Sir Thomas Overbvries Vision :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sir Thomas Overbvries Vision

With the ghoasts of Weston, Mris Turner, the late Lieftenant of the Tower, and Franklin. By R. N. [i.e. Richard Niccols]

Niccols, Richard (1584-1616)

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SIR Thomas Overbvries Vision.

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SIR Thomas Overbvries Vision.

When poyson (O that poyson and foule wrong,
Should euer be the subiect of my song!)
Had set loud Fame vpon a loftie wing,
Throughout our streetes with horrid voice to sing
Those vncouth tidings, in each itching eare,
How raging lust of late, too soone did beare
That monster murther, who once brought to light,
Did slay the man whose vision I recite:
Then did th' inconstant vulgar day by day,
Like feathers in the wind, blowne euery way,
Frequent the

Guildhall.

Forum, where in thickest throng,
I one amongst the rest did passe along
To heare the iudgement of the wise, and know
That late blacke deede, the cause of mickle woe:
But from the reach of voice too farre compel'd,
That beast of many heads I there beheld,
And did obserue how euerie common drudge,

Assum'd the person of an awefull Iudge:

A description of the vulgar.

Here in the hall amidst the throng one stands
Nodding his head, and acting with his hands,
Discoursing how the poysons swift or slow
Did worke, as if their nature he did knowe:
An other here, presuming to outstrippe
The rest in sounder iudgement, on his lippe
His finger layes, and winketh with one eye,
As if some deeper plot he could descrie:
Here foure or fiue, that with the vulgar sort
Will not impart their matters of import,
Withdraw and whisper, as if they alone
Talk't things that must not vulgarly be knowne;
And yet they talke of naught from morne till noone
But wonders, and the fellowe in the moone:
Here some excuse that which was most amisse;
Others doe there accuse, where no crime is,
Accusing that which they excus'd anon,
Inconstant people, neuer constant known:
Censure from lippe to lippe did freely flie,
He that knew nothing, with the rest would crie,
The voice of iudgement; euery age shall finde

Th' ignoble vulgar cruell, mad in minde:
The muddie spawne of euery fruitlesse braine,
Daub'd out in ignominious lines, did staine
Papers in each mans hand, with rayling rimes
Gainst the foule Actors of these wel-knowne crimes:
Base wittes, like barking curses, to bite at them
Whom iustice vnto death shall once condem.
I that beheld, how whispering rumour fed
The hungrie eares of euery vulgar head
With her ambiguous voyce; night being come,
Did leaue the Forum and returned home;
Where after some repast, with greife opprest
Of these bad dayes, I tooke me to my rest:
And in that silent time, when sullen night

A description of midnight.

Did hide heau'ns twinckling tapers from our sight,
And on the earth with blackest lookes did lowre,
When euery clocke chimb'd twelue, the midnight houre,
In which imprison'd ghoasts free licence haue
About the world to wander from their graue;
When hungrie wolues and wakefull dogges do howle
At euery breach of aire, when the sad owle
On the house top beating her balefull wings,

And shreeking out her dolefull ditty, sings
The song of death, vnto the sicke that lie
Hopelesse of health, forewarning them to die:
Iust at that houre, I thought my chamber dore
Did softly open, and vpon the floare
I heard one glide along, who at the last
Did call and bid me wake; at which agast
I vp did looke, and loe, a naked man
Of comely shape, but deadly pale and wan,

Before me did appeare, in whose sad looke,
As in the mappe of griefe or sorrowes booke,
My eye did reade such characters of woe,
As neither paintings, skill, nor pen can showe:
With dreadfull horrour almost stricken dead
At such a sight, I shrunke into my bed,
But the poore Ghoast to let me vnderstand
For what he came, did waft me with his hand,
And sorrowes teares distilling from his eies,
His poyson'd limbs he show'd, and bad me rise,
Which fearefull I, not daring disobey,
Rose vp and follow'd, while he lead the way
Through many vncouth wayes, he led me on
Ouer that Towers fatall hill, whereon
That scaffold stands, which sithence it hath stood
Hath often lickt vp treasons taynted blood:
Thence ouer that same wharfe, fast by whose shoares
From Londons bridge the prince of riuers roares,
He in a moments space by wondrous power,
Transported me into that spacious Tower,
Where as we entred in, the very sight
Of that vast building, did my soule affright:

There did I call to minde, how or'e that gate,
The chamber was, where vnremorsefull fate
Did worke the falls of those two

Edward V. and his brother Richard, Duke of York.

Princes dead,
Who by their foes were smothered in their bed.
And there I did behold that fatall greene,
Where famous Essex woefull fall was seene:
Where guiltie Suffolks guiltlesse daughter Iane
The scaffold with her noble blood did staine:
Where royall Anne her life to death resign'd,
Whose wombe did beare the

Queen Elizabeth.

praise of women kind:
And where the last

Margaret, Coūtess of Salisbury, Daughter to George Duke of Clarence

Plantaginet did pore
Her life out in her blood, where many more,
Whom law did iustly, or vniustly taxe,
Past by the sentence of the bloody axe:
And here as one with suddaine sorrow stroke,
The Ghoast stood still a while, with dolefull looke
Fixt on the ground, and after sad sighes giuen
With eyes and hands vp-lifted vnto heauen,
As calling them to witnesse of his woe,
In sad complaint, his griefe he thus did show.

Great God of heauen, that pittiest humane wrongs,
To whom alone reuenge of blood belongs;

Thou, that vpon the wings of heauen do'st ride,
And laugh'st to scorne the man, that seekes to hide
And ouer-burie guiltlesse blood in dust,
Thou know'st the paines of my impoyson'd ghoast;
When men more changing then th' inconstant winde,
Or doe not know, or knowing wilfull blinde,
Will not behold dead Ouerburies griefe,
But thinke his losse no more then losse of life:
(Ye friends vnkind and false) that after death
Doe let your friendship vanish with the breath
Of him that's dead, and thinke since truth begun
To trie my cause, more satisfaction done
Then all my wrongs require; giue eare, and say
When I haue told my griefe, if from the day
That mans first blood to heauen cri'd out of earth,
For vengeance 'gainst the first mans eldest birth
Vntill this time; if man for life so lost,
More iustly may complaine, then my dead ghoast.
I was (aye me, that I was euer so)
Belou'd in court, first step to all my woe:
There did I gaine the grace of Prince and Peeres,
Knowne old in iudgement, though but young in yeers;

And there, as in this Kingdomes garden, where
Both weedes and flowers doe grow, my plant did beate
The buddes of hope, which flowring in their prime
And May of youth, did promise fruit in time:
But lust, foule lust did with a hand of blood
Supplant my plant, and crop me in the budde:
Yet to my selfe had I my counsells kept,
Or had I drown'd my cares in rest, and slept,
When I did breake my quiet sleepes, and waite
To serue a false friend, and aduance his state,
I had not met with this inhumane wrong,
But might perhaps haue happy liu'd, and long.
Did euer fortune pinch him with constraint?
That little wealth I had, supply'd his want:
Did euer cares perplex his feeble braine?
What wit I had, his weakenesse did sustaine:
Did euer error make him doe amisse?
What wisedome I had learn'd, was euer his:
My wit, my wealth, and wisedome with good chaunce,
In his great honours May gaine, lead the daunce.
I doe not falsly boast the gifts of mind,
Best wittes can iudge, my Wife I left behind

Vnto the world, a witnesse may remaine,
I had no dull conceit, no barren braine:
But as a dogge that at his pray doth ame,
Doth onely loue the water for his game,
Which once obtain'd, he playing then no more,
Shakes off the water when he comes on shore:
So my great Friend, no friend, but my great Foe,
Safe swimming in that way which I did showe,
Through dangers waters after honours game,
Did shake me off when I had gain'd the same.
Vaine man, too late thou do'st repent my wrong,
That huge great sayle of Honour was too strong
For thy great boate, wanting thy friend to steare:
In this, thy weakenesse and my worth appeare:
O hadst thou kept the path by me begunne,
That other impious race thou hadst not runne:
In wayes of vice thy steps I did not guide,
Onely for vertue Ouerburie di'd:
But had in gratitude no further gone,
I had not wail'd with many a piteous grone
These poysoned limbes; O how will future times
Blushing to heare such execrable crimes

Beleeue report, when then it shall be said,
Thou wast that man, that man that me betray'd,
That sauage man, that wanting meanes or heart,
Or rather both to meete with my desert,
Too cruell didst deuise to stop my breath,
To end thy care, and my deare life by death:
Death, oh no death, but thousand deathes in one,
For had it bin but meere priuation
Of loued life, my greiued Ghoast had fled
Without such paine and anguish to the dead:
O wretched foes! why did yee take delight
To excercise your hate with such despight
Vpon a guiltlesse man? what had I done?
But that yee might, when as ye first begunne
Your tragicke plot, and did my life awaite,
With single death haue satisfied your hate?
Was it, ah was it not enough to giue
One poyson first, and then to let me liue?
Till ye did please to giue an other, then,
An other, and an other; but as men,
All made of flint, to laugh my plaints to scorne,
And scoffe at me, while I alas did mourne:

When in my chamber walls, the very stones
Sweat droppes for teares to heare my greiuous grones;
As sencelesse, they would simpathize my woes,
Though my sad cries were musicke to my foes.
Let ages past vntill the worlds first day,
Shew all records of antique times, and say,
If euer any did by poyson die,
That at his death had greater wrong then I.
It was not one dayes space, nor two, nor three,
In which those cruell men tormented me:
Month after month, they often did instill
The diuers natures of that banefull ill
Throughout these limbs; inducing me to thinke,
That what I tooke in Physicke, meate, or drinke,
Was to restore me to my health; when all
Was but with lingring death to worke my fall.
Oh how my Ghoast doth quake, when it suruayes,
This fatall house, where I did end my daies!
And trembles, as it suffered now againe,
Onely to thinke vpon that woefull paine;
When the slow poyson secretly did creepe
Through all my veines, and as it went, did sweepe

All ease with paine, all rest with griefe away,
From euery corner of my house of clay:
Then did I loath my life, but could not die,
Sometimes to God, sometimes to men I crie
To giue me ease of my tormenting hell,
Whose paine no pen can write, no tongue can tell:
In vaine my tongue thou vtterd'st forth my cries
To wicked men, with teare-tormented eyes;
In vaine mine eies in you the teares did stand,
While I to heauen for helpe did lift my hand;
In vaine my hands were ye stretcht forth to heauen,
My time was set, my life to death was giuen:
Tongue, eyes, and hands did often plead in vaine,
Nothing but death could ease me of my paine:
And death at last to my desire did yeeld,
Who with such furious force did take the field
T'assayle my soule, that 'gainst his matchlesse might,
In greater torment neuer man did fight;
With poison'd dart he at my life did strike,
The venome seazing on me vulture-like,
With torment tore my entrayles; thence did runne
Into my vaines, and boyling there begunne

A fresh assault, which beeing a while withstood
By natures force, at last did seaze my blood:
Then victor-like, possest of euery part,
It did assaile my yet not yeelding heart,
The soules cheife seate, where hauing vanquisht all
The powers of life, while I to God did call
For grace and mercy, after sad sighs giuen
With greiuous grones, my soule fled hence to heauen.
O thou sad monument of Norman yoke,
Whose great foundation hee, whose conquering stroke
Did stoope our neckes to Norman rule

One of a register booke of the acts of the Bishop of Rochester in Stowe's survey.

first laid,
Looke thy records of those, to death betray'd
Within thy fatall chambers, and there see
If any murdered, lost his life like mee.
Those royall roses of Plantaginest,
Which that white boare of

Richard the third.

Yorke, that bloody beast
Hath rooted vp, within those walls of thine,
In death felt little paine compar'd to mine:
Thou knowest that

Henry the sixt.

King, son to that kingly Knight,
Beneath whose sword in Agincourts great fight,
France fell vpon her knees, thy flore did staine
With his deare blood, by bloody Richard slaine:

Thou didst looke on, when Clarence blood was shed,
And didst behold, how hee poore Duke halfe dead,
Yet bleeding fresh, in Malmesic-but was dround,
Whose body sithence neuer could be found:
Thou sawst when

Sir Iames Tirrell.

Tirrels bloody slaues did smother
This kingdomes vncrownd King, and his young brother:
Those princely babes of Yorke, thou heardst them crie,
When they betwixt the sheets did strangled die;
But to their paine death did swift end assigne,
Thou know'st their greifes were not so great as mine.
T'was not for naught, that thy first builders hand
Did temper

[OMITTED]

blood with burned lime and sand,
So to conglutinate thy stony masse,
And bring the Conquerours will and worke to passe:
Well may it be, thy walls with blood were built,
Where so much guiltlesse blood hath since bin spilt.
But here an end of all my paine and woe,
Death shuts vp all our greatest greifes, for so
All men would thinke; but past all thought of minde;
My greatest greife, alas, is yet behind.
Oh why should fiercest beast of all the wood,
When hee hath slaine his foe, and lickt his blood,

End hate in death, and man with man in strife,
Not end his malice with the ende of life?
Can they be men and lords of beasts, that beare
Their Makers image, and will yet not feare
That ill, which beasts abhorre in brutish minde?
Men, O no men, but monsters against kind:
Such monsters were my tyger-hearted foes,
Who vnremorsefull of my forepast woes,
When from their cruell hands my soule was fled,
Did with their tongues pursue me beeing dead;
And yet not dead, for heauen such grace doth giue,
My soule in heauen, my name on earth doth liue:
My name, as great Apollo's flowring bay
Lookes greene when winter clads the earth in gray,
Did flourish, blowne vpon by fames faire breath,
In euery eye, long time before my death;
When my proud foes of great and glorious name,
Were blasted by the breath of foule defame:
At good report, that on her golden wings
Did beare my name, their tongue like adder-stings
Did shoot foule slanders poyson, so to spill
The same with foule defame, as they did kill

My body with foule death, that men might loath
My liuing name, and my dead body both,
False rumour, that mad monster, who still beares
More tongues about with her, then men haue eares,
With scandall they did arme, and sent her out
Into the world, to spread those lies about;
That those loath'd spots, marks of their poysning sinne,
Which di'd with vgly marble, paint the skinne
Of my dead body, were the marks most iust
Of angry heau'ns fierce wrath for my foule lust:
O barbarous cruelty! oh more then shame
Of shamelesse foes! with lust to blast my name,
When wonder t'was, heauens iudgement did not seaze
Their wanton bodies, with that great disease,
Since death to me by poyson they did giue,
That they in am'rous iolity might liue.
Now when false rumours breath throughout the court
And citty both, had blowne this false report,
Many, that oft before approu'd my name
With praise for vertue, blusht, as if the shame
Of my supposed vice, thus giuen forth,
Did argue their weake iudgement of my worth;

My friends look't pale with anger, and my foes
Did laugh, to see too light beleefe cause those
That lou'd me once, to loath that little dust
I left behind me, as a lumpe of lust.
O most inhumane wrong! O endlesse greefe!
O sad redresse! where sorrowes best releefe
Is but dead hope, that helpe may chance be found
With those that liue, to cure my credits wound:
For this, my restlesse ghoast hath left the graue,
And stole through couert shades of night, to craue
Thy pens assistance, (O thou mortall wight)
Whose mournefull Muse, but whilome did recite
Our Brittaine Princes, and their wofull fates
In that true (Mirrour for our Magistrates.)
O let thy pen paint out my tragicke woe,
That by thy Muse all future times may know
My stories truth, who hearing thy sad song,
At least, may pitty Ouerburies wrong.
This said, the grieued ghoast with sighs did cease
His rufull plaints, and as in deepe distresse,
Vnder the Towers gate with me he stood,
This accident befell on Thames great flood.

South by this house, where on the wharfe fast by
Those thundering Canons euer ready lie,
A docke there is, which like a darkesome caue
Archt ouer-head, lets in Thames flowing waue,
Vnder whose Arch, oft haue condemned men,
As through the Stygian lake, transported been
Into this fatall house, which euermore
For treason hoards vp torturing racks in store:
At landing of this place, an yron gate
Locks vp the passage, and still keeping straite
The guilty prisoners, opens at no time
But when false treason, or some horrid crime
Knocks at the same, from whence by lawes iust doome,
Condemned men but sieldome backe do come:
(What'ere thou art may chance to passe that way,
And view that place, vnto thy selfe, thus say;
God keepe me faithfull to my Prince and state,
That I may neuer passe this yron gate:)
There in the docke the flood that seem'd to gape,
Did suddenly giue vp a dreadfull shape,

A man of megar lookes, deuoy'd of blood,

The description of Weston.

Vpon whose face deaths pale complexion stood;
Of comely shape, and wel compos'd in limme,
But slender made, of visage sterne and grimme;
The haires vpon his head and grisly beard
With age growne hoarie, here and there appear'd;
Times iron hand with many a wrinckled fret,
The marks of age, vpon his front had set:

Yet as it did appeare, vntimely death
For some foule fact had stopt his vitall breath
With that great shame, which giues offence the checke,
The fatall rope, that hung about his necke:
Trembling vpon his knees in great affright,
When he fast by beheld the poysned Knight,
He humbly fell, and with sad greife opprest,
Wringing his hands, and beating on his breast,
While sorrowes droppes vpon his cheekes did run,
To vtter forth these words, he thus begun.

O worthy Knight, behold the wretched man,
Who thy sad Tragedies first sceane began,
Through whose each act, vnto this last blacke deede,
With bloody minde, vnblest, I did proceede:
My hands, alas, did mixe the poisned food,
Which kindled cruell fire in thy blood;
Mine eares did heare thy lamentable grones,
When the slow-working-poyson wrackt thy bones;
Mine eies without one droppe of sorrow shed,
Beheld thee dying, and beheld thee dead;
For which both hands, eyes, eares, and euery part,
Haue suffered death, and conscience bitter smart.

I was that instrument, alas the while,
By thy great foes instructed to beguile
Thy lingring hopes their mighty state did whet
Mee on in mischeife, and their bounty set
A golden edge vpon my dull consent,
At once to worke thy fall, and their content.
The doctrine of that Whoore, that would dispence
With subiects for the murther of a Prince,
Taught me that lust and blood were slender crimes,
And he that serues his turne, must serue the times.
Oh had I neuer knowne that

Doct. Turner.

Doctors house,
Where first of that Whoores cup I did carouse,
And where disloyalty did oft conceale
Romes frighted rattes, that ouer seas did steale;
My thoughts perhaps, had then not giuen way,
Thy life for gold with poyson to betray.
But yee that doe, and who doe not condem
My blacke offences? when yee thinke on them,
In such imaginations, ponder too
What with weake man, the power of gold may doe.
Ye seruile sycophants, whose hopes depend
On great mens wills; what is the vtmost end

At which ye aime? why doe ye like base curres,
Vpon your Patron fawne? why like his spurres,
Will ye be ouer ready at his heeles,
With pleasing words to clawe him, where he feels
The humour itch? or why, will ye so waite,
As to lie downe and kisse the feete of state?
And oft expose your selues to wretched ends,
Loosing your soules to make great men your friends?
Is it not wealth yee seeke? and doth not gold
Ingenuous wittes ofttimes in bondage hold?
The stout sea-rangers on the fearefull flood,
That hunt about through Neptunes waterie wood,
And o're a thousand rockes and sands, that lie
Hid in the deepe, from pole to pole doe flie;
Who often, when the stormy Ocean raues,
Fights with fierce thunders, lightnings, winds and waues,
Hauing but one small inch of boord, to stand
Betwixt them and ten thousand deaths at hand,
Expose themselues to all this woe and paine,
To quench the greedy thirst of golden gaine.
O strong inchauntment of bewitching gold!
For this, the Syre by his owne sonne is sold,

For this, the vnkind brother sells the brother,
For this, one friend is often by an other
Betray'd to death; yea euen for this, the wife
Both sells her beauty, and her husbands life:
And I, ay me, for this did worke thy fall
By poysons helpe, hauing this hope withall,
That great mens greatnes, would haue boren out
My crime, though knowne, against all dangers doubt.
But now too late, my wretched ghoast doth proue,
That his all-seeing eye from heauen aboue,
To whom blacke darkenesse selfe, is far more cleare
Then the bright sunne, makes guiltlesse blood appeare
Out of our deepest plots, to murthers shame,
Though greatest men doe seeke to hide the same.
Ye haplesse instruments of mighty men;
Ye spunges, whom the hands of greatnes, when
That they by you haue wiped out the spot
Of that disgrace, which did their honour blot,
Do squeeze so long, vntill that ye be drie,
And then as needlesse things doe cast ye by:
Where one of these your seruice would imploy,
Our makers heauenly image to destroy,

By violence of death in other men,
Thereby with blood to satisfie his spleen:
O do not trust the hopes of such a man,
Nor thinke his policie or power can
Hoodwinke all-seeing heauen, nor euer drowne
The crie of blood, which brings swift vengeance downe.
When many men, but one mans life will spill,
Their liues for his, heauen euermore doth will.
Offend in murder, and in murder die,
No crime to heauen, so loud as blood doth crie.
In other wrongs, when man doth man offend,
We restitution may in part pretend:
But where the wrong is done by murthers knife,
No price for blood the Law sayes, life for life.
The eye of wakefull iustice, for a season
May seeme to winke at murthers bloody treason;
Yet from the houre of so blacke a deede,
The worme of conscience on the soule doth feede;
And dreadfull furies, whose imagin'd sight
In euery place, doth horribly affright
The guilty man, pursue the steps that flie,
While swift-wing'd vengeance makes the hue and crie
Iustice to me did seeme to sleepe a while,
And with delay did all my hopes beguile;
But in short time now in my riper yeares,

When grauer age on my gray head appeares,
Death and reproach attach't my life and name,
To bring me to my graue with greater shame:
To you therefore that hunger after gold,
To you, whom hope of great mens grace makes bold
In any great offence, henceforth let me
For euermore a sad ensample be.
This said, he sighing snrunke into the flood,
And in a moments space, an other stood

The description of Mist. Turner.

In the same place; but such a one whose sight
With more compassion moou'd the poysned Knight:
It seem'd that shee had been some gentle dame,
For on each part of her faire bodies frame,
Nature such delicacie did bestow,
That fairer obiect oft it doth not show:
Her chrystall eye beneath an yuorie brow,
Did shew what shee at first had been; but now
The roses on her louely cheekes were dead,
The earths pale colour had all ouer-spread
Her sometimes liuely looke, and cruell death
Comming vntimely, with his wintrie breath
Blasted the fruit, which cherrie-like in showe
Vpon her dainty lips did whilome growe:
O how the cruell cord did mis-become
Her comely necke, and yet by Lawes iust doome
Had been her death: those locks like golden thred
That wont in youth t'enshrine her globe-like head,
Hung carelesse downe; and that delightfull limme,
Her snow-white nimble hand, that wont to trimme
Their tresses vp, now spitefully did teare
And rend the same: nor did she now forbeare

To beate that breast of more then lilly white,
Which sometimes was the lodge of sweete delight:
From those two springs where ioy did whilome dwell,
Griefes pearly droppes vpon her pale cheeks fell,
And after many sighes, at last with weake
And fainting voyce, shee thus did silence breake.

Tho gentle Knight, whose wrongs I now repent,
Behold a wofull wretch, that did consent
In thy sad death: for I, alas therefore
By gold my seruant did suborne to pore
That death into thy cup, thy dish, thy diet,
Whose paine too long did rob thy ghoast of quiet:
Yet neither thirst of gold, nor hate to thee
For iniuries receiu'd, incensed me
To seeke thy life; but loue, deare loue to those
That were my friends, and thy too deadly foes:
With them in Court my state I did support,
Ah, that my state had neuer known the Court!
Vertue and vice I there together sawe,
But like the spider, I was taught to drawe
Foule poyson, where sweet hony might bee had,
And how to leaue the good, and chuse the bad:

At last, through greedy going on in sinne
Made senselesse, by degrees I did beginne
To rise from great to greater, till at last
Mine owne sinnes did mine owne destruction hast.
O heauy doome! when heauen shall so decree,
That sinne in man the plague of sinne must bee.
But here let chastest beauties when they blame
My follies most, and blush to heare my shame,
Remember then best beauties are but fraile,
And how that strongest men do oft assaile
Our weakest selues; so may they pitty me,
And my sad fall may their fore-warning be.
Yee tender offspring of that rib, refin'd
By Gods owne finger, and by him assign'd
To be a helpe, and not a hurt to man;
How is it possible your beauties can
Be pure from blemish, treading such vaine wayes
As now you doe in these prophaner dayes?
Must flesh that is so fraile still feare to fall,
And ye the frailest flesh not feare at all?
Can ye, ah can ye, with vaine thoughts to please
Your wanton soules, on yuorie beddes of ease

Spend pretious time, and yet suppose in this
Ye doe no ill, nor thinke one thought amisse?
Can ye to catch the wandring thoughts of him
Whom ye affect, decke euery dainty lim,
Powder your haire, and more to please the eye,
Refresh your paler cheekes with purer die,
Lay out your breasts; and in the glasse thus drest,
Obserue what smile, or frowne becomes yee best?
And yet not feare heau'ns iudgement in the end,
At least in this, not thinke ye doe offend?
Can ye on wanton meates to mooue desire,
Though of your selues too full of Paphian fire,
Feede euery houre, and when hot blood begins
To hurrie you vnto those horrid sinnes,
That spots your beddes, your bodies, and your names,
Blot your blacke soules with many greater blames?
And yet not thinke, ye doe deserue heauens hate,
At least to turne, doe thinke no time too late?
O doe not sooth your selues in these foule crimes,
Heare not the tongue of these inchanting times:
Your too much idle ease, which opes the gate
To vitious thoughts, I know is counted state:

Vpon your curious pride and vaine aray,
Fond men the name of cleanlines do lay:
Your lust whose sparkles, in your eyes doe shine,
On wanton youth, is called loue diuine:
Thus they that would for each foule fault excuse you
And turne your vice to vertue, doe abuse you.
But be ye not so blinded, looke on me,
And let my story in your closters be
As the true glasse, which there you looke vpon,
That by my life, ye may amend your owne.
Obserue each step, when first I did begin
To tread the path, that lead from sin to sin,
Vntill my most vnhappie soote did lite,
In guiltlesse blood of this impoisned Knight:
After I had in Court begun to tast
Of idle case, I daily fedde so fast
Vpon false pleasure, that at last I did
Climbe Citharæas hill, like wanton kid
In fertile pastures playing; naught did feare me,
I thought that roaring Lyon would not teare me.
Two darling sinnes, too common and too foule,
With their delights did then bewitch my soule;

First pride aray'd me in her loose attires,
Fed my fond fancie fat with vaine desires,
Taught me each fashion, brought me ouer-seas
Each new deuise, the humorous time to please:
But of all vaine inuentions, then in vse
When I did liue, none suffer'd more abuse
Then that phantasticke vgly fall and ruffe,
Daub'd o're with that base starch of yellow stuffe:
O that my words might not be counted vaine,
But that my counsell might find entertaine
With those, whose soules are tainted with the itch
Of this disease, whom pride doth so bewitch,
That they doe thinke it comely, not amisse:
Then would they cast it off, and say, it is
The baud to pride, the badge of vanity,
Whose very sight doth murther modestie,
Ye then detesting it, they all would knowe,
Some wicked wit did fetch it from belowe,
That here they might expresse by this attire
The colour of those wheeles of Stygian fire,
Which prides plūg'd ofspring with snake-powdred haire,
About their necks in Plutoes Court doe weare.

Thus pride, the pandar to luxurious thoughts,
Did guide me by the hand through those close vaults,
That lead to lusts darke chambers, darke as night,
The eyes of lust doe ne're abide the light.
But here perhaps some curious dame, who knowes
No good, but what her outward habit showes,
Will iudge my true complaint, as most vniust,
In that I call her pride, the baud to lust:
But had her bodie windowes in each side,
That each one might behold her heart of pride,
There might one see the cause, why she doth trimme,
Tricke vp, and decke defects in euery limme;
And hauing seene the same, may iustly say,
Her loose attire doth her loose mind bewray.
Of this the sad effects of yore were seene
In Lady

Raphael Hollinshead in his history of England.

Alfrith, sometimes Englands Queene,
Whose Lord Earle Ethelwald, at first held deare
To her affection: when that he did heare
That his great Sou'raigne, royall Edgar, hee
Whom eight Kings row'd vpon the riuer Dee,
Vnto his house did purpose to repaire,
Knowing his deerest Lady wondrous faire,

And the King young and wanton, did desire
That shee would lay aside her rich attire,
And choosing meaner weeds, her art apply
To dimme that beautie which did please the eye:
But shee, inconstant Lady, knowing well,
That beauty most set forth, doth most excell;
As precious stones when they are set in gold,
Are then most faire and glorious to behold;
Arai'd her selfe in all her proud attire,
To set victorious Edgars heart on fire:
Who caught like silly flie into the flame,
At suddaine sight of such a dainty dame,
To coole the heat of his lust-burning will,
Her wronged husbands guiltlesse blood did spill.
With pride thus tasting of that wanton cup
Which lust did giue me, I was giuen vp
To loose desire: which bruitish sinne, since here
In it's owne shape it may not well appeare,
Least it offend all modest eyes and eares,
I onely doe lament with my true teares:
Yet giue me leaue, in some few words to tell
This wanton world, into what horrid hell

Of wicked sinnes, foule lust did make me fall,
That vnchast youth from lust I may recall.
As euery euill humour, which is bred
In humane bodies, couets to be fed
With that ill nutriment which doth increase
The same, vntill it grow to some disease
Incurable; so did my loose desire
In vaine delights, seeke fewell for the fire
So long, vntill (aye me) vnto my shame
It did burst forth, and burne me in the flame.
I left my God t'aske counsell of the deuill,
I knew there was no helpe from God in euill:
As they that goe on whooring vnto hell,
From thence to fetch some charme or magicke spell,
So ouer Thames, as o're th' infernall lake,
A wherrie with their oares I oft did take,
Who Charon-like did waft me to that Strand,
Where Lambeths towne to all well knowne doth stand;
There Forman was, that fiend in humane shape,
That by his art did act the deuills ape:
Oft there the blacke Inchanter, with sad lookes
Sate turning ouer his blasphemous bookes,

Making strange characters in blood-red lines:
And to effect his horrible designes,
Oft would he inuocate the fiends below,
In the sad house of endlesse paine and woe,
And threaten them, as if he could compell
Those damned spirits to confirme his spell.
O prophane wretches! ye that doe forsake
Your faith, your God, and your owne soules, to take
Aduise of Sorcerers, againe to finde
Some trifle lost; why will ye be so blind
On some base beldam for lost things to fawne?
To gaine whose losse, ye leaue your soules in pawne.
Too many, too much wronged by the time,
Do thinke this great idolatrie no crime;
But let them marke the path which they do tread,
And they shall see, that in it they are lead
From hope and helpe, to hurt and all annoy,
From him that made, to him that doth destroy.
But without mercie here, let no sterne eye
Looke on my faults; alas for charity,
Let all with pitty my offence bemone,
Since that it was not my offence alone:

The strongest soone doe slip, as I did fall,
For woe is me, I was seduc'd to all.
Yee that detest my now detected shame,
And thinke that ye shall neuer meet the same,
Thinke how the friendship, and the auncient loue
Of some great Lady long enioy'd may mooue:
And thinke with that, how much the rising state
Of some great man, my sex might animate:
I was not base, but borne of gentle blood,
My nature of it selfe inclin'd to good,
But wormes in fairest fruit doe soonest breed,
Of heauenly grace best natures haue most neede.
Iust heauen did suffer me, as I begunne
To hasten on from vice to vice, and runne
My selfe in sinnefull race quite out of breath,
That sinne at last might punish sinne by death:
For when those wantons, whose vniust desire
Had vrg'd me on so farre, that to retire
I knew was vaine, as I before to lust
Had beene a minister, so now I must
Ioyne hands in blood, which they did plot and study,
O who would thinke that women-kind were bloody!

But when our chastitie we doe forgoe,
That lost, what then will wee refuse to doe?
This did that Romane proud

Tacitus Annal Lib. iv. Cap. 8.

Seianus know,
Who hating Drusus as his deadly foe,
And basely seeking to betray his life,
Did first allure faire Liuia Drusa's wife
To poyson her owne Lord, that in his stead
The base Seianus might enioy his bedde;
Who rais'd by Cæsar from ignoble place,
In Liuiaes lustfull eie did finde more grace
Then Drusus, Cæsars sonne, a manly youth:
O who knowes how to feed a womans tooth!
In mischiefe I went on, and did agree
To be an actor in thy Tragedie,
Thou iniur'd ghoast; yet was I but a mute,
And what I did was at an others suite:
Their plots I saw, and silent kept the same,
For which my life did suffer death and shame;
For see, ah see, this cord about my necke,
Which time sometime with pretious things did decke,
Reuenge hath done, and Iustice hath her due,
Let none then wrong the dead, let all with you
O gentle knight, forget my great offence,
Which I haue purg'd with teares of penitence:
For thousand liuing eyes with teares could tell,

That from my eies true teares of sorrow fell:
Then iudge my cause with charitable minde,
Who mercie seekes with faith, shall mercie finde.
This said, she vanisht from before our sight,
I thinke to heauen, and thinke, I thinke aright.
She gone, the poyson'd ghoast did seeme with teares
To chide her fate: but loe, there straight appeares

An other in her place, who seem'd to be

The description of Sir Iarvis Ellwis, the late Leiftenant of the Tower.

When he did liue, some man of good degree
Mongst men on earth; one of so solemne looke,
As if true grauity that place had tooke
To dwell vpon; his person comely was,
His stature did the meaner size surpasse;
Well shapt in euery limme; well stept in yeares,
As here and there appear'd by some gray haires.
When first he did appeare, with wofull looke
He view'd the Tower, and his head he shooke,
As if from thence he did deriue his woe,
Which with a sigh he thus begun to show.

O thou sad building, ominous to those
Whom with thy fatall walls thou dost inclose,
For thee, I haplesse man, as for the ende
Of my desire, did falsly condiscend
Vnto that plot, by others heads begun,
Through which in thee such wrong was lately done.
Thou that didst poyson'd feele thy foes despight,
See here the ghoast of that vnhappy Knight,
Which whilome was Leiftenant of this place,
Though now a wretch, thus haltred with disgrace.

I was, alas, what boors it that I was,
Of good report, and did with credit passe
Through euery act of my liues tragedie,
Vpon this world the stage of vanity,
Till the last sceane of blood by others plotted,
Concluding ill, my name and credit blotted.
I must confesse I did conniue at those
That were the ministers to thy proud foes,
Closely imploy'd by them thy life to spill
By secret poyson, though against my will,
Feare of their greatnesse, and no hate to thee,
Inforst my coward conscience to agree.
When first to me this plot they did impart,
O what a tedious combate in my heart,
Vnto my soule did feelingly appeare,
T'wixt my sad conscience, and a doubtfull feare:
Feare said that if I did reueale the same,
Those great ones great in grace, would turne the shame
Vpon my head, but conscience said againe,
That if I did conceale it, murders staine
Would spot my soule as much for my consent,
As if at first it had bin my intent:

Feare said that if the same I did disclose,
The countenance of greatnes I should lose,
And be thrust out of office and of place;
But conscience said that I should lose that grace
And fauour, which my God to me had giuen,
And be perhaps thrust euer out of heauen.
Long these two champions did maintaine the field,
Till my weake conscience at the last did yeild:
O let those men that doe condemne my feare
And follie, most in their remembrance beare,
What certaine danger stood on either side
As I should passe, and how I should haue di'd
In either way, at least with some great fall
For euer haue been crusht: and thinke withall,
How prone our nature is in feare, to rest
Vpon those seeming hopes that promise best.
I speake not this to mitigate my sinne,
O no, I wish my fall may others winne
From the like feare, and that my life may be
A president to men of such degree,
To whom authoritie doth thinke it fit,
The trust of such a function to commit

Let such men to remember still be moou'd,
That which by sad experience I haue proou'd;
T'is good to feare great men, but yet 'tis better
Euer to feare God more, since God is greater:
If Gods good Angel had imprinted this
Into my thoughts, I had not thought amisse;
Nor I, vnhappie I, should haue consented,
But all this mischeife I had then preuented.
Here some perhaps will thinke the former race
Of my sad life, t'haue beene debosht and base,
Because at last it had so base an ende;
But for our selues, might modestie contend
In opposition, I might iustly say,
How many now liue glorious at this day,
Whose honour greater staines doe daily spot,
Then any which my former life did blot:
Yet those my crimes which did my God offend,
For which his finger did point out this ende,
Vnto my life I'le shew, though to my shame,
That others as from death may flie the same.

Note.

My Father, from whose life my breath I drewe,
When sicke vpon his bed he lay, and knewe

That at his doore of flesh deaths hand did knocke,
And did perceiue weake nature would vnlocke
To let him in, did with his blessing giue
This charge to me; that I while I did liue
Should neuer seeke for office at the Court,
But with that meanes he left my state support:
With reuerence his will I did obey,
Vntil (O that I might not tell the day)
In which I did with greedy eie affect
That place in this great Tower, without respect
To my dead Syres behest; yet since it was
A touch to conscience, on I would not passe
Vntill by some I was resolu'd amisse,
That as in other things, so I in this
Which in it selfe was of indifference
And lawfull vnto others, might dispence
With my obedience to my Fathers will,
And that mine owne intent I might fulfill:
Yet one there is (O euer may he be
Belou'd of heau'n for his great loue to me)
Who by the light of truth did show the way
Which I should goe, but I did not obay:

Ambitious mist did blinde my weaker eyes,
I thought by this preferment I should rise;
Yet no desert but gold did gaine me grace,
Mine owne corruption purchas'd me that place:
For brib'rie in the soule a blemish makes
Of him that giues, as well as him that takes,
And bribing hands that giue, must guiltie be
Of their owne want of worth: for who, but hee
That in himselfe the want of merit findes,
Will be the baude to base corrupted mindes?
Ye, that neglect performance of the will
Of your dead parents, thinking it no ill
To disobey their precepts, now in me
The curse of disobedience ye may see:
And yee whose golden fingers, as in sport,
Like lime-twigges catch at offices in Court,
In which obtain'd ye euer after liue
Corrupt in minde, to gaine what ye did giue;
Behold, vntimely deaths disgracefull corde
About this necke, my bribing hands reward.
Before this suddaine, and vnlookt for sate
Did fall thus heauy on me, when my state

Did flourish among men, to mind I call
An accident of note which then did fall.

Note.

Bewitcht with loue to that too common vice
In this our age, of hazardy and dice,
I loosing once my coine (for few thereby
Haue euer gainers beene) did wish that I
When I againe did vse the dice, might come
To die this shamefull death, which by the doome
Of righteous heau'n, againe I vsing game,
As I had wisht, to mee vnlook't for came.
Vaine gamesters that too commonly vse
Strange deprecations, when ye doe abuse
Your selues in game, by my sad fall take heede,
And let your word be euer as your deede;
Least your hand meete mine in the selfe-same dish,
For heau'n doth often heare when men doe wish.
But of no sinne had my most sinnefull soule
Beene euer sicke, yet this one sinne most foule,
This act of poyson, to my house a staine,
With future times for euer shall remaine:
The die of blood on murderers hand doth stay,
No teares, no time, can wipe the same away;

But if true teares of sorrow may with you,
(As all true sorrowes teares with heauen may doe)
Mooue pittifull regard of my sad fall,
Ye then remembring how I fell withall,
Will out of charity, with lesser blame
Censure my fault, when ye shall heare the same:
Thus quit by death from doome of Law, and heauen
Out of free mercy hauing me forgiuen,
Let all calumnious tongues their mallice cease,
That so my soule may euer liue in peace:
O let the world abate her sharpned tongue,
And since I haue done pennance for thy wrong
Thou wronged Knight, what can thy ghoast now craue?
Grieue thee no more, goe rest thee in thy graue:
Thy foes decline, proud Gaueston is downe,
No wanton Edward weares our Englands crowne.
This said, he vanisht; and an other stood
In the same place, midway aboue the flood,

Whose strange demeanour with amazement strooke

The description of Franklin.

Vs that beheld him; for with startled looke,
And haire stiffe standing, as a man agast
He star'd vpon the Knight, from whom in hast
Into the flood he would haue shrunke away,
Had not, I thinke, that fury forst his stay,
Which while he liu'd his guilty soule pursu'd,
Till he his owne offence had freely shew'd.

A man he was of stature meanely tall,
His bodies lineaments true shap't, and all
His limbes compacted well and strongly knit,
Natures kind hand no errour made in it;
His beard was ruddie hewe, and from his head
A wanton locke it selfe did downe dispread
Vpon his backe, to which while he did liue
Th' ambiguous name of Elfe-locke he did giue:
And now fantasticke frenzie, as before
When he did liue, did seeme to vex him sore;
The shamefull rope which 'bout his shoulders hung,
Hither and thither carelesly he flung,
And as a catiffe of that cursed crewe,
Whom sad despaire doth after death pursue,
Howling and yelling, while the teares did run
Downe by his cheekes, at last he thus begun.

Since that slie serpent of soule-slaying-sin,
Which feedes vpon the guiltie minde within
Each wicked breast, doth force me to reueale
Vnto my shame, what I did long conceale:
Giue care, ye cursed Atheists all that been,
Ye vnbeleeuing dogges in shape of men,

That thinke the name of God and his great Lawe,
But things deuis'd to keepe the world in awe,
Who mocke the times last dreadfull day to come,
Which at the length your wicked deeds shall doome:
And ye blasphemous Exorcists, that are
With Plutoes factors so familiar
Here vpon earth, that ye each day doe deal
For transportation of blind soules to hell:
Whom fooles doe wisemen call, giue eare to me,
And in my wretched fate your follies see.
I was (aye me, that still I was not so)
When Aprill buddes of youth themselues did show
Vpon my chin, a Student in the Law,
From which fantasticke thoughts my minde did drawe
To the more pleasing studie of that art
Of Physicke, to the which though little part
Of learning gaue me helpe, yet strong desire
To know that worthy science, set on fire
The fond affection of my forward will,
To search the secrets of that noble skill:
But he who from that facultie shall fall,
To which ineuitable fate did call

Him at the first, forsakes that happie way,
Which he should go, and haplesse runnes astray:
Diseas'd with vanities fantasticke fittes,
Which ague-like doth vex our English wittes,
Who thinke at home all homely, and doe plough
Deepe furrowes vpon Neptunes waterie browe,
From forreine shoares to bring the worst of bad,
And in exchange leaue there what good they had;
The seas I past to helpe out my weake skill
In th' Aromatike Art, but O the ill,
Which there our ignorant English oft do finde,
Did first corrupt my vncorrupted minde:
O vaine conceit of those, that doe repute
In euery Art the most admired fruite
Of any braine; if of domesticke wit,
But base and triuiall, if compar'd to it
Of forreine heads, that onely vs can please,
And such hath beene our Englands old disease:
There did I finde, O neuer had I found,
Murthers close way to kill my foe, the ground
Of that deuise (thou wronged Knight) whereby
Thou most vntimely wert inforst to die:

There was I taught, with vaine words to command
The spirits from below, who still at hand
Will ready bee, as seeming to obay
Those soule-blind men, whom they doe most betray.
Thus hauing, as I thought, my minde enricht
With deepest knowledge, and with pride bewitcht,
To blow that vaine blast on the trumpe of fame,
Which through the world I thought might bear my name,
I backe return'd for England, there to showe
That wondrous skill, which I would seeme to knowe:
There as the Fowler doth with whistle call
The silly birds, vntill they hap to fall
Into his net; so did my name each day,
Once blowne abroad, lead simple fooles away
From helpfull heauen, to seeke aduise in hell,
And there for toyes themselues and soules to sell:
But in this path long thus I did not tread,
Which downe vnto the house of death doth lead,
Before that old slie serpent did beginne
T'entice me, to that selfe-accusing-sinne
Of horrid murther, shewing me the way
By art of poyson, closely to betray

What life to death I would, nor did he leaue
Vntill my soule he did so farre bereaue
Of euery feeling sense, that wicked I
Did closely poyson her, that vs'd to lie
In mine owne bosome, that shee beeing dead
Might to me liuing leaue an empty bed:
After this fact, that to my gultie soule
It might not as it was, seeme vgly foule,
My subtile foe did whisper in my eare
These seeming happy newes, how fame did beare
My name vpon her wings, with loud report
Of my strange deedes as farre as to the Court;
Where hauing beene employ'd, I with all skill
Apply'd my selfe to please; no damned ill
I did refuse, not making any doubt
While greatnesse wings did compasse me about.
Forman that cunning Exorcist and I,
Would many times our wicked wits apply
Kind nature in her working to disarme
Of proper strength; and by our spels would charme
Both men and women, making it our sport
And play, to point at them in our report.

Thus fatted with false pleasure for a while,
Still with good hope of hap, I did beguile
My selfe in all imployments, till at last
Thy death (thou iniur'd Knight) did with it hast
My vnexpected fall: I was the man,
That did prepare those poysons, which began
And ended all thy paine, which I did giue
Vnto that man, who did attendant liue
On thee in thy distresse, who since that time
Was he, that first did suffer for this crime.
O what a suddaine change of cheerefull thought
To sadnesse, selfe-accusing conscience brought
After this bloody deed: before all ease
Did seeme to waite on me; for what could please
Which I did want? that idol gold, which all
Or most men closely worship, seem'd to fall
As thicke vpon me, as the golden shower
That fell on Danae in the Dardin Tower.
Swimming in streames of false delight, and prickt
With pride and selfe conceit, at heau'n I kickt:
The names of God, and Maker, I did sleight
As bug-beare words the childish world t'affright:

I did impute the spheares eternall daunce,
And all this all, to nature and to chaunce;
But all men laugh my follies vnto scorne:
For who so blinde, will say being mortall borne,
He hath a reason, and will yet denie
The same to this Vniuersalitie,
Of which, alas, he is the lesser part:
As who should say, his feete, his hands, his heart
Might well be wise, and he himselfe a foole,
Such is the wisedome of th' Atheisticke schoole.
The eye of heau'n, from whome no heart can hide
The secret thoughts, my close intents espi'd;
And when I did with most inuentiue braine,
Deuise to wipe away my conscience staine,
And thy sad death most closely to conceale,
Heauen forc'd myselfe, mine owne selfe to reueale:
The shadowe of the dead, or some foule fiend,
Or furie, whom reuenge did iustly send
To punish me for my detested sin,
With snakie whippes did scourge my soule within;
Forbidding me my rest, or day, or night,
Till I had brought mine owne offence to light:

For which condemn'd vnto that shamefull end
Of strangling torment, still the franticke fiend
Did follow me vnto my liues last breath;
As was my life before so was my death.
This said, he vanisht, and with him that night
The vision ending, our empoysoned Knight
Thus spake: O England, O thrise happie land,
Who of all Iles most gracefully dost stand
Vpon this earths broad face, like Venus spot
Vpon her cheeke; thou onely garden plot,
Which as an other Eden heau'n hath chose,
In which the tree of life and knowledge growes:
Happie in all, most happie in this thing,
In hauing such a holy, happy King;
A King, whose faith in armes of proofe doth fight,
'Gainst that seuen-headed beast, and all his might:
A King, whose iustice will at last not faile,
To giue to each his owne in equall scale:
A King, whose loue doue-like with wings of fame,
To all the world doth happy peace proclame:
A King, whose faith, whose iustice, and whose loue,
Diuine, and more then royall, him doe prooue:
O thou iust King, how hath thy iustice shin'd
Vpon my iniur'd ghoast, which beeing confi'nd
From hence for euer, neuer had, vnlesse

Thy iustice had beene great, obtain'd redresse.
If earnest prayers with heau'n may ought auayle,
And earnest prayers with heau'n doe sieldome fayle;
Let all good men lift vp their hearts with me,
That what I beg of heau'n may granted be.
If euer heart with wicked thought, shall aime
To harme thy State, let heau'n reueale the same:
If euer hand lift vp with violent powre
Shall seeke thy life, heauen cut it off that houre:
If euer eye of treason lurke about,
Or lie in waite for thee, heau'n put it out:
If heart, hand, eye, abroad or here at home,
Shall plot against thee, neuer may they come
To their effect, as they haue euer been
So may they be; and let all say, Amen.

Here my dreame ended, after which a while
Soft slumber did my senses so beguile,
I thought the Towergate was o're my head,
Vntill I wak'd and found my selfe in bed;
From whence arising, as the wronged Knight
Had giuen in charge, this Vision I did write.

FINIS.