XXVI. JANE SHORE.
[_]
Tho' so many vulgar errors have prevailed concerning this
celebrated courtezan, no charactér in history has been more
perfectly handed dewn to us. We have her portrait drawn
by two masterly pens; the one has delineated the features of
her person, the other those of her character and story. Sir
Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton has copied an
original picture of her. The reader will pardon the length of
the quotations, as they serve to correct many popular mistakes
relating to her catastrophe. The first is from Sir Thomas
More's history of Rich. III. written in 1513, about thirty
years after the death of Edw. IV.
“Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not for covetise,
the protector sent into the house of Shores wife (for
her husband dwelled not with her) and spoiled her of al that
ever she had, (above the value of 2 or 3 thousand marks)
and sent her body to prison. And when he had a while laide
unto her, for the maner sake, that she went about to bewitch
him, and that she was of counsel with the lord chamberlein
to destroy him: in conclusion when that no colour could fasten
upon these matters, then he layd heinously to her charge
the thing that herselfe could not deny, that al the world wist
was true, and that natheles every man laughed at to here
it then so sodainly so highly taken,—that she was naught
of her body. And for thys cause (as a goodly continent
prince, clene and fautles of himself, sent oute of heaven into
this vicious wórld for the amendment of mens maners) he
caused the bishop of London to put her to open penance, going
before the crosse in procession upon a sonday with a taper
in her hand. In which she went in countenance and pace
demure so womanly; and albeit she was out of al array
save her kyrtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, namelye,
while the wondering of the people caste a comly rud in
her chekes (of which she before had most misse) that her
great shame wan her much praise among those that were
more amorous of her body, then curious of her soule. And
many good folke also, that hated her living, and glad wer
to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei more her penance then rejoiced
therin, when thei considred that the protector procured
it more of a corrupt intent, then any virtuous affeccion.
“This woman was born in London, worshipfully frended,
honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, saving somewhat
to soone; her husbande an honest citizen, yonge, and
goodly, and of good substance. But for as muche as they
were coupled ere she wer wel ripe, she not very fervently
loved, for whom she never longed. Which was happely
the thinge, that the more easily made her encline unto the
king's appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect
of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and
other wanton welth, was able soane to perse a soft tender
hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon her
husband (as he was an honest man, and one that could his
good, not presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left her
up to him al together. When the king died, the lord
chamberlen [Hastings] toke her
: which in the kinges
daies, albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare
her, either for reverence, or for a certain frendly faithfulness.
“Proper she was, and faire: nothing in her body that you
wold have changed, but if you would have wished her
somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her in her
youthe. Albeit some that now see her (for yet she
liveth) deme her never to have bene wel visaged.
Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat like, as though men
should gesse the bewty of one longe before departed, by her
scalpe taken out of the charnel-house; for now is she old,
lene, withered, and dried up, nothing left but ryvilde
skin, and hard bone. And yet being even such, whose
wel advise her visage, might gesse and devise which partes how filled, wold make it a faire face.
“Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in her pleasant
behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could both
rede wel and write; mery in company, redy and quick of
aunswer, neither mute nor ful of bable; sometime taunting
without displeasure, and not without disport. The king
would say, That he had three concubines, which in three
divers properties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another
the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme,
as one whom no man could get out of the church lightly to
any place, but it wer to his bed. The other two wer
somwhat greater personages, and natheles of their humilite
content to be nameles, and to forbere the praise of those properties;
but the meriest was the Shoris wife, in whom the
king therfore toke special pleasure. For many he had,
but her he loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for
sinne it wer to belie the devil) she never abused to any
mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where
the king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and appease
his mind: where men were out of favour, she wold bring
them in his grace: for many, that had highly offended,
shee obtained pardon: of great forfeitures she gate men
remission: and finally in many weighty sutes she stode many
men in gret stede, either for none or very smal rewardes,
and those rather gay than rich: either for that she was
content with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited
to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to
do wyth the king, or for that wanton women and welthy be not alway covetous.
“I doubt not some shal think this woman too sleight a
thing to be written of, and set amonge the remembraunces
of great matters: which thei shal specially think, that
happely shal esteme her only by that thei now see her.
But me semeth the chaunce so much the more worthy to be
remembred, in how much she is now in the more beggerly
condicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaintance,
after good substance, after as grete favour with the
prince, after as grete sute and seeking to with al those,
that in those days had busynes to spede, as many other
men were in their times, which be now famouse only by
the infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were not much
lesse, albeit thei be muche lesse remembred because thei
were not so evil. For men use, if they have an evil
turne, to write it in marble; and whoso doth us a good
tourne, we write it in duste
. Which is not worst
proved by her; for at this daye shee beggeth of many
at this daye living, that at this day had begged, if shee had not bene.”
See More's workes, folio, bl. let. 1557. pag. 56. 57.
Drayton has written a poetical epistle from this lady
to her royal lover, in his notes on which he thus draws her
portrait. “Her stature was meane, her haire of a dark
yellow, her face round and full, her eye gray, delicate
harmony being betwixt each part's proportion, and each
proportion's colour, her body fat, white and smooth, her
countenance cheerfull and like to her condition. The picture
which I have seen of hers was such as she rose out
of her bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich
mantle cast under one arme over her shoulder, and sitting
on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. What her
father's name was, or where she was borne, is not certainly
knowne: but Shore a young man of right goodly
person, wealth and behaviour, abandoned her bed after
the king had made her his concubine. Richard III.
causing her to do open penance in Paul's church-yard,
commanded that no man should relieve
her, which the tyrant did not so much for his hatred to
sinne, but that by making his brother's life odious, he might
cover his horrible treasons the more cunningly.”
See England's Heroical epistles, by Mich. Drayton, Esq; Lond. 1637. 12mo.
The following ballad is printed from an old black letter
copy in the Pepys collection. Its full title is, “The woefull
lamentation of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London,
sometime king Edward IV. his concubine. To the
tune of Live with me, &c [See the first volume.]
To every stanza is annexed the following burthen:
Then maids and wives in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
If Rosamonde that was so faire,
Had cause her sorrowes to declare,
Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing,
That was beloved of a king.
In maiden yeares my beautye bright
Was loved dear of lord and knight;
But yet the love that they requir'd,
It was not as my friends desir'd.
My parents they, for thirst of gaine,
A husband for me did obtaine;
And I, their pleasure to fulfille,
Was forc'd to wedd against my wille.
To Matthew Shore I was a wife,
Till lust brought ruine to my life;
And then my life I lewdlye spent,
Which makes my soul for to lament.
In Lombard-street I once did dwelle,
As London yet can witness welle;
Where many gallants did beholde
My beautye in a shop of golde.
I spred my plumes, as wantons doe,
Some sweet and secret friende to wooe,
Because chast love I did not finde
Agreeing to my wanton minde.
At last my name in court did ring
Into the eares of Englandes king,
Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd,
But I made coye what he desir'd:
Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare,
Whose friendship I esteemed deare,
Did saye, It was a gallant thing
To be beloved of a king.
By her persuasions I was led,
For to defile my marriage-bed,
And wronge my wedded husband Shore,
Whom I had married yeares before.
In heart and mind I did rejoyce,
That I had made so sweet a choice;
And therefore did my state resigne,
To be king Edward's concubine.
From city then to court I went,
To reape the pleasures of content;
There had the joyes that love could bring,
And knew the secrets of a king.
When I was thus advanc'd on highe
Commanding Edward with mine eye,
For Mrs. Blague I in short space
Obtainde a livinge from his grace.
No friende I had but in short time
I made unto promotion climbe;
But yet for all this costlye pride,
My husbande could not mee abide.
His bed, though wronged by a king,
His heart with deadlye griefe did sting;
From England then he goes away
To end his life beyond the sea.
He could not live to see his name
Impaired by my wanton shame;
Although a prince of peerlesse might
Did reape the pleasure of his right.
Long time I lived in the courte,
With lords and ladies of great sorte;
And when I smil'd all men were glad,
But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad.
But yet a gentle minde I bore
To helplesse people, that were poore;
I still redrest the orphans crye,
And sav'd their lives condemnd to dye.
I still had ruth on widowes tears,
I succour'd babes of tender yeares;
And never look'd for other gaine
But love and thankes for all my paine.
At last my royall king did dye,
And then my dayes of woe grew nighe;
When crook-back Richard got the crowne,
King Edwards friends were soon put downe.
I then was punisht for my sin,
That I so long had lived in;
Yea, every one that was his friend,
This tyrant brought to shamefull end.
Then for my lewd and wanton life,
That made a strumpet of a wife,
I penance did in Lombard-street,
In shamefull manner in a sheet.
Where many thousands did me viewe,
Who late in court my credit knewe;
Which made the teares run down my face,
To thinke upon my foul disgrace.
Not thus content, they took from mee
My goodes, my livings, and my fee,
And charg'd that none should me relieve,
Nor any succour to me give.
Then unto Mrs. Blague I went,
To whom my jewels I had sent,
In hope therebye to ease my want,
When riches fail'd, and love grew scant:
But she denyed to me the same
When in my need for them I came;
To recompence my former love,
Out of her doores shee did me shove.
So love did vanish with my state,
Which now my soul repents too late;
Therefore example take by mee,
For friendship parts in povertìe.
But yet one friend among the rest,
Whom I before had seen distrest,
And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die,
Did give me food to succour me:
For which, by lawe, it was decreed
That he was hanged for that deed;
His death did grieve me so much more,
Than had I dyed myself therefore.
Then those to whom I had done good,
Durst not afford mee any food;
Whereby I begged all the day,
And still in streets by night I lay.
My gowns beset with pearl and gold,
Were turn'd to simple garments old;
My chains and gems and golden rings,
To filthy rags and loathsome things.
Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife,
For leading such a wicked life;
Both sucking babes and children small,
Did make their pastime at my fall.
I could not get one bit of bread,
Whereby my hunger might be sed:
Nor drink, but such as channels yield,
Or stinking ditches in the field.
Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe
I yielded up my vital strength
Within a ditch of loathsome scent,
Where carrion dogs did much frequent:
The which now since my dying daye,
Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers saye
,
Which is a witness of my sinne,
For being concubine to a king.
You wanton wives, that fall to lust,
Be you assur'd that God is just;
Whoredome shall not escape his hand,
Nor pride unpunish'd in this land.
If God to me such shame did bring,
That yielded only to a king,
How shall they scape that daily run
To practise sin with every one?
You husbands, match not but for love,
Lest some disliking after prove;
Women, be warn'd when you are wives,
What plagues are due to sinful lives:
Then, maids and wives, in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
