have felt the smart and the indygence;
Wherfore to make any ferther declaration,
It ware to me but an idell occupacion.

For all my conquests and my royal powers,
My pleasaunt tryumphes and my bankettyng chere,
My pryncely port and my youthfull powers,
My great liberalities unto my darlyngs dere,
My emperyall magestie, what ame I the nere?
For all my great aboundance, nothyng can me defend
From mortall dethe; all fleshe must have an end.

Who had more joyes? who had more pleasure?
Who had more riches? who had more aboundaunce?
Who had more joyells? who had more treasure?
Who had more pastyme? who had more dalyaunce?
Who had more ayd? who had more allyaunce?
Who had more howsis of pleasure and disport?
Who had suche places as I for my comfort?

All thyng to reherce wherin I toke delight
A long tyme, I assure you, wold not suffice;
What avayllethe now my power and my myght,
Since I must dye and shall no more aryse
To raygn in this world, nor seen with bodely eyes?
But as a clott of clay consume I must to dust,
Whom you have seen to raygn in welthe and lust.

Farewell, my nobles! farewell, my prelates pasturall!
Farewell, my noble dames! farewell, yow prensells fayer!
Farewell, my citezens! farewell, my commons all!
Farewell, my howses! where I was wont repayer;
Farewell, my gardens! farewell, the pleasant ayer!
Farewell, the world! farewell, eche creature!
Farewell, my frends! my lyfe may no more endure.

Adewe, myn impe! adewe, my relyke here!
Adewe, my sonne Edward! sprong of the royall race
Of the wight rose and the red, as it may well appere:
Lord God, I beseche the to send hym of thy grace,
Prosperously to raygne and long to enjoy my place,
To thy will and pleasure, and the common welthe
Justly here to governe in great joy and helthe.

100

L'AUCTOR G. C.

With that I sawe his breath fast consume away,
And lyfe also, allthoughe he ware a kyng;
Whan deathe was come nedes he must obeye;
For deathe is indyfferent to eche creature lyvyng:
He sparithe none, all is to hyme oon ryconyng:
All estates by deathe must end, ther is none other boote;
Loo here nowe I lie (quod he) underneathe your foote.

Makyng thus an end of his most dolorouse talke,
I strayt awoke owt of my sobbyng slomber;
Morpheus than forsoke me and forthe began to walke,
But fantzy with me abode, who did me myche encomber,
Puttyng me in remembrance of the lamentable nomber
Which in my slepe I sawe, with every circumstance;
It was no small grieve to my dull remembrance.

And when I degested eche thyng as it was,
I could but lament in my faythfull hart,
To se the want of our wonted solas,
With whome I nedes must take suche equall part;

101

And than to my remembrance I did agayn revert,
Recountyng his noblenes, shortly to conclude,
Wrott than thus his epitaphe in sentence brefe and rude.

EPYTAPHE.

Victoryously didest rayn
The viiith Herrye,
Worthy most soverayn,
Tenth worthy, worthy.

A Jupiter of providence,
A strengthe of Herculus,
A Mars of excellence,
A paynfull Janus.

A Cesar of clemencye,
A corage of Hector,
A Solomon in sapience,
An armez of Arthore.

A Cicero in eloquence,
A hardy Aniball,
A David in prudence,
An Alexander liberall.

A Plato in peace,
Of beawtie an Absolon,
An Achilles in presse,
In governance Agamemnon.

A force of Sampson,
A Charlemayn in myght,
A Godfroy of Bulloyn,
A Rowland in fyght.

An Holy Phocion,
A continent Fabricyus,
An intier Caton,
A pieussaunt Pompeyous.

102

A Marcus Marcellus,
A Scipio Affrican,
A Ceasar Julius,
An other Octavyan.

This beawtie of Britayne
Reyned prosperously.
Of progeny Grecean,
Dissendyd lynyally.

Whos honor to magnifie
The mighty power dyvyn
Hath chosyn hyme for thyn eie
Above the sterres to shyne.

FINIS G. C.

103

L'AUCTOR G. C.

Thus havyng just cause on dyvers thyngs to wonder,
Wayeng within myself the soden chaunce and fall
Of pryncely magestrates whom fortune hath brought under,
Chayngyng ther swetnes unto bitter gall,
Havyng no respect to great ne yet to small;
Thys all men knowyth that hath bothe wytt and reason,
That fortunes fayned favors lastithe but a season.

Thus syttyng in a dompe, sodenly came in
Oon with visage sade and pale as any lead,
Inwardly pensyve complaynyng of his kynne,
Who was condempned for to loose his hed;
Hymselfe to defend he knew non other stede,
But paciently to suffer as fortune shold provide,
The crueltie of theme that shold have byn his gwyde.

104

LORD SEYMOUR.

Sometyme Lord Seymour I was, and uncle to a kyng,
Allthoughe (quod he) onworthy to so highe a name,
Yet did his grace encrease so my lyvyng;
To my highe honor and perpetual fame,
I maried the quene by means of the same,
Who was wyfe to Kyng Herre my soverayn lord,
Wherat some disdayned and greatly did remord.

They grudged, they groned, and fret very sore,
They fumed, they fomed, fantazyng what way
They myght me dispatche and distroy for ever more;
Ther purpose cloos wrought, which they did delay
Untill they brought abought my utter dekay;
Procured by a woman, as all the world sayethe,
No malice lyke thers, who it justly wayethe.

O ingrate, (quod he) O kyn onkynd, alas!
Ayenst all nature thus to be unkynd;

105

All the world abhorrethe to see it brought to passe,
Nature to repugne that often is full blynd;
Yt grudgythe myche more every honest mynd
Than it did the Romans whan Nero slewe his mother,
A fact as onnatural oon brother to slee another.

Nature, alas! to disdayn ayenst natures newe estate,
Where nature shold rejoyce, there nature to repyne;
Yt nedes must cause nature to thynk it onnaturate,
To cause his owen nature from nature to declyne,
Thorowghe ambycyous disdayn so miserably to fyne:
Alas! that brother ayenst brother such vengeaunce shold procure;
Can there be more vengeaunce?—no! I make you sewre.

I allwayes ment justly! Lord, be thou my juge,
Entendyng no man hurt, nother in word or deede;
My soverayn lord, who was my cheafe refuge,
I loved and obeyed, as nature did me leade;
Yet, that notwithstandyng, ayenst me they did procede,
Not havyng to justice or nature any respecte,
But onjustly ayenst nature did me thus detecte.

106

I deamed all treuthe to be in my brother,
Supposyng that he had byn so to me,
Perceyvyng non occasyon, I sawe in hyme non other
But brotherly love, void of all duplicitie;
But who, alas! did ever heare or se,
Or who did ever in any story fynd
Blood unto blood to be more onkynd?

As a brother shold, I put in hyme my trust,
And trusted hym ever in hart, wyll, and thought;
For by his countenaunce non other cause I wyst,
And of any malice I mystrusted hyme nought,
That ever he cowld so false a thyng have wroughte;
But who may sooner another man disseyve
Than he in whome no malice we conseyve?

My brother surmysed and toke a wrong occasion
To condempn me of treason, onjustly for to fayn,
A matter ayenst right to bryng me to confusion,
The whiche he conceyved of hatred and disdayn,
Ayenst me affirmyng in very certeyn,
That I ayenst trouthe and myn allegeaunce,
Wold of my soverayn have the sole governaunce.

107

The which was surmysed of pretenced malice,
Hyme self well knowyng it was not so;
Yet ayenst concyence he did my death devyse,
Not lyke a brother, but like a cruel foo;
And, to thencrease of my mortall woo,
In short processe by crafty invencion,
He imagyned my death and my distruccion.

Whos oonly purpose kyndeled was by covetise
Thys realme to rewle, cheafe cause of his disdayn;
And yet myght the governaunce, truly to devyse,
Have byn governed by us bretherne twayn,
The better for our sewerties and lesse to our payn;
Howbeit he dispatched me and brought to distruccion,
Hymself allonly to have therof proteccion?

This falce conspiracy was not wrought alon
By my oonly brother, without the helpe of other,
Which in my way hathe cast this mortal bone;
Yt was the Erle of Warwyke, it was non other,
That to my deathe procured hathe my brother,

108

By whos consent hathe brought me to thys end,
Which at his most nede myghte have byn his frend.

The very ground and cause was of my distres
The sayd Erle of Warwyke, thoonly sours and well,
And cheafe inventor of all this falcenes,
Who in craft and falshod all others did precell,
As all the world can beare me wytnes well,

109

Whome I supposed of my deathe to be innocent;
But suerly it was he, and that he may repent.

This whyly Beare that intended to devoure
Me sely lambe, onprovided for defence,
Not sekyng any helpe myselfe for to socoure,
I was so innocent to make any resistence,
Mysdeemyng non falcehed, mystrustyng non offence;
What wonder was it, the frawde not conceyved,
Thoughe I beyng innocent onwarely was dysseyved?

Allthoughe my greafe be great, as nedes it must,
Yet somethyng it is releafed whan I inwardly remember
The deathe of the Quene, that now lyeth in the dust,
For in this world she myghte have lyved longer;
Hir deadly sorrowes shold have byn not full slender;
Whos deyntie dolower wold myche encrease my payn,
When I the teares shold se from hir face derayn.

But blessed is she that thus is now depryved
The paynful cares of this tempestious skie,

110

Whos alterasion the origynal is deryved
From onstedfastnes and sodayne mutabylitie;
Therfore I nedes must say that blessed nowe is she,
Synce she is delyverd of this my desolacion,
Which wold have chaynged hir joy to lamentacion.

I thought to myn answere I shold be forthe brought,
Where that my trouthe myght justly have beene tried,
And proved all thyng vayn which ayenst me was wrought:
But whan they consulted and had well espied
That ther accusacions myght lawfully byn denyed,
Than without answere condempned I was to dye;
Yf the lawe be suche, than justice I defie.

But whan their purpose was fully resolved,
Be it right or wrong, malice wold geve no place;
For right was sett aside and trew justice desolved;
Say what I wold and still defend my case,

111

My deathe was determyned before any trespace;
That nedes I must dye do what I can;
Yt boted me not to requyer justice than.

Ther malice was great, it apperithe by ther facts,
After dethe to slaunder me and cause falce report,
Ye may se it playn in ther parliament acts;
And yet not content, but a preacher they did exhort
Opynly in a pulpit byfore a noble sort
To accuse me of thyngs to all men onknowen:
Was it mete for a precher such slander to beblown?

112

O Precher! what moved the, me to defame?
Was it thyn office, or was it thy profession,
To applie Goddis scripture to the slaunder of my name?
Are not ye therfore brought to confusion?
You may se, howe God wyll in conclusion
All suche punyshe that slander invents;
Therfore preache no slaunder of innocents.

Innocent I was of any cryme or offence
That myn ennemyes ayenst me cowld prove;
Therfore death here I take uppon the pretence,
And to that just Judge sytting in hevyn above
I commytt my cause, that the tender love
He bare to mankynd whan he suffred passion;
Have mercy uppon me and grant me clear remyssion.

113

TH'AUCTOR G. C.

With that I stept uppe and wold have gone my wayes.
Nay, not so soon, to me than sayd an other,
For I am come to complayn my fall and my dekayes:
He that last departed hence was my very brother;
Our father Sir John Seymour, and borne of oon mother:
Alas! I was the causer of his death, craftely surmysed;
An act as unnatural as cowld be devysed.

Wherfore, I pray the, wright my complaynt;
And spare me not, for I woll tell the duly.
Alas! (quod I) my hart nowe waxith faynt

114

With sittyng so long, I tell the truly,
Heryng complaynts of men so onruly;
Wherefore be short, I pray you, and go your way;
I will wright all thyngs what so ever you say.

THE DUKE OF SOMERSET.

How to complayn, or what sorrows for to make,
Or how to lament (quod he) my woofull chaunce,
I lake teeres sufficient; fortune hathe me forsake,
Whom she heretofore highly did advaunce,
And traced me forth in the pleasaunt dance

115

Of worldly honors and hyghe dignytie,
Havyng no regard to hir mutabilitie.

O mortal lyfe! O momentary estate!
O deathe oncertayn, and yet no thyng more suer!
O honor and renowne, whos suertie hath no date,
So that in this world no thyng may endure!
The prove in me ye may playnly se the ure,
For late I was a duke of high renowne,
Whome fortune hathe full low brought down.

I clame aloft and mounted uppe the stage
Of honorable estate to be a noble peere,
But fykkyll fortune in hir cruel rage
Of very dispyght, hath thrust me from hir speere,
She is nowe fled and will no more come neere;
Thus ame I lefte alone in an woofull case;
In worldly felicitie I fynd but littil grace.

With great presumcion, whan the king was gon,
And passed the passage of this oncertyn lyfe,
To be than the Protector I presumed to it anon,

116

And banyshed all them that had prerogatyfe,
By his pryncely will, to avoyd all stryfe,
And the lawes of this realme which he made of equitie,
I changed and made new with great extremytie.

I, thought for my wytt mete to be a juge,
All other to precell in wysdome and discression;
Yet, by comparison, in wytt I was a druge,
For if wysdom had had of me any possession,
I shold have considered for to reule a region
Was a greater matter than my wytt cold comprehend;
I was but a fool, and so it proved in the end.

Yf reason had rewled me, or wysdom had place,
I wold not have meddeled, not mete for my capacitie,

117

But ordered all thyngs by the wyll of the kyngs grace,
As he left them in writyng for a perfect memorye,
And to preserve thes laws which ware of auctoritie,
That the kyng had made for the preservacion
Of this his realme and his sonnes educasion.

Alas! yong prynce, thou reygnedest lyke a kyng,
Thou barest the name, but I rewled all by wyll,
And bare a kyngly port in every manner thyng;
I presumed on thy name whan I wold fullfill
My covetous appetyte, owther in good or yll;
Thoughe he ware kyng, and bare therof the name,
I had the gaynes, wherin I was to blame.

Sewrly a Protector shold in every thyng
Defend the realme from warre and debate,
And mantayn thos forts which Herre our kyng,
Whan his owen persone in his royale estate,
Leavyng them to his sonne after that rate,
Which I suffred to be lost for lake of defence,
That owght to be defended with my personal presence.

I mynyshed his houshold and his regal port,
I consumed hys treasure, I abated his possessions,

118

I banyshed all men that ware not of my sort,
I esteemed no gentlemen of auncient conditions,
I mayntened the commens to make insurreccions;
I thought in the commons to have suere ayd,
But at my most ned I was of them denayed.

The plage of God must justly on me lyght,
For shedyng of my brothers blood by cruel assent,
Whome I caused to dye of malice and dispight;
Alas! I was to blame to his death for to consent,
Therfore I ame well worthy of thys punishment;

119

For suche ontruthe with like ontruthe again
God will punyshe; the same shall still remayn.

Of all my greves nothyng more grevous
Than to remember my cruel deade,
Which ayenst nature was mere contrarious.

120

O brother, forgeve me, for I stand in great dreade
Of God's indignacion, now at my neade:
Forgeve me, good God, my fact onnaturall;
For mercy and pitie to the I cry and call.

A kyng and his realme I presumed to defend,
That at my most nede cowld not myself preserve:
O blynd asse, whye wold I than pretend
A prynce and his realme royally to conserve,
Supposyng for my worthynes honor to deserve:
Of an auncyent dukedome, to beare the high style,
Twyse I was subdeued; I enjoyed but a whyle.

At last lyke a traytor led to the barre,
There of high treason for to be raygned,
And tried by my peers to make or to marre,
Whome they of justice without favor fayned,
Quyt me therof, wherat some disdayned,
And rayned me agayn of fellony conspired;
Yt was but my deathe that they desired.

121

Well, I was condempned and juged for to dye,
To hang lyke a thiefe; such was than my jugement;
Who hath hard the lyke, or seen with his eye
A duke condempned for a fellonous entent?
Where was no hurt don that they cowld invent:
Howbeit I ame the first that shall in this case,
For others ensample dye without trespase?

122

My tyme is come, and I must nedes suffer
The rigor of the lawes; there is no remedye;
And for my lyfe, it boted not to profer
Gold ne sylver, but dye I must assuredly;
And yet God wot there is no cause whye;
How be it my hed is lost, and I am gone before
My ennemyes may ensewe and repent therfore?

123

LE AUCTOR G. C.

Thend of his complaynt made me for to muse
More than the rest of all his tale byfore;
A duke most shamefully with crueltie to abuse,
And a kyng's uncle, whom they shold have forbore;
But how they durst presume it wonders me therefore:
Howbeit I see God's works which be knowen to none,
For his jugements be secret tyll they be past and gone?

As I loked about and cast my hed aside,
Beyng faynt with travell, and in wofull playnt,
Fower knyghts on a rowe by me I aspied,

124

Desyryng me vouchesalve for to consent
To wright their myshappe whilest they ware present:
Goo to, than, (quod I) and say what ye lyst,
Your sayengs I woll wright, or I desist.

With that I hard a sound and a wonderous noyce,
As though they wold have spoken all at oons,
Whos speeches semed me to be but oon voyce;
They shevered for cold, with bare and naked boons;
Full lamentable was their woofull moons:
They agreed at last, and oon spake first of all;
Thes ware his words, of whom I make rehersall.

125

SIR THOMAS ARONDELL.

Alas! (quod he) some tyme I was a knyght,
Beyng in my contre of great estimation;
By my father Aroundell, evyn so my name hight,
A yonger brother I was by dewe generation,
And with the Cardinal Wollsey was my educasion;
Whos favor brought me first to aboundaunce
Of riches and possessions of great inheritaunce.

Chancellor I was also, onworthy though I ware,
To Katheren Howard, that some tyme was quene;
Such fayned favor than fortune me bare,
That worthy of dignitie she did me esteme;
As I than thought she used me so cleane:
But the quene is dekayed and past this vyle passage,
Which by wanton youthe was brought in dotage.

Yet it was of trouthe I must neds confesse;
Se of privye malice howe God now plagethe me,
Evyn for his cause, whos cause causeles
I was cheafe cause to bryng to calamytie,
Yea God in his jugements a right wyse juge woll be;

126

For though I offendyd not wherein found gyltie,
Yet hathe God punyshed me for my privye envye.

But will you see a wonderous thyng
That God hathe wrought by dyvyn operacion?
Marke nowe, and ye shall here shortly, concludyng:
With the Duke of Northumberland I was in consultacion,
Who bare the Duke of Somerset high indignacion:
I was cheafe councellor in the first overthrowe
Of the Duke of Somerset, which few men dyd know.

Thinke not to escape, ye that do offend,
The punysshment of God for your offence;
He knowyth the secrets that you do pretend,
Thoughe it be wrought with a secret pretence;

127

Ye cannot blynd his dyvyn intellygence;
Therefore ame I punyshed for my conspiracye
Ayenst the innocent with my deadly ennemye.

To be hanged thoughe my jugement ware,
Yet to do me honour they chaynged ther sentence,
And to leese my hed to ease me of my care;
But death was the thyng of all ther pretence
Which they desired; such was ther concyence.
Here I make an end, and I without redresse,
As here ye may se me, a symple body hedlesse.

SIR MICHAEL STANHOPE.

Than came forthe another makyng lyke complaynt,
And sayed he was a knight dobbyd by the kyng,

128

That worthy prynce, that worthy innocent,
Edward the Syxt, virtuous in lyvyng,
As it appered in all his procedyng;
Of whos privye chamber I was without dought,
And nowe condempned and clean cast owt.

Our deathes ware conspyred to satisfie and content
Some persons that thoughte we stode in ther way,
In suche matters which after did repent;
They studyed to compas, both nyght and day,
Ther purpose how they myght by pollicy conveye
To bryng that to passe which they long loked for,
That oons knowen did all honest harts abhorre.

Nowe we be deade and passed thes stormy showers,
Let them alone which wrought us all this woo;
The day wyll come whan they woll the death of owers
Repent full sore; fortune may torne hir purpose soo,
For Fortunes whele tornythe often to and froo:
The experience ye may behold whan we be gon;
Farewell, my frends! hedles I leve you alon.

129

SIR RAFE VANE, SIR MYLES PARTERYGE.

Too other knyghts, that ware of that band,
Complayned them sore of fortunes chaunce,
Whom she had taught for to understand,
How to knyghthod she did them lately avaunce,
And gave them possessions of great enheritaunce;
But at last she favoured so their high degree,
That they ware bothe hanged uppon a gallowe tree.

FINIS.

130

L'AUCTOR IN MORTEM EDWARDI VI.

I lake teares to lament, and connyng to compile
Matter sufficient of fame most worthye;
My wytt is to dull for so lamentable a style,
And my penne is to blount to put in memory
Of Edward the Sixt the woofull tragedie,
Which hathe here passed the paynfull passage
Of thes mondayn stormes in his tender age.

He was a kyng royal, of byrthe and of port;
In virtue surmountyng, garnyshed with grace;
In vice he had no joye ne any disport;
Sober in countenance, no lyghtnes in his face;
All was don with gravitie, in tyme and in place;
Yong he was in yeres, but in manners sage;
Yet deathe devoured hym in his tender age.

Ah deathe! most cruel, thyself to revenge
On so tender an impe of vertue the flower:

131

Oh deathe! thy bytt was bytter in tarenge;
Alas! I say, that ever we saw that hower,
That thou sholdest so cruelly this prince devoure,
Regardyng hyme no more than a poore page;
Thou sholdest have spared hym in hys tender age.

In connyng and wysdome, Solomons right heyer;
His wytt was so excellent, his sentence so profound;
Absolon in beawtie, his visage was so fayer:
If he myght have lyved ther shold not have byn found
A prynce more excellent raynyng on the ground;

132

Yet for all his virtues and noble parentage,
Deathe hathe hyme devoured in his tender age.

Noble Alexander, whom clarkes call Severe,
That was of Rome emperour by eleccion,
Who rewled his empier in love and in feare
Duryng all his lyve, by clemency and correccion;
To whom this yong kyng myght make comparison,
Yf deathe would have spared in hir cruel rage,
Hyme to devoure in his yong and tender age.

133

Wanton youthe raygned in hyme nothyng at all,
But wysdome, connyng, and sober gravytie;
For all his care and study pryncypall
Was to consider hys charge knytt to his dignytie,
And to governe his subjects in justice and equytie,
And nobly to raygne without any owtrage:
This was his disport in his tender age.

A virgin prynce, a mayden kyng,
Never corrupte with thought oncleane;
So chaste he was in all hys lyvyng,
Suche grace in hyme was daylye seen,
That all men dyd bothe juge and deme
Deathe to be to blame in hir fond rage,
This prynce to devour in his tender age.

From hyme all vice vanished was by grace,
That no rote of onclenness cowld take hold;
Vertue had so furnyshed fully in the place
Which made vice in hyme so fyble and cold,

134

And virtue so famylier that made hyme so bold,
With discression to rewle hys realme and baronage,
Tyll deathe devoured hym in his tender age.

With pride he never entendyd to stryve,
Of covetous also he had non acquaintaunce,
Nor had indignation to any man alyve,
And to be revenged he never knew vengeaunce,
Gloteny could not prevayle for temperance,
Idelnes was banyshed, his commyn usage,
Discression so rewled his tender age.

My stile to direct with trewe dyligence,
This royal prynce to commend evyn at the full,
Of connyng clarkes I want the eloquence;
My experyence in suche matters are very dull,
And wysdome is banyshed my old grosse skull;
Therfore I beseche the, Lord, which is eternall,
That in hevyn this prynce may raygn immortall.

135

L'AUCTOR G. C.

Musyng of this world and of the incertentie,
Where nother prynce, kyng, ne any other estate
In lusty youthe floryshyng in felicitie,
Can have of deathe any sewer date;
For whan deathe saythe oons to them, chekemate,
Geve over the playe for ye have lost the game;
This was my last studye musyng on the same.

Perceyvyng at the last it ware great folly
Ferther to muse of thyngs in experyence,
Which daylie is seen, bothe symple and jolly,
That departithe this lyfe where can be no resistance,
For all must desolve and departe from hence;
Therfore to be sorrye it ware but a madnes,
For after old sorrowes comyth newe gladnes.

The wether broke uppe that cloudy was byfore,
And the sonne gave lyght whom mystes did deface,
But God that knewe our lamentable sore,

136

Hathe agayn of his especyall grace
Torned our old sorrowes to a newe solace;
For the losse of a kyng which was a virgin clean,
He hathe restored us a mayden quene.

IN LAUDEM REGINE MARIE.

Whome our Lord of his benygne goodnes
Hathe preserved from many stormye showers,
Or ells had she peryshed in great distresse;
But nowe hathe he made hyr a quene of owers,
Whom Jesu defend all tymes and howers,
And geve hyr grace to rewle thys realme in peace,
To the honor of God, our welthe and quyet ease.

Let us love hir with faythfull harts,
For she is our lawfull quene, born by just dissent;
We be hir subjects, it is therfore our parts
To be to hir obedyent, with a good entent,
And let us not dought that ever we shall repent;
Yf we do otherwyse, our wytts be to blunt,
Quia corda regum in manu Dei sunt.

137

God hathe ordened hir to raygn in this regally,
Therefore lyke trewe subjects let us be content;
To grudge ayenst God it ware a great folly,
For he is a Lord that workyth his devyn intent
Secretly and cloos ayenst all mens intendment;
His workes be not knowen untill they come to passe,
Therfore hyme to prevent thou art a very asse.

Yf thou pretend Gods holy word to know,
Whye dost thou rebell ayenst hir grace,
Maliciously abrode scedycion to sowe,
To slander hir honor, hir virtue to deface
With any falce reports as some of late hase?
Mayntayn non suche, let them not be releved,
For from the comon welthe they owght to be remeved.

To travell any further hir virtues to comend,
My tyme I shold spend with insufficyence;
Though my will be good my wytt cannot comprehend

138

All hyr nobles and hyghe magnyficence,
Worthely to prayse as I owght of congruence;
Therfore lest my rude stile shold them deface,
I hir commyt to the protection of God's grace.

Leavyng hyr with God, whome she lovyth best,
She is his servant, he will not hir disseyve,
Nor leave hir with ennemyes cruelly to be opprest,
From whos malyce he will hir receyve
Into his protection, as we of late perceyve
How he hathe preserved hir, this royal quene:
Defend hir, good Lord, from ennemyes yet not seen.

139

L'AUCTOR G. C.

Now let me retourne to the foure knyghts
That late suffred deathe, I know not the cause,
But the wyll to fullfill of a man of myght,
Which caused them to dye by colour of the lawes;
Wherin was found a certyn defuse clause,
Wrested by craft to a male intent,
To cause them to dye that therin ware innocent.

As I sat complaynyng, in my studye alone,
The deathe of thes knyghts and of ther wooful fall,
My hart was so greved I could no wyse but mone,
Rebukyng fortune most in especyall,
Which is of nature bothe cruel and mutall,
Without all pitie and will no mercy have
Of non estate ther honors to deprave.

140

Thes Clarkes old that wrott wooful tragedies,
I pray you ware not ther playnts of hyghe estates,
Recordyng ther onware falls and dayngerous jeopardies,
Ther sodeyn changes and ther woofull fates,
Ther disdaynous dispyghts and onnaturall debates;
Allwayes concludyng, who list to take heade,
Howe hyghe estates are alwayes in most dreade.

With that, in blakke, I sawe oon come and goo,
Whos countenance was sade, nowe standing in a staye,
His looke downcast in token of sorowe and woo,
The salt teeres in droppes on his bare cheeke laye,
Which bare record of his woo and deadly affray;
Wherfore he prayed me my penne for to redresse,
And therwith to discrybe hys playnts and hevynes.

141

DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

The ground (quod he) and begynnyng of my destruction
I shall to you reherse shortly in sentence;
Yt was covetous pryde and hyghe presumpcion,
Disdaynyng all men of royal excellence,
Covetyng by ravyn to have the preemynence;
And whome I suspectyd that stade in my waye,
I shortly by falshod intended ther dekay.

First I caused a duke wrongfully to dye,
By rigor of the lawes purposely invented;
Yt hathe not byn hard in my symple fantzy,
A duke for fellony to be convented,

142

Without any acte wherby that he offendyd;
But of cankard malice my cruelty to fullfyll,
Caused hyme and knyghts fower to dye on Tower Hyll.

Froward ambycion set so my hart on fier
To assend uppe the imperyall see,
And to possesse the governaunce of the empier;
I did the best that lay in me
To rewle thys realme and have the soverayntie;
Thys was my purpose by covetous and pride,
Whan I sawe tyme, the just titile to sett aside.

For lyke a subject to lyve I was not content,
But this realme to governe most lykest a kyng,
Which caused me to study what meanes to invent,
My desier to attayne and to my purpose bryng;
I revolved in my brayn, immagynyng every thyng,
Howe to governe and rewle, and still in this land,
Till at the last this subtiltie I fand.

I had a sonne that tender was of age,
Which greatly stode in my conceyt and favor,

143

Whome I intendyd than to joyn in mariage
To the doughter of Suffolk, the dukes enheritor,
And so in possibilitie myght be successor
Unto the emperyall crown, by lawes of this land,
As by the statutes ye may well understand.

Thus I presumed by falce usurpation,
In all Englond to quenche the cleare light,
And troble the lynne of just succession,
Which I intendyd by force, and not of ryght,
Contrary to the order of a royal knyght,
To subdue the lawfull quene, I falcely did ordeyn,
That I in this regyon the quyeter myght rayn.

I assembled to ayd me, shortly to conclude,
A great number of people in every degree
Advauncyng thus forward with a confused multitude,
Without any title, but grounded on sotiltie;
Wherfore the gentlemen and comons of the countrie,
All of oon assent and in oon opynyon,
Assembled them together, brought me to confusion.

144

Thus can the Lord the meke enhaunce,
And from ther seats the proud thrust down,
Specyally them that have no remembraunce
To remember by wysdome, or by reasown
To know the Lord, most myghty of renown;
The Lord of Lords playnly to compile,
Who sufferyth tyraunts to raygn but a wyle.

For cruell murder and falce oppression
Caused me to stand in great hatred;

145

What avaylled me my hyghe domynacion,
Without love of the people when I had most nede?
Whome for a wyle they did honor and dreade:
But now love and dreade are quenched and gone,
I ame but a wretche left all alone.

Take an example howe Mallios of Carthage,
For all his towers and castles made of stones,
For his oppression, tyranny, and owtrage,
The people of Africke fell on hyme all at oons,
Cuttynge his fleshe and hewgh all his bones;
Entendyng on hyme, they were so wood,
Unto ther gods to offer uppe his blood.

Evyn so was I brought to myschefe and to dreade,
For all my great power where in I then stode;
Here may you se who lyst to take heade,
Howe gery fortune, furious, and wood,

146

Will not spare for power nor for good,
Myghty prynces, which lyst not God to knowe,
From ther estates to bryng them down full lowe.

What myght avayle the conquest of great price
Done by kyng Zerses in his estate royal,
Which overcame in battayl, as clarkes doth devise,
Ten hondreth thousand; the nomber was not small,
Yet for all that he had a cruell fall
Whan he was, as in storyes is remembred,
On pieces small petyously dismembred.

My seade, my succession, and all my bloode,
By my default are brought to distruccion;
Thus cruel fortune most froward and wood,
For my great pride and falce usurpacion,
Hath thrown me down and all my generation;
Thus can fortune with twynklyng of an eye
Bryng hyme full lowe that sometyme sat full hye.

Of myn end what ned it any more to wright,
Or of my deathe make farther degression,
God may his vengeaunce a while respight,

147

But murder wyll owte, and all suche treason;
And thoughe it ware my disposicion
Falcely to murder, to you I must be playn,
Nedes must murder be my guerdon agayn.

Therfore I beseche you that be here alyve,
Pray for my sowle to that Lord above,
To pardon my conspyracye that I did late contryve,
Which ambytious honor therto did me move;
What madnes is to conspire myself dothe well prove:
Beware by me, therfore, thynk not to opteyn
By rebellious conspiracye ayenst your soverayn.

And here I make an end of this my complaynt,
Repentyng me full sore of my corrupt mynd;
My lyfe is consumed, my purpose hath me attaynt:
Therfore, ye my frends, whom I have left behynd,
That loved my body, to my sowle be not onkynd;
Remember me, I beseche you; shortly to conclude,
This world and fantzy did me thus delude.

148

L'AUCTOR G. C.

Whan this stout duke had ended thus his playnt,
Jhesu, thought I, what, did this man intend
To mount the seage royal by forceble constraynt;
He was ferre overseen so madly to offend,
Yt was no loyaltie thus to assend;
Thereby to enjoye the throne emperyall,
His fond enterprice requirethe a just fall.

Beyng discontent partly in my mynd,
To se a man of honor and of hygh discression,
With ambycion to be so betyll blynd,
That he could not se the segnell progression
Which dothe ensewe suche haynous transgression:
With that I hard oon crie, makyng a rewfull mone,
That late was in honor, and now left alone.

149

DUKE OF SUFFOLK.

Somtyme a duke (quod he) of highe estymacion,
Of Suffolk, that bare the name and style
Which hathe nowe corrupted my hole generacion;
Yt was fortune and fantzy dyd me thus begyle,
And brought me to ruyn, alas! alas! the while;
I lakked wytt, I lakked also reason,
Ayenst my soverayn whan I comytted treason.

What neded me conspire that was so ferre in favor
With the quenes grace, whom she called cosyn;
I myght have at lengthe with my sewte and labor,
Delyvered my daughter from the daynger she was in;
But wenyng made me thynk allwayes to wyne
All that I went abought with a corrupt mynd,
Hopyng to attayn that yet I could not fynd.

And when I remember the fond enterprice
Which I toke in hand to compasse and to bryng abought,

150

Yt was the greatest folly that I could devyse;
Supposyng to assemble so great a rowte
To take my part and to beare theme owt:
Ther wytts ware better than I at that tyme had;
To followe me they ware not so frantyke mad.

I claimed and proclaymed, from place to place,
The title to be just of my daughter Jane;

151

In citie and town I travelled than apase
To declare hyr tytle just; but all was prophane,
For I sawe my trust dayly decrease and wane:
Than was I fayne to flee and hide my hed,
For if I ware taken shortlie I shold be ded.

Than was I persewed and sought for round abought,
There was no place wherin I myght be suer;
At the last I was aspied, taken, and brought owte;

152

For in whome I put my trust did me first discure;
My presumcion no longer myght endure:
Than was I taken with shame and dishonor,
And led away lyke an errant traytor,

And brought to the barre, tried by my peers,
Who found me giltie wherin I did offend;
My offence was evydent as playnly it appeers,
My colors of trowthe cowld me not defend,
Allthoughe I excused me howe truly I did intend,
Yet wold not myn excuse so symple be taken,
And whan I sawe that, I knew I was forsaken.

Non other remedy than have I, none
But to make me redye in charitie to dye;
Yt boted me not to make ferther mone,
I thought it best, therfore, myself to mortefie,
And to receyve my deathe most paciently;

153

Down to the bloke to bowe my hed a lowe;
This is the sede that disloyaltie dothe sowe.

Farewell, Lady Frances! my most lovyng wyfe,
Lynyally dissendyd of the blood royall,

154

Though I be gon, and chaynged hathe my lyfe,
Which myght have lyved still if I had byn loyall,
But presumption hathe nowe distroyed all;
Therfore comfort yourself with sober pacience,
And thynke that nothyng hathe here perpetuance.

Farewell, my bretherne! for I ame your dekay;
This is my last farewell; God send you of his grace
To escape the pajaunt that I must nedes play,
For I ame cheafe causer of your offence and trespace:
Farewell, all ye also, dissendyd of that race,
Pray God for his mercy my sowle may be saved,
And my hedlesse body vouchesave to se it graved.

155

L'AUCTOR G. C.

O, Lord God! yt is to me a marvelous thyng
To se the folly, the madnes, and the pryde
That now among states is dayly raynyng;
Yt is for lake of grace to be ther cheife gwyde,
For vertue and wysdome they are clean sett aside:
Alas! that you shold your honor so defile
With fowle disloyaltie, to put all in exile.

O ye honorables of noble and highe degrees,
Whan will ye be content with suffisaunce?
What mean ye so wyllfully, so madly to leese
Your highe honors and riche enheritaunce
Thorowghe necligence and your myssegovernaunce:
Amend your lyves, consider well your callyng,
Lyve justly, uppright, and for se your fallyng.

Than sawe I a ladye that tender was of age,
Sodenly appeere with an hedlesse body;
The sight was straynge, it abated my corage

156

To se so yong a thyng to chaunce on suche folly
Hir hed to loose, that myght have lyved full jolly:
By signes without wordes she made me to understand
To wright her doole that I shold take in hand.

LADY JANE GRAY.

By sygnes she taught me thus to wright:
As thoughe (quod she), why did ye me dysseyve,
With faynyng fantzye ayenst all equitie and right,
The regall powers onjustly to receyve,
To serve your tornes, I do right well perceyve;
For I was your instrument to worke your purpose by;
All was but falshed to bleere withall myn eye.

O ye councellors, why did ye me avaunce
To a quenes estate, full soore ayenst my mynd,
Assuryng me it was my just enheritaunce!

157

Now, contrarye to your suggestion, I perceyve and fynd
All was in vayn, your wytts ware to blynd
Me to delude ayenst the forme of lawe;
Forsoothe you ware to blame, and all not worthe a strawe.

Your crepyng and knelyng to me, poor innocent,
Brought me to wenyng with your perswasions,
That all was trewthe which ye ontruly ment;
Suche ware your arguments, suche ware your reasons,
Made to me at sondrye tymes and seasons;
Your subtill dealyng dissayved hathe bothe you and me,
Dissimulacion woll not serve nowe may you se.

Cowld non experyence force you to know
Howe dissimulacion and covert craftynes
Hathe byn the occasion of the overthrowe
Of many a person beyng in welthynes,
And suche as used the face of dublenes;

158

Wherfore dissimulacion and crafty dealyng
Hathe brought you and me to utter undoyng.

For your pryncely powers and hault dygnyties
Assured me with suche perfection,
To-establyshed me in the hyest degrees,
Untill fortune hathe brought us into subjeccion,
Of the lawes to abyde the publyke correccion;
Nowe accuse we fortune as cheafe ground of our falle,
And yet is she not giltie no thyng at all.

Yt is your pride and pevyshe presumpcion
That hathe us led to this myschaunce,
By means wherof all is in consumpcion:
Where be now your promysis and your assuraunce?
Where is your ayed? where is your mayntenaunce?

159

Be they not abated and layed full lowe?
Yf ye wold denye, yet all the world doth knowe.

My sorowes are treble and full of doble woo,
To remember the tragedy and wofull case
That to my father, my hosbond, and me also
Ys happened, thoroughe folly and lake of grace;
Yt causithe the teeres to run down my face,
And to lament your mysfortune and myn,
By such blynd folly to fall into rewyn.

Wherfore the Lord that is Lord of lords all,
And sittyth in heven above the Iherarcheyes,
Behold and consider our whofull fall,
We the beseche, with thy mercyfull eyes,
And geve thy holy eares to our lamentable cries;
As thou art mercyfull of thyn owne natures,
So have mercy on us thy poore creatures.

Farewell, madame! farewell, lady mother!
Farewell, my sisters! farewell, my frendes all!
Helpe us with your prayers our prayers to further

160

Unto God allmyght, the Lord supernall,
That he his grace will unto hyme call
The sowles of his creatures that now lyeth deade,
Which by the lawes hathe receyved our meade.

161

L'AUCTOR G. C.

To answer hir complaynt I wist not what to say,
Wherfore I thought to pawse and rest a while,
Entendyng here to have made a stay,
No more to wright of this wofull style,
Supposyng that fortune cowld no more begile
Men so well warned of hir fayned flatterye,
The experience being of late had in memorye.

Yet some there be that wantyth God's grace,
Whos wytts be oppressed so with vice,
Though fortune doth still them menace,
Yet of suche precedents they set small price,
But runnyng hedlong without any advice

162

Untill all myschefe and utter distruction,
Lyke men given to all evyll dysposition.

That sentence is trewe, yt cannot be denyd
(Quod oon to me), for I have felt the smart;
Thexperience in me is evydently aspied,
Which causythe me to lament with a carefull hart:
With that I cast myn eye aside, where I did advert
A rowt with sorrowe woofully arayed,
And oon most rewfully to me these words he sayd—

163

AN EPITAPHE ON THE LATE QUENE MARIE.

Discend from hevyn, O Muse Melpomene,
Thou mournfull goddesse, with thy sisters all,
Passe in your playnts the wofull Niobe,
Torne musyke to mone with teeres eternall,
Blake be your habetts, dyme, and funeral;
For deathe hathe bereft, to our great dolour,
Mary our mastres, our quene of honor.

Our quene of honor, compared aptly
To Veritas victrix, daughter of Tyme,
By God assisted, amased in armye,
When she a virgin cleare, without cryme,
By ryght, without might, did happely clyme
To the stage royal, just inheritor,
Proclaymed Mary our quene of honor.

164

And as a victrix, valerus endewed
With justice, prudence, high mercy, and force,
Dredles of danger, with sword subdued
Her vassells rebells, yet havyng remorse,
With losse of few she saved the cursse;
Suche was thy mercy, surmountyng rigour,
O Mary, mystress! O quene of honour!

To a virgin lyfe, which lyked the best,
Profest was thyn hart; whan, moved with zele
And teeres of subjects expressing request,
For no lust, but love of the common weale,
Virginities' vowe thou diddest repelle,
Knytt with a kyng coequal in valour,
Thyn estate to conserve as quene of honour.

The Roos and pomgranat joined in oon,
England and Spain by espousal allyed;
Yet of thes branches blossomes came none
Wherby ther kyngdoms myghte be supply'd;
For this conjunction a comytt envied,
Influence castyng of mortal vapour
On Mary the rose, our quene of honour.

165

Then faded the flower that wyllome was freshe,
For Boreas blasts dyd wether away
The spyritt of lyfe from the tender flesh
Of that impe royal, that pryme rose gay,
Equal in odor to Flora in May:
The virtue vanished with vitall vigour
From our fayer Mary, our quene of honour.

Though virtue vitall dyd vanyshe away,
Hir virtues inward remayn immortal,
Eterne, and exempte from deathe and dekay,
As fountaynes flowyng with course contynuall;
As vere in verdure and greene perpetuall,
Or lamps ever lyght and supplyed with licoure,
Enduryng endles to Mary's honoure.

Add there to virtue, blood, and parentage,
In all Europa no prynces equall,
So noble of byrthe, discent, and lyneage,

166

As no man can nomber the joynts legal,
Of Emperors old and houses regall:
No herauld hewked in kyngs coate armoure,
Sufficyth to blaze our Mary's honoure.

Lament, ye lords and ladys of estate,
You puissaunt prynces and dukes of degree,
Let never nobles appere so ingrate
As to forget the great gratuytie
Of graces granted and benifits fre,
Gevyn and restored oonly by favour
Of noble Mary, our quene of honoure.

Hyghe prieste of Rome, O Paule appostolike,
And college conscrypte of cardynalls all,
And ye that confesse the fayth catholyke,
Of Christs Churche chief in yerthe unyversall;
O clerks and religious, to you I call,
Pray for your patron, your frend, and founder,
Mary our mastress, our quene of honoure.

167

Which late restored the right religion;
And fayth of fathers observed of old,
Subdewd sects and all dyvision,
Reducyng the flocke to the former fold;
A piller most firme the church to uphold:
Loo, where she lyeth, trew faythes defendour,
Mary our mastress, our quene of honoure.

168

Whan sacred aulters ware all defaced,
Images of saints with outrage burned,
Instade of priests apostatas placed,
Holy sacrements with spight down sporned,
Whan spoylle and ravyn hade all overturned;
This chaos confuse, thys hepe of horrour,
Dissolvethe Mary as quene of honoure.

Elizabethe, excellent of God elect,
With cepture to sytt in state imperyall,
In throne thriumphant, where thou art erect,

169

Have deathe allways in thy memoryall,
Death is thend of fleshe unyversall;
The world is but vayne; make for your mirrour
Mary thy sister, late quene of honour.

So shall thalmyghty stablyshe thy throne
In quyet concord and dew obeysaunce,
And send the a prince to appeas our mone
With happy reign of long contynuance,
This thyng reposed in depe remembraunce;
Say and pray all, O Christ, O Savyoure!
Have mercy on Mary, our quene of honoure.

O Virgin Mary, O mother of Jesu!
O spouse unspotted, and quene eternall!
As our quene Mary was handmayd trewe
To the, O lady! in this lyfe mortal,
So of thy grace and bountie speciall
To the Kyng on hyghe be intercessor,
In hevyn to crown hir a quene of honoure.

FIAT, FIAT, FINIS.

170

TH'AUCTOR TO HIS BOOKE.

Crepe forthe, my boke, under the proteccion
Of suche as have bothe learnyng and eloquence;
Humbly submyttyng the to the correccion
Of worthy writers of virtuous excellence,
Besechyng all them, of ther benygn pacience
To take the meanyng, however the matter frame,
Of this thyn auctor, abasshed of his name.

For, first of all, whan I do behold
Of famous writers the goodly circumstance,
My quaking hand my penne unnethe can hold,
So dombe I ame of doctryn, lame of experience,
Stakeryng in style, onsavery of sentence,
Save oonly hope, that saithe withouten fayll,
That my well meanyng shall quytt my travayll.

Thus, not presumyng of learnyng ne eloquence,
Hope made me shove the boote from the shore;
Desyryng no thyng for my fare or expence,

171

But only good wyll; I aske no more:
And for the hurt of envy that myght rore,
I shall set my shrowd for my defence,
Under the mantell of well wyllyng audyence.

And pryncypally this my worke for to assist,
I humbly beseche that Lord that is eternall
To defend my penne that wrott this with my fist,
To be my savegard, my staffe, and my wall;
And consequently for feare least I shold fall
In the daynger of the learned and honorable sort,
I pray them all my lamenes to support.

Least perchaunce the pleasaunt floode do faylle
Of witty writyng or sugred eloquence,

172

Followe, therfore, good wyll at the boots tayle,
Me to preserve in the waves of ignoraunce,
Socoured by hope of gentill sufferaunce:
Nowe hale uppe, skuller; God graunt me wynd,
And Jhesu defend me to my lives end.

Whan thou, my boke, comest into the prease
Bothe of the wyse and learned multitude,
To excuse thyn auctor thou canst do no lesse,
Wantyng learnyng, and of utterance rude,
Which did never this enterprise entrude;
Trustyng other of wytt or learnyng,
But for an exercise, and non other thyng.

FINIE ET COMPILÉ LE XXIIIJ JOUR DE JUNIJ A REGNOR PHILIPPI REX & REG. MARIE IIIJti. & Vti. PER LE AUCTOR G. C.

Novus Rex, nova Lex. Nova sola Regina, probz. pene ruina.