A Metrical History of England Or, Recollections, in Rhyme, Of some of the most prominent Features in our National Chronology, from the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Commencement of the Regency, in 1812. In Two Volumes ... By Thomas Dibdin |
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 | A Metrical History of England |  |
I.
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All the verse in these volumes has been reproduced, including those pieces which Dibdin has drawn from contemporary authors. The summaries of each reign have been omitted.
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VOL. I.
All the verse in these volumes has been reproduced, including those pieces which Dibdin has drawn from contemporary authors. The summaries of each reign have been omitted.
Gray.
INTRODUCTION.
I
At humble distance from Apollo's shrine,A wandering minstrel seeks it in the dark,
And, all unworthy of the flame divine
That warms his betters, asks but for a spark:
Fain would he soar, as mounts the matin lark,
But for a Pegasus who ne'er, God wot,
Had wings to bear him up beyond the mark
Of sluggish walk, or jolting doggrel trot,
Yet drive this jade he must, tho', faith, he'd rather not.
II
Of Cam and Isis, (whose inspiring streamsBy L.L.D.; B.A.; A.M.; invoked,
They've sung, like Maro, or, like Flaccus, joked)
Ne'er may the sources be by blockheads choked,
Where wit, in classic wreaths, the Sisters twine;
Had but my cranium in such springs been soak'd,
Oh! Alma Mater! tho' no son of thine,
My worthy mother's son had better woo'd the Nine.
III
Yet deem not Cam, that ign'rance quite pervadesMy brain, tho' never in thy halls refined;
Nor Isis, think thine academic shades,
Tho' out of sight, were always out of mind;
Thoughts of ye both, to neither tho' consigned,
Wou'd put my infant bosom in a flutter;
For oft my taste was seriously inclined,
With how much goût I'm half ashamed to utter,
To Oxford sausage rich; and curious Cambridge butter.
IV
A sort of wish for these, may yet remain.(There's no accounting for the tastes of men),
Else had I spared the luckless reader's pain
Nor had I roused that lion in his den,
Yclep'd Reviewer; better had I halt;—
But Bard, and Critic, both eat now and then,
And if Bard's errors furnish Critic's food,
He'll feel, though not allow, they've done some good.
V
One glorious thought my meditation chears,A hope that gives some courage to the Muse,
A claim she dares to make, because she fears
No Critic living can the plea refuse;
Reader, you may reject it if you chuse,
But that you'll scarcely think of, when you're told,
In spite of all who pity and abuse,
'Tis Insignificance hath made her bold,
'Gainst Censure, hissing hot, or Commendation cold.
1. PART THE FIRST.
From the Aborigines to the End of the Heptarchy.
The Ancient Britons.—Four Love Songs of the Young Aborigines—the Romans—Caractacus—Boadicea—the Saxons— the Heptarchy—Kent—Antiquity of Punning—Northumberland—East Anglia—Mercia, Essex, Sussex, Wessex.
Of Nature, roam'd the forest-bounds, at once
Their verdant city, high embowering fane,
And the gay circle of their woodland wars.
Thomson.
To shape the lance, or, decorate the shield:
Ev'n the fair virgin stain'd her native grace,
To give new horrors to the tented field.
Shenstone.
THE ANCIENT BRITONS.
Arose,” by chronicles we're told,
They wore no cov'ring, thro' the land,
But Paint to guard their bodies from the cold.
With Celtic belles, almost as stout,
Thro' wind, and rain, and sun, and dust,
Thus only, kept the weather out:
Some of the ladies (I believe) still wear it:
Wou'd fly their colours;—no—the sturdy elves,
(Spite of the critic's pun-detecting smile)
Beheld their colours fly, and not themselves.
With fish, and fowl, and suns, and moons, and beasts;
And those best painted oftenest ask to dine,
And burn fat prisoners at Druid-feasts.
For oil and turpentine, Historians say,
Were merely white washed, 'tis a custom yet,
Much in observance at this very day.
For what they did not wear, were most admired.
“Some club-arm'd Warrior stood, terrific, nigh,
“With uncouth forms, and shapeless monsters deck'd,
“Who thus implored his mistress, with a sigh:
The ancient Britons were but very young.)
CŒDWALLA to EDDA.
An Ancient British Love-Song.
I.
By those raven-dyed ringlets that float round thy form,And circle that heaven thy beauties display;
By that face, like the sun-beam that peeps thro' the storm,
Our hopes to encourage, our fears to allay;
By that dove, dearest Edda, pourtrayed on thy breast;—
With one smile of assent let Cœdwalla be blest!
Druid Chiefs my suit befriend,
While the misletoe I twine,
Let the sacred flame ascend,
Say, shall Edda's charms be mine?
II.
By the speed of my coursers in hunting and war,Whose trembling impatience for action I prize;
By the scythes on my chariot, less dangerous far,
Than the shafts dearest Edda can dart from her eyes,
I beseech thee, dear Edda, to shorten my pain!
Holy Druid Chiefs, befriend,
While the misletoe I twine,
See the sacred flame ascend,
Edda must, and shall, be mine.
EDDA to CŒDWALLA.
Being the Answer of an Ancient British Damsel in her Teens.
I.
Chief of thy daring tribe, with pride I seeThose looks, of late so dreadful to the foe,
Soften to kindness, when they bend on me,
As melts, in cheering Spring, the mountain's snow.
II.
Yes, seek the altars of our warlike sires,With rev'rence bend before each hallowed shrine,
Pure be thy passion, as their sacred fires,
And, Heaven approving, Edda shall be thine.
'Ere Britons found the way to Gretna Green;
But these, however homely, were the strains
Of lovers of haut ton, and form'd with pains.
When meaner folks by Cupid were perplexed,
Haply a ditty, simple as the next,
Might have been carol'd to a lady's maid,
By some bold serjeant, corporal, or the like,
Should it want force your faculties to strike,
Remember War, not Writing, was his trade.
COURTSHIP of the CANAILLE.
I
My love's so like a fine field day,No colour does she lack;
But varied, as the rainbow gay,
She's straiter in the back.
II
Her nose is red, her lips are blue,Her chin as green as grass;
And what of saffron colour'd hue,
Can Ila's neck surpass?
III
My heart how soft it's grown to prove,Next prisoner I take,
I'll shut him in an image, love,
And burn him for thy sake.
IV
Or shou'd we e'er be put to flight,And savage foes give chace,
I'll pierce thy bosom with delight,
To save thee from disgrace.
The MAIDEN's REPLY.
I
My love, of pilfering Danes the dread,What warrior may abide?
A lion's painted on his head,
A dragon decks his side.
II
A wolf grins lovely on his chest,A serpent twines his arms,
And captives' hides which form his vest
Add softness to his charms.
III
When forth he strides with martial glee,No peasant dares to laugh;
He wears a bull upon each knee,
A cow on either calf.
IV
I know a little Druid's cell,I know the Druid too,
And, if we ask him, who can tell,
What gold for us may do?
V
They say true lovers oft he weds,And with a sacred bough
Sprinkles cold water on their heads,
To warm the mutual vow.
Till Veni, Vidi, Vici, came among 'em.
No Nelson on the well-defended main
Was there, to beat the Roman back again;
Of heroes, who'd have wrapt their fleet in flames,
O'erpower the Muse: Ah! had the least of those
Been placed between Britannia and her foes;
Cæsar had prov'd a baffled, beaten, fool,
Had fled with foul dishonour from our shore;
Nor had I, and some thousand dunces more,
Been, through his Commentaries, whipt at school.
England, including Wales, was. at the invasion of the Romans, divided into the following seventeen states:
CALLED BY THE ROMANS, 1 The Danmonii; now, the counties of Cornwall and Devon. 2 Durotriges; Dorsetshire. 3 Belgæ; Somerset, Wilts, part of Hants. 4 Attrebatii; Berks. 5 Regni; Surrey, Sussex, and remaining part of Hants. 6 Cantii; Kent. 7 Dobuni; Gloucester and Oxon. 8 Cattieuchlani; Bucks, Bedford, and Herts. 9 Trinobantes; Essex, and Middlesex. 10 Iceni; Suffolk, Norfolk, Huntingdon, and Cambridge. 11 Coritani; Northampton, Leicester, Rutland, Lincoln, Nottingham. and Derby. 12 Cornavi; Warwick, Worcester, Stafford, Chester, and Shropshire. 13 The Silures; Radnor, Brecon, Glamorgan, Monmouth, and Hereford. 14 Demetœ; Pembroke, Cardigan, Caermarthen. 15 Ordovices; Montgomery, Merioneth, Caernarvon, Flint, and Denbigh. 16 The Brigantes; York, Durham, Lancashire, Westmoreland, and Cumberland. 17 Ottadini; Northumberland to the Tweed.
Ballad, by Collins.
It was about fifty-five years before the Christian Æra that Rome, at the height of her glory as a Republic, determined to add Britain to her Empire.
Lucan, Horace, Tacitus, and Tibullus dissent from the idea of the absolute Conquest of Britain. The latter says:—
“The Blood of Ages, bootless to secure
“Beneath an Empire's yoke a stubborn Isle,
“Disputed hard, and never quite subdu'd.”
Thomson.
THE ROMANS.
A. C. 55.
Came back, return'd, and met his fate in Rome;
'Tis said, he somewhat civilized our sires,
Quench'd, for a time, their sacrificial fires;
Gave some slight notion of domestic life,
And taught the use of clothes to maid and wife.
But yet, whate'er improvement they obtained
Was bought with Freedom, for the Romans reign'd.
By acquiescence, bade our burthens cease;
Left Britain all her freedom but the name;
Crack-brain'd Caligula, like modern France,
In big bravado, bade his powers advance;
Then too, like Gaul, forgot to keep his word,
And, loudly threatening—sheathed th' invading sword.
He bent the stubborn island to obey;
Nor bold Caractacus, his country's pride,
Nor bravest chieftains fighting by his side,
Prevail'd before the legionary band,
Whose iron discipline subdued the land;
While the great victim to a conqueror's laws,
Greater than King, when chain'd in Freedom's cause,
From Cæsar's self extorts deserv'd applause.
To prove a dæmon blended with a man,
Mona, to tyrant priesthood only known,
The Druid's senate, sanctum, and their throne,
Became the seat of war;—destruction flew
O'er the devoted sanguinary crew;
Their fates we mourn not, they, whose bloodstain'd knife,
In mock religion prey'd on human life.
Whose pow'r, increasing thro' successive reigns,
For centuries had held the mind in chains;
Worthy to die on that polluted spot
Where Virtue was, in Virtue's name, forgot.
Preserv'd, from more than barb'rous Roman rage,
Great Boadicea, glory of thy race,
Britannia's honor, and thy foe's disgrace;
In burning fancy I behold each fight
Where female valour warr'd for Albion's right:
Thy very fall perpetuates thy fame,
And Suetonius' laurels droop with shame.
But soften'd martial into milder law;
Agricola, tho' form'd for warlike strife,
Revered the decencies of social life;
He chaced Galgacus o'er the Northern plain,
And bound his footsteps with a mural chain.
Adrian and Severus the work pursued,
A work extinct, and ne'er to be renewed.
No wall again shall British hearts divide,
Whose union, is their best, their safest, pride.
Tho', heav'n knows, they must be rather better than these rhymes;
Give ear unto my narrative, and it will plainly shew,
That things were ten times worse almost two thousand years ago.
And the people, like most people, grumbled;
At grievances all had a dig,
'Till down the whole edifice tumbled.
Their freedom, their name, or what not,
At Rome were so busy, each helping itself,
Our Island alone was forgot.
Among other curious impositions practised on their devotees, the Druids were in the habit of borrowing large sums of them, to be repaid in the other world.—“Druidæ pecuniam mutuo accipiebant in posteriore vita reddituri.” Patricius.
Agricola totally defeated Galgacus, who commanded the last Army the Country could raise, reduced almost the whole of England and Scotland to the denomination of a Roman Province, and began to build the famous Barrier called Picts'-Wall
THE BRITONS.
Each Briton rejoic'd with his brother;
'Till, finding they'd not one competitor left,
They wisely fell out with each other.
The Wall too was idly forgot;
And, leaping its boundary, hourly you'd spy
A stern Pict or a muckle bra' Scot.
“To Ætius, thrice Consul,” who sighs; 446
But turns the ambassadors back as they went,
Without one single word of supplies.
Flies to the ocean from the foe's attack;
Nor less relentless, the destructive wave
Devours or hurls them to their tyrants back.
The Picts, (so called from Pictich, a Plunderer, and not from Picti, painted) and the Scots, from Scuite, a Wanderer, in the Celtic Tongue, were only different tribes of Caledonians. Dr. Henry.
Ætius, Prefect of Gaul, was thus addressed by “The Groans of the wretched Britons, to the thrice-appointed Consul, Ætius.—The Barbarians drive us into the Sea, and the Sea forces us back on the swords of the Barbarians.” Ætius was too closely engaged in opposing Attila, the renowned King of the Huns, to spare them any attention. Destruction of the Brittaines.
THE SAXONS.
A. D. 447.
Proclaims assistance? 'tis the Saxon band,
By Hengist led, and Horsa;—see, they smile,
And greet their hosts, with false, insidious hand.
And beauty, too, must aid the plan they lay;
Rowena, form'd to bear a nobler heart,
Can stoop a falling monarch to betray.
What! yield a throne to Woman's asking eye!
But then, the prince was wrong,—and so am I.
Presents a prospect, like the boundless main,
The ruins of a once tremendous pile,
Where white-rob'd Druids held their orgies vile,
Yet rise upon the sight;—and here, 'tis said,
Where still repose in heaps, the slaughter'd dead,
Three hundred nobles of our drooping state,
Betray'd by Hengist, met a savage fate.
Stone-Henge yet called,—perhaps, the words impart
The traitor's name, and texture of his heart.
Succeeding fought to stem the Saxon tide;
In Ailsford's desp'rate battle, Horsa slain,
Adds to their names who for ambition died.
Weak Vortigern, restored to pow'rless name,
Yields Hengist all the profit and the fame.
That tells, in fine, how Saxon wiles prevail'd;
I turn the retrospect from that dark age,
When every manly, patriot, effort fail'd:
When British worth was driven to give place
To fancied friendship, and a foreign race.
For brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, and cousins:
Call'd this the sweetest island under heaven,
And split one little kingdom into seven.
The Saxons, it is supposed, gained great advantages over Britain by means of a foolish passion which the old Vortigern conceived for the young and beautiful Rowena, niece to Hengist “She presented him,” (say our old Historians) “on her knee, with a cup of wine, saying ‘Waes heal, hlaford cyning,’ or, ‘Be of health, Lord King’! to which Vortigern, being instructed in the custom, answered ‘Drinc heal,’ or, ‘I drink your health’—This introduction led to the subsequent marriage of Rowena to Vort gern, who felt no more anxiety respecting the Saxon encroachments on his dominions. Verstegan, &c. &c.
The British Kings from Vortigern, till the settlement of the Saxons at the time of the Heptarchy, after which Wales became the seat of Government of the genuine Britons, were Aurelius, Ambrosius, Uther Pendragon, Arthur, Constantine II. Conan, Vortipor, Malyo, Coranus, Caractacus II. Cadwan, Cadwallan, Cadwallader; —for the succession of Welch Princes see the reign of Edward I.
The Saxons seem to have anticipated the descriptive mode of naming the months adopted by the modern French Kalendar, the floreal, Germinal, &c. of which, though more elegant, are not more expressive of the Seasons than the following:
December—their first month was styled “Midwinter Monath.” January—“Aefter Yula,” or, after Christmas. February—“Sol Monath,” from the returning Sun. March—“Rede” or, “Rethe Monath,” Rugged Month. April—“Easter Monath,” from a Saxon Goddess, whose name we still preserve. May—“Trimilchi,” from Cows being then milked thrice a day. June—“Sere Monath,” dry month. July—“Mœd Monath,” the meads being then in their bloom. August—“Weod Monath,” from the luxuriance of weeds. September—“Hœfest, (or, Harvest) Monath.” October—“Winter Fyllith,” from Winter approaching, with the full moon of that month. November—“Blot Monath,” from the blood of Cattle slain that month, and stored for winter provisions.
Wordsworth.
“Which nation rise the glorious Lord of all.”
Creech's Lucretius.
THE HEPTARCHY.
Odd numbers are deem'd fortunate, we know,And yet, 'tis odd enough they should be so;
The graces, muses, with their threes and nines,
Were dear to Pagan reverend divines.
The number seven, too, a stand has made;
Seven wonders once the universe displayed;
Seven deadly sins, seven sacraments assist,
Seven sleepers, and my readers in the list;
Seven days each week;—on seven if longer dwelling,
'Twill cost me seven too many lines the telling.
Seven kingdoms once our little isle admitted,
Each with a king, and queen, and courtiers, fitted.
East Anglia, Mercia, Essex, Sussex, Kent,
Northumberland, and Wessex; each extent
Mark'd carefully, of course, by sovereign order,
To settle rates of postage on the border.
Who, in each court, wou'd undertake the task
Of Clement-Cottrellizing? sure, no dunce,
Six English embassies to name at once.
The Plenipo from Persia, when with us,
Could ne'er create more diplomatic fuss;
The newspaper, when things unkindly went,
Announces “The Ambassador from Kent—
“Having received a warm official note,
“Has left this country—in a Gravesend boat.”
“The Essex envoy, too, has turn'd his back,
“And quits the kingdom—in a neutral hack,
“Attended by a confidential friend,
“Whose passport goes no further than Mile-end.”
“Bold Sussex, in a ministerial rage,
“Departs to-morrow—in the Brighton stage!”
“While great East-Anglia, flouncing like a dragon,
“Has taken places in the Norwich waggon.”
Critics will smoke by this time, without doubt.
London and Essex both obey'd one king—
Agreed, grave sirs, and now the blunder's out,
Let my joke pass, and take your ample swing.
THE KINGDOM OF KENT.
Began 457—Ended 823.—Metropolis, Canterbury.
“Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle:—
“Sweet is the country,—beauteous,—full of riches,—
“The people liberal,—valiant,—active,—worthy.”
Shakespeare.
THE KINGDOM OF KENT.
Garden of Britain! whose white cliffs have namedOur island Albion.—Kent! so justly famed
For bow-men, bishops, monks, and monasteries,
For warriors, watering-places, hops, and cherries.
I name thy monarchs of the Saxon race;
Escus, then Octa, ruled in Hengist's place;
Next Hermenric, and Ethelbert succeed;
The last, renowned for many a valiant deed,
But most renowned, that, to the Pagan's loss,
By Austin taught, he rear'd the sacred cross,
His ear and heart inclin'd to Christian lore,
And light diffus'd, where darkness reign'd before.
St. Paul's Cathedral, form'd but rudely then, 604
First rose where now the spot is graced by Wren.
By Pontiff Gregory, to name their home.
“We're Angli called,” the British spokesman cried.
“Say rather Angeli,” the Pope replied.
“So would ye be, were you of Christian race.”
And Austin's mission, hence, 'tis said, took place.
This Gregory, most pious and most wise,
Made, at that time, three similar replies.
We have thought proper to select but one,
To shew the Ancients not disdain'd a pun;
That even Popes, of Toleration full,
A joke enjoy'd, and patroniz'd a bull.
While this dull age, as duller people name it,
Sees wit, folks tell ye, winking in the socket,
And swears, who makes a pun, howe'er he frame it,
The son of Ethelbert, unlike his sire,
(To Woden's worship and incestuous fire
Basely devoted) scorn'd religion's ties,
And, in too-late repentance, clos'd his eyes.—
Ercombert, Egbert, Lothaire, Widred, reign'd,
Eadbert and Ethelbert the crown sustain'd;
Next Alric, Egbert, Cuthred, Baldred, sway'd,
'Till one great Egbert all the land obey'd.
Enquiring further the name of their Province, he was answered Deiri; (a district of Northumberland) “Deiri” replied he, “that is good; they are called to the Mercy of God from his Anger; that is, De Ira.” “But how is the King of that Province named?” He was told Ælla, or Alla; “Alleluia!” cried he, “we must endeavor that the praises of God be sung in their Country.” Hume.
KINGDOM OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
Began A. D. 547.—Ended 792.—Comprised two Kingdoms, Bernicia and Deira.—Bamburgh and York were the Capitals.
KINGDOM OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
Scene of full many a desp'rate border fight!(Where Northern Chiefs, in ancient order dight,
By Percys led, met gallant Scots in arms;—
Percys, for prowess fam'd and female charms,)
Thy first king Adelfrid historians name,
'Till conquest prov'd young Edwin's better claim.
(Such just administration his, we're told,
Infants might safely bear uncounted gold!)
'Till slain by Mercian Penda. Civil jars
Divide Northumbria; and continued wars
By Osric, Eanfrid, Oswald, Oswy, waged,
Destroyed those monarchs; nor less furious raged,
While Egfrid, Alfred, Osred, Celwolf,—all,
Fought but to reign; and only reign'd to fall.
Like Celwold, Osred, Ethelbert, they closed
A list of horrors, fated not to cease,
'Till Egbert Union gave, and Union Peace.
THE KINGDOM OF EAST-ANGLIA.
Began 575.—Ended 793.—Included Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, Norfolk, and the Isle of Ely.—Dunwich was the Royal Residence.
THE KINGDOM OF EAST-ANGLIA.
Matter of fact is dull, when told at best,Then how can coarsest poetry digest
Such names as Uffa, Earpwold, and a host
Of Egrics, Alduffs, Elfwolds; who but boast
Short usurpation, or sad length of feud,
With fate of friends and subjects' blood imbrued!
The sanction of the venerable Bede,
Who saw so many monarchs reign and bleed,
Pourtrays a cheerless picture of that time,
When crime expelled was but expelled by crime;
When chiefs, alternate doom'd to smile or groan,
Saw Anglia fall before the Mercian throne!
Yet here, 'mid deeds that sullied British earth,
Cambridge! thy seat of learning first had birth
From Sigebert;—like the eastern star it rose,
To cheer the dim horizon;—Sigebert's name
Derives from hence more enviable fame,
Than from a thousand fields of slaughter'd foes.
THE KINGDOM OF MERCIA.
Began 582.—Ended 847.—Contained Huntingdon, Rutland, Lincoln, Northampton, Leicester, Derby, Nottingham, Oxford, Chester, Salop, Gloucester, Worcester, Stafford, Warwick, Bucks, Bedford.—Metropolis, Leicester.
THE KINGDOM OF MERCIA.
O'er midland Mercia, Wibba rul'd;—his crôwnHe left to Leorl.—Penda's chief renown
Sprang from his turbulence; by Oswy slain,
Peada, and swift-succeeding sovereigns reign,
Then Offa, well-beloved by Charlemagne.
Wiglaff, last ruler, Egbert taught to yield
Lord of his fate, and master of the field.
THE KINGDOM OF ESSEX,
OR, EAST SAXONS.
Began 527.—Ended 746.—Contained Essex, Middlesex, Part of Herts.—Capital, London.
THE KINGDOM OF ESSEX,
OR, EAST SAXONS.
Of Essex monarchs, little more is saidThan, that two kings among them lov'd white bread:
That Offa took great Penda's child to wife,
And vow'd, when married, to be chaste for life:
That Westminster, if records are believ'd,
From Sebert's gift her Abbey Church receiv'd;
By Sleda govern'd first, by Sigered last,
This state, with other states, to Egbert pass'd.
Sexted and Seward, sons and conjunct successors to Sebert, grandson of Erkinwin, who founded the kingdom of Essex. To shew the rude manner of living in that age, Bede tells us, that these two kings expressed great desire to eat the white bread distributed by Mellitus, the bishop, at the communion. But on his refusing them, unless they would submit to be baptised, they expelled him their dominions. Hume.
THE KINGDOM OF SUSSEX,
OR, SOUTH SAXONS.
Began 490.—Ended 600.—Contained Sussex and Surrey.— Metropolis, Chichester.
THE KINGDOM OF SUSSEX,
OR, SOUTH SAXONS.
Sussex! of modern summer beaux the boast,When British beauty gladdens Albion's coast;
Where waves transparent soften, more than hide,
Those charms, encircled by the happy tide.
Sussex! which erst saw conqu'ring William land,
And subject England to his iron hand.
Thine ancient chronicles have less in store,
Than the imperfect legends sung before;
A long parenthesis of names, I ween
From Œlla down to Adelwalch is seen;
'Till Egbert's, paramount by all confess'd,
Like Aaron's pow'rful rod engulphs the rest.
THE KINGDOM OF WESSEX,
OR, WEST SAXONS.
Began 519.—Ended 1066,—Comprised Hants, Berks, Wilts, Somerset, Dorset, Devon, Part of Cornwall, and the Isle of Wight.—Chief City, Winchester.
THE KINGDOM OF WESSEX,
OR, WEST SAXONS.
A race of warlike princes, whose successThis realm increas'd, and other realms made less,
From Cerdic and his sons, to Brithric reign'd,
And still accession of domain obtain'd.
Wessex each neighbouring monarch could controul,
And spread, like snows that gather as they roll.
'Till Egbert's genius, by misfortune taught,
In camps and courts each gainful lesson caught;
By travel tutor'd, and by woes made wise,
By others' fall instructed how to rise,
And made the Seven Kingdoms all his own.
—Though Egbert became Monarch of England, he was not perfectly absolute;—he actually possessed Wessex, Sussex, Kent, and Essex, which had been peopled by Saxons and Jutes, and contented himself with preserving the sovereignty over the other three Kingdoms, (originally inhabited by the Angles) and permitting them to be governed by Kings who were his vassals.
2. PART THE SECOND.
From the Union of the Seven Kingdoms to the Death of Edgar, surnamed the Peaceable.
CONTENTS.
Egbert—Ethelwolf—the Danes—Ethelbald and Ethelbert— Ethered, or Ethelred—Alfred the Great—Edward the Elder —Athelstan—Edmund—Edred—St. Dunstan—Edwy— Edgar the Peaceable—Three Love Stories of him—Elfrida.
“And crowded nations wait his dread command.”
Pope's Homer.
EGBERT.
Egbert o'er Kings subdu'd scarce 'gan to reign,E're he's invaded by the savage Dane .
Charmouth, in Dorsetshire, supplied the field
Where British chiefs to foreign leaders yield .
Yet, soon avenged, the English blood they spill;
A year not pass'd, when famous Hengsdown-Hill
Proves, to the northern spoilers dear bought cost,
That Egbert cou'd regain what late he lost.
The King in peace lived five succeeding years,
And his best epitaph was England's Tears .
The Danes first landed in 789, and were so little known that a peace officer, at Portland, asked them, in the name of his King, (Brithric,) what they did there? unused to the checks of magistracy, these uncivilized rovers murdered the intruder, plundered the country, and retired unmolested. H. Hunt, Saxon Chronology.
Had it not been for this unfortunate battle, (in which the Bishops Wigfurth and Herefurth, and the Earls Dudda and Osmond were slain,) Egbert would have added North Wales to his dominions, having already over-run the country to the foot of Snowdon. J. P. Andrews.
The following was inscribed on a chest containing his and other royal bones, at Winchester:
Nobis egregia munera uterque tulit,
Home.
ETHELWOLF.
And, as the surge encroaching on the land,
Gives note of mischief by terrific sound,
Like wave on wave, the robbers crowd to land.
The Danes! The Danes! the young and aged cry,
And mothers “press their infants” as they fly.
Avoid our armies, and our powers deride:
Then to their barks return, like loaded bees,
And, with our ravish'd treasure, cross the seas.
Like modern Trigges, and Trollopes, round them cruised:
How brief had been their predatory wars,
What trouble had my readers been excused!
Where, erst, the world's imperial eagle flew,
Where the white steed on Saxon banners came,
The Danish raven's wing is spread;
And an unsparing and remorseless crew,
By Scandinavian chieftains led,
Demand in Kent to share, with British birth,
“A local habitation and a name.”
While Ethelwolf, who shou'd have made them run,
(As gallic navies since at Nelson's fame),
Gave to Athelstan, as his eldest son,
One half the Kingdom—and ('twas more than shame!)
Instead of watching England's weal at home,
He went on pious pilgrimage to Rome.
To Rome, who having then no arms to rule us,
Deputed Monks to govern and befool us.
Who paid Priests, Deacons, Choristers and all,
With pockets full of England's gold to fee him,
And purchase lamps for Peter and for Paul .
At home he found affairs had changed their faces;
His first son dead, and Ethelbald, the next,
Usurper of his Sire's and Brother's places,
The former's weakness furnishing pretext.
When the King feed the Monks once more, and died:
To future reigns the people turn their hope,
And Ethelwolf's regretted—by the Pope.
Nothing could be more dreadful than the manner in which these fierce barbarians carried on their incursions; they spared neither age nor sex, and each commander urged the soldiers to inhumanity. Oliver, a celebrated chieftain, gained, from his dislike to the favorite amusement of his soldiers, (that of tossing children on the points of their spears,) the contemptuous surname of Burnakal, or, “the Preserver of Children.” Bartholin.
One of the pious pretences under which the papal see obtained money from bigotted princes was that of selling sacred lamps to burn before figures of the apostles.
Shakespeare.
ETHELBALD and ETHELBERT.
Let this lesson œconomy teach,
From the State to the Church he had given so much,
His Sons got but half a Crown each.
But, then he'd two younger lads, critics may cry,
Perhaps so, we'll talk about them by and bye.
I can't say as much for his Brother,
Who being the veriest monster on earth,
Was actually wed to his Mother—
In law,—Lady Judith,—not she who so called
Destroy'd Holofernes the big,
But daughter to Emperor Charley, the bald,
So named from the want of a wig.
We can't say that Ethelbald's reign was long lived,
Or happy the period his brother survived;
He was teazed by the Danes, who in England wou'd sway,
But died'ere he'd give the marauders their way.
Horace.
ETHERED, or ETHELRED.
Wou'd that past records happier tales could tellOf Ethered than truth has handed down!
Few years he reign'd, by Alfred's side he fell,
Defending England's honor and his crown.
A taint of Superstition dimm'd, alas!
A mind by nature meant to shine more bright;
Tho' brave, he fear'd to leave unfinish'd mass,
Till Danes near won the day at Aston fight.
This folly almost cost a brother's life;
But Alfred's arm upheld the doubtful strife.
So in our days Iberia's chief, they say,
Lost Spain, and Britain join'd, a glorious day!
And let the Gallic Victor run away.
The following inscription was placed over King Ethered's tomb: “In hoc loco quiescet corpus Sancti Ethelredi, Regis West “Saxonum Martyris, qui A. D. 872, 23 die Aprilis, per manum “ducorum paganorum occubuit.”
Vide Dispatches from Spain in the London Gazette, when Marshal Victor was permitted to escape from a most disadvantageous position, through the Spanish General's horror of fighting on a holy day.
“In whose rich soule the vertues well did sute,
“In whom so mix'd the elements all lay,
“That none to one cou'd sou'raigntre impute,
“As all did governe, yet all did obey;
“He of a temper was so absolute
“As that it seem'd when nature him began
“She meant to shew all that might be in man.”
Drayton.
“His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.”
Pope.
ALFRED THE GREAT.
Had taken place of Alfred's right
His fainting friends, dispersing, fled,
While he a life erratic led,
Folding the herdsman's flock for bread.
Condemn'd that bread himself to bake,
And when (his royal thoughts astray,
On projects soon to see the day,)
He tended ill the household cake;
A woman's tongue, a woman's blows,
Add to the humbled Monarch's woes.
Alive to every turn of fate,
Alfred assumes a temporary throne;
Where stagnate thick the Parret and the Thone.
In Athelney two acres in extent
Scarce hold the British Sov'reign's tent;
Yet here, encircled by a daring few,
The hero's future greatness grew.
From hence, in oft successful sally,
Issue the unexpected warrior band,
And chase o'er forest, mount, and valley,
The Danish spoilers of our native land.
And Oddune, Devon's chief, by Kinwith's towers,
Slew Hubba, and destroy'd his pirate powers.
Who justly balanced fortune's ev'ry smile,
In harper's guise, among his num'rous foes.
The minstrel's air, and gait, so well he feigns,
The royal tent admits him; he obtains
Knowledge of martial efforts to be made,
And by whose influence each attempt is sway'd:
For of intents and means the chiefs spoke loud,
Nor heeded Alfred in the mingled crowd;
For potent mead, from oft replenish'd shell,
Urg'd the gay tongue each inmost thought to tell,
While well the harper play'd; and listen'd well.
Right skilful was his finger, and right dear
The Danes soon learn'd how accurate his ear.
“When yet in early Greece she sung,”
Tho' vast her powers and sweet her tongue,
They both had fail'd to celebrate his name,
Who, while he struck the antient British lyre,
With all the purity of patriot flame,
That cou'd a parent Monarch's breast inspire,
A meaning drew from ev'ry tone,
To Danes, outwitted, little known;
Responded to the feelings of a King.
“The subtle spy obscures the soldier's fame!”
By art, as well as arms, his foes succeed,
Through foreign art his native subjects bleed.
And, when to bring the Dane to open strife,
For England's welfare, Alfred risks his life,
The noble issue, and the glorious end.
To which his perilous adventures tend,
Made, in a cause for which he wou'd have died,
The means he used his glory and his pride.
Guthrum, in turn, discomfited, distrest,
At Eddington beholds his army beat,
And sues for mercy at the Minstrel's feet.
Hunted, pursued, by youths whose earlier age
Had seen their parents fall by Danish rage,
The Danes, now suppliant for British grace,
Renounce their Pagan gods, and heathen race;
In peace with those whom lately they defied.
“The earth embellished on the banks of Stour;
“Where, with pure love of smiling nature warm'd,
“A second Paradise the founder form'd .”
The river's source first glides with trilling sound)
On terraced lawn majestically high,
Great Alfred's Tow'r, arrest the wond'ring eye;
Inscribed by truth, a modern race to shew
What solid blessings to his reign we owe.
His first-built Navy taught us how to sweep,
With flag triumphant, the subservient deep;
His English Jury, form'd in happiest hour,
Still guards the innocent from lawless pow'r;
His battles were, as our traditions fix,
(Successful most) in number fifty-six.
Tho' fam'd in war, he lov'd and cherish'd peace.
His aim in battle sought no other plan
But to convince, then bless, his fellow man!
Thy venerable turrets, Oxford, rose,
From him, who, unsubdued by fiercest foes,
Was great alike in danger and repose.
Philosophy and Christian worth combined
Their vast effects in one capacious mind.
Replete with soul, the Monarch stood alone,
And built, on freedom's basis, England's throne.
A legislator, parent, warrior, sage,
He died “the light of a benighted age.”
Bede and Orosius, historians grave,
A Saxon dress the studious Sov'reign gave;
And Æsop's morals, from their native Greek.
Of thirty years in which the land he sway'd,
Not one elaps'd but some good laws he made;
And proved, as grateful pens record,
There never yet was Britain's lord
Who better knew to rule, or better was obey'd.
A very singular circumstance occurs in those laws which the great Alfred formed for the regulation of the English Church. The introduction produces a copy of the Ten Commandments, in which the second has only these words, “Make not thou gods of gold and silver.” This alteration was certainly made to favor the literal adoration of paintings and images. Andrews, from Spelman.
So little was learning attended to by the great, that Asser, the biographer of Alfred, mentions with amazement, the King having taught his youngest son, Ethelward, to read before he made him acquainted with hunting. Elfredi.
He also rendered the Holy Gospels into the Saxon tongue, in which the Lord's Prayer, (which is inserted here as a specimen of the language of Alfred's day,) stands as follows;
Fæder ure thu the earth on heafenum, si thin nama gehalgod, to be cume thin rice, Gewurthe thin willa on eorthan swa swa on heafenum, urne ge dægwanlican hlaf syle us to dæg; and for gyf us ure gyltas, swa swa we forgivath urum gyltendum, and ne gelædde thu us on cosenung ac alyse us of yfle. (Si it swa.)
Medulla Historiæ Anglicanæ.“Which princes and their people did engage;
“And haughty souls, that moved with mutual hate,
“In fighting fields, pursued and found their fate.”
Dryden's Virgil.
EDWARD THE ELDER.
Edward in arms was worthy of his sire;
And happy for the realm, great Alfred's son,
Maintain'd with honor, what his father won;
In spite of insurrection, rapine, guilt,
And blood that flow'd for blood unjustly spilt.
First Ethelwald, from Ethelbert derived,
(Tho' two of royal Alfred's sons survived,)
Claim'd England's sceptre, and in frequent fight,
Warr'd against Justice and his Cousin's right;
A Norman and Northumbrian miscreant crew,
With Danes and Mercians to his side he drew,
And led his pupils in rebellion's school
That land to ravage which he might not rule.
Obeyed the impulse which his rage inspired,
And peaceful hamlets, towns, and cities mourn
The Monarch's and the Rebel's force in turn;
For civil discord glories in the ills
With which she indiscriminately fills
The royal mansion, or the rebel's hold,
The patriot cot, or den of ruffian bold,
While blood on both sides eagerly she spills.
The Kentish men, long England's warlike boast,
Assail'd at Bury, by the traitor's host,
With Danes maintain'd a most unequal fray,
'Till Ethelwald, his treasons to repay,
Lost, with his life, the honor of the day.
Northumbria, Mercia, and the scatter'd Dane,
Hostile by turns, and unsubdued, remain.
A powerful fleet, the Monarch bids prepare,
He sails, and quickly the rapacious band
Haste to despoil the absent Edward's land;
The King, as briefly of their plans aware,
Returns, with slaughter Stafford's plains to dye,
And see again his flag victorious fly.
The restless chiefs again unite,
Again their blood the earth imbrued,
At Tunsford, and in Maldon fight.
Not so, perdie, by Edward deem'd,
Vanquish'd, retreats before the conqu'ror's lance,
To pillage other lands in France;
At length, by perseverance, toil, and pains,
Edward, in well earn'd peace, with glory reigns.
In this my nice narcotic book,
It may awake your sex's proper pride,
To recollect that, in each doubtful day,
Edward had oft a sister by his side,
Whose genius pointed to success the way;
Active, yet prudent, masculine, yet fair,
The widow'd Ethelflida, good and great
And proved the grand appui of Edward's state.
Let it not from the Monarch derogate,
That he by female wit was sway'd,
Women, when good, are angels, and I wot,
(He who denies it is a senseless sot,)
Good angels may with safety be obeyed.
With a fraternal tear; nor did he mourn
Her absence long, but sought that awful bourn,
From whence, nor slave nor monarch may return.
He was fortunate not only in military enterprize, but in domestic concerns; he matched four of his nine daughters to the greatest Princes in Europe; and three of his five sons successively mounted their father's throne, Athelstan, Edmund, and Edred.
This patriotic amazon was the wife of Ethered, Duke of Mercia; she is universally said by historians to have been the exact resemblance of her parent Alfred in every quality of the mind, and in many old writings she is actually styled, not Domina, but Rex. J. P. Andrews.
Shakespeare.
“With all my heart, I thank thee for my father.”
Shakespeare.
ATHELSTAN.
Blame older tales,) was doubtful.—From his brother,
However born, Athelstan bore the belle,
I. E. the throne
He made his own,
And tho' the chances are, he had a mother,
Her name, not knowing, we forbear to tell:
Where heirs claim interest doubts like these grow double,
And hence the King experienced no small trouble.
And losing every gleam of hope,
Declared, if so his Liege would be appeas'd,
He'd swear his innocence before the Pope.
“Viceroy o'er Monarchs” he no equal knew,
And, sans façon, wou'd crack the iron crown
Of any Emperor that look'd askew.
My tale, 'tis what my betters 'erst have wrote,
The oath he took, of most tremendous size,
Stuck in his throat.
Not e'en by incredulity provoked,
She asks you'll but believe Lord Alfred died
As soon as he was choked.
In minstrel garb, to count his loyal bands;
And failing, proved, however well he play'd,
The part was better when in Alfred's hands .
His stratagems and projects end in flight
At Brunsbury, where, man to man,
The Chancellor of England led the van.
Among the slain a Bishop fell;
Thus Lawn and Woolsack both upheld the crown,
Not only in the senate, bar, and church,
But 'ere they'd leave the Sov'reign in the lurch,
E'en Bishops from beneath their beavers frown;
While law's great leader, in the place
Of painted, gilded, wooden mace,
With mace of iron knocks invaders down.
England's Lord Chancellor I've seen,
(With dignity and grace no less,
Than when in pride of legal dress. )
In Bloomsbury, at daily drill,
Grasp not the ancient weapon 'clep'd Brown Bill,
But a more modern mischief, call'd Brown Bess.
Colbrand, the Danish Chief, he slew,
And other deeds he did are named,
And many more he did not do.
Athelstan made a useful rule;
Three voyages for merchants should acquire
The rank and place of gentleman, or squire;
Had all the squires we daily see
So earn'd the right of their assumed degree,
Lord! what a travell'd nation we shou'd be!
Athelstan's exit caus'd some genuine tears,
And it bespeaks their mutual worth,
That Edmund of more certain birth,
Against the King his name wou'd never lend,
But, like a brother, liv'd his brother's friend,
And mourn'd with others his lamented end.
The pride of Anlaff betrayed him; while he explored the hostile camp as a minstrel, a soldier observing him throw away the reward he had received for his performance, watched him and recognized the Northumbrian leader.
Lord Erskine was a subaltern, or private, in the Bloomsbury Volunteers, and Lord Thurlow was a corporal in the same corps.
Shakespeare.
EDMUND.
Edmund his eighteenth year had not yet known,When he succeeded to Athelstan's throne,
And, ecce iterum! the Monarch found
The Danes encroaching still on English ground;
Malcolm of Scotland having lent him aid,
With Westmoreland and Cumberland he paid;
And when kind peace was dawning o'er the land,
Or e'er six summers smiled upon his reign,
By Leolf, leader of a lawless band,
The youthful Sov'reign was untimely slain.
The King espied this outlaw presumptuously seated at a royal banquet and, being inflamed with wine, seized him by the hair, when the felon, instigated by despair, plunged his dagger in the body of the King: the intoxication of the nobles and attendants permitted the assassin's escape.
“Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
“Himself with Princes.”
Shakespeare.
Dryden.
EDRED.
The name of Edred we record in vain,For this was properly Saint Dunstan's reign.
Specious, yet haughty, full of smiling evil,
And more than match, he boasted, for the Devil.
“In friendship false, implacable in hate,
“Resolv'd to ruin or to rule the state.”
The King, whose sword subdu'd a rebel crowd,
Before the supercilious Churchman bow'd!
The Monk, entrusted with supreme command,
Ruled England's Monarch with an iron hand,
Pow'rless the sceptre, yielding Edred sway'd.
Not his but Dunstan's wishes were obeyed;
'Till Death, who spares nor prince nor peasant swain,
Releas'd the master from his servant's chain.
The Monks in England married and supported their families with decency until the reign of Edred, when Dunstan introduced celibacy, and tore their wives and children from the Priests, styling them harlots and bastards. Script. Angl. Passim.
“Of specious love, and duty to their Prince,
“Religion, and redress of grievances,
“Two names that always cheat, and always please.”
“My arts have made obnoxious to the state;
“Turn'd all his virtues to his overthrow,
“And gained our elders to pronounce a foe.”
EDWY.
But Dryden wrote not 'till the Monk was dead.
Edwy who knew his predecessor's mind,
(Warp'd by the Priest, infatuated! blind!)
To insignificance had sunk the Throne,
Boldly resolv'd at first to “hold his own,”
But Edwy was, alas! too young by far,
With such a wolf, and fox combined, to war,
Fell Dunstan's wiles revengeful, made him feel
Where vulnerable most: what breast of steel,
What fiend, embodied in a mortal mould,
Cou'd have perform'd what—scarce can it be told—
Lovely in form, and dear to him as life,
A virtuous, blooming, young and new-made bride,
Torn from her husband, and her mother's side;
By ruffians, whom no human ties cou'd bind,
Tortur'd; her frame to ling'ring death consign'd;
Her sex insulted, and her charms defaced,
By wretches who the forms of men disgraced!
And Odo, less a bishop than a beast,
Rebel against the crown; Rome too conspires,
And launches all St. Peter's fiercest fires.
With mournful indignation next I sing,
The hapless, widow'd, persecuted King!
His earthly crown he quits, on Heav'n relies,
Invokes the spirit of his wife—and dies.
Many of the earliest Missionaries were hostile to, and dreaded the company of, the fair sex. The unpolished St. Columba prohibited his catechumens the comforts of milch kine, because, “Where there is a cow,” said the brute, “there must be a woman, and where there is a woman there must be mischief.” Vide Pennant.
Odo, successively promoted, through Dunstan's influence, to the sees of Worcester, London, and Canterbury, is handed down to posterity by the Monks, as a man of piety. Hume.
“And sing of love.”
Hammond's Tibullus.
Dryden.
Rowe.
EDGAR THE PEACEABLE.
Edgar encreas'd our navy—he was right,Tho', toujours prêt, he'd little cause to fight.
Next, he obliged the Prince of Wales
To pay three hundred wolves a year;
Which, with three amatory tales,
Is all that of his Majesty we hear.
Whether these tales are worthy of perusal,
Or, whether their contents are false or true,
They wait acceptance or refusal,
As may, my readers kind, seem good to you.
LOVE TALE THE FIRST.
So thought the King, for lovers think on stilts;
Which made her parents, with most proper care,
Immure her in a Nunnery of Wilts.
(Whether 'twas Amesbury, where ancient Q
Imported Nuns from France, I never knew.)
When Dunstan took the Devil by the nose,
Was doubtful in what manner to proceed.
Now Dunstan and the Devil were not foes
(But in appearance) for, tout autre chose,
They help'd each other in the time of need.
“If Edgar from yon abbey force the maid,
Quoth Dunstan to Old Nick, “'Tis my design
“To let him take her, then a glorious fine,
“I'll levy first, and next the Pope shall bleed him.”
There was, in consequence, I scarce need say,
The Devil and the Friar both to pay.
The Monks whom Dunstan and Edgar put in possession of Convents, were so nearly perfect, that they knew nothing of religion but continence and obedience. Ingulphus.
LOVE TALE THE SECOND.
A pair dwelt, sans rebuke;
The wife a Duchess was, because
The husband was a Duke!
Well-favored, fair, and mild,
They had no other, for folks say,
She was an only child.
You'll all allow, I ween,
'Twas grossierté, 'twas wrong, 'twas rude!
For Edgar had a Queen.
In vain to work he went,
More ways than we have yet been told,
To win the maid's consent;
He feign'd him deadly sick,
The Lady, since nought else prevail'd,
Then play'd a King a trick.
She'd grace the Monarch's bed,
Then sent, nor did the Prince perceive,
Another in her stead.
They ne'er had sworn his Grace,
Else had he never let the Maid,
Assume her Lady's place.
Prove, modern Kings
Are better than of yore;
Which probably,
Is reason why,
Some folks abuse them more.
LOVE TALE THE THIRD.
Which Mason has related con amore?
No matter, whether good or bad, my song,
I'll promise this, shall not be very long.
Few eyes beheld her, yet, who saw, admired;
And fame, of beauty ever prone to sing,
Proclaim'd her modest merits to the King;
Who, 'ere he credence gave, resolv'd to send,
The truth to ascertain, a fancied friend.
Who read my simple legend, ah, beware!
Those are not always friends who say they are.
Too soon his trust from Edgar was betray'd;
With false report his master's ear abus'd,
He weds the fair the cheated King refus'd;
Triumph'd awhile in baseness and deceit,
Nor fear'd the vengeance he was doom'd to meet.
My legend who peruse, on this depend,
Dishonest dealing ne'er meets happy end.
For favorites on fav'rites still are spies,
Views his friend's treason in Elfrida's charms,
Who flies from Athelwold to Edgar's arms:
The faulty Earl is slain, and on the spot,
Another abbey falls to Dunstan's lot.—
And, scarcely he reposes with his sires,
'Ere fell Elfrida (like the Scottish Dame,
Who fann'd Macbeth's ambitions flame,)
Her sex forgot, her soul's repose disdain'd,
With blood of deepest dye the empire stain'd.
The King his Magistrates with care inspected,
The just rewarded; woe betide the bad!
Whom neither rank, nor friends, nor place, protected.
Clergy who deem'd it wicked to have wives;
And therefore openly “withouten shame,”
Were kind to Ladies with another name.
Made yearly circuits to discover
Where pardon might reform and more convince
Than punishment. Of Peace an ardent lover.
Where more congenially cou'd Mercy rest,
Than thus companion'd in a Monarch's breast?
The usual mode of compensation was resorted to, and a pile was raised in honour of a saint, to expiate the crime of murdering a sinner.
3. PART THE THIRD.
From Edward the Martyr to the Norman Conquest.
CONTENTS.
Edward the Martyr—Ethelred the Unready—Edmund Ironside. Danish Sovereigns: Canute the Great—Harold Harefoot— Hardicanute—Edward the Confessor—Harold—Landing of William of Normandy—Conquest of England.
“Unhousell'd, unannointed, unanneal'd,
“No reck'ning made, but sent to my account,
“With all my imperfections on my head.”
“How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me;
“I wou'd, while it was smiling in my face,
“Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
“And dash'd the brains out.”
EDWARD THE MARTYR.
Where “foul deeds rise” in midnight gloom,
To haunt guilt's wakeful, ling'ring hours,
And warn the murd'rer of his doom;
And sable plumed assassins wait,
Where malice, deck'd in monkish pride,
Allures some victim to her fate;
Enthusiastic, madly bold—
Much aid my muse may well require,
For fell a tale as e'er was told.
Thy fiend-like outline dar'd to shew,
This all enlighten'd critic age
Had damn'd the lines that drew thee so!
My feeble pen may ill beseem,
Your patience I shall boldly ask,
While I attempt, to tell a Dream.
Attract the passing trav'ler's eye,
Recal the scene of former reigns,
And tell of ages long gone by;
I woo'd repose; old Somnus smiled,
The gale through moss clad fragments sung,
And fancy thus my sense beguil'd:
The barren heath grew dark, and wide, and drear,
For shelter scarce a trembling leaf was seen,
And direst noises mock'd th' uncertain ear!
Of Evil Spirits, high in air,
Mix'd with the winds, now, like the knell
From some deep toned sepulchral bell,
Or, as the ling'ring groan of sad despair,
Upon the terror stricken heart it fell,
Yet, what these sounds might bode no living man could tell.
Ne'er from such angry clouds did torrents pour,
Ne'er did such light'ning paralize the eye,
Nor ever thunder burst with such indignant roar.
Might well the stoutest, firmest, heart subdue,
Convert the soul of manhood to a child,
And with big drops the forehead pale bedew.
While sulph'rous flashes breaking o'er the scene
Made “darkness visible,” my startled sight
Beheld a female of majestic mien.
Confined, a diadem her temple bound,
'Twas more than terrible to hear her wail,
Cold ran my heart's-blood at the mournful sound!
The breast she beat gave back a hollow groan;
“Guilty Elfrida!” echo made reply,
And nature shook with horrors not her own.
(So fancy whisper'd to my fear-struck mind)
Who, nightly thus compell'd, confession made,
Yet from confession no relief might find.
“Thou worst of evils, cause of all my woe,
“Not less corrosive thy detested flame
“Than fires that scorch my guilty heart below!
“Opposed me to protect my hapless son,
“That son who should have been a mother's care,
“Became her hate, and we were both undone.
“My royal name in disrepute to bring;
“'Twas thirst of pow'r the daring Churchman fir'd,
“I wish'd to rule a State, he ruled a King.
“Beloved by most, but least beloved by me,
“His virtue my too vicious aims restrain'd,
“Who from restraint determined to be free.
“Who drove with “hound and horn” the game,
“His train outstript, he came to pay
“His duty to a parent's name.
“A heart to shew depraved as this!
“Judas! my guilt is next to thine,
“Betraying heaven with a kiss.
“With manly beauty deck'd his brow,
“And locks in glossy ringlets twined
“Might charm a vestal from her vow.
“Yet cou'd not these my bosom sway,
“I nerved the shrinking ruffian's arm
“His monarch and my son to slay.
“Once 'ope the hospitable door
“The cup a pledge of faith they know,
“They drink, and then are foes no more.
“In the deceitful cup I gave,
“Forgot my son, my sov'reign's claim,
“And plung'd him in an early grave,
“(That day of most atrocious guilt!)
“Which shou'd have been eclips'd in night,
“Or redden'd like the blood I spilt.
“He took, and rais'd to drink, when lo!
“A minion of my savage band
“Struck deep the unexpected blow.
“And from me as he urged his way,
“His parting glance the dreadful deed
“Began already to repay.
“Vainly on absent friends he calls,
“In faint contention with his pains,
“Helpless, the martyr'd Edward falls.
“O'er rudest roads and ways uneven,
“He finds, while losing life and strength,
“A sharp and thorny path to heaven.
“To wretches, pure, compared with me?
“Though plung'd in hell, my crime unhid
“And unatoned must ever be.
“Founded, to compromise the deed,
“My form must nightly now repair,
“Again to see my Edward bleed.
“And downcast eye, my arms I cross'd,
“I'm doom'd in genuine woe to feel
“The blood I shed, the heaven I lost!
“Unlike each sound of mortal ken,
“Warns me no more to linger here,
“But hence, and count my crimes again.”
The spectre fled, the charm was broke,
And (haply you may be the same),
Right glad was I when I awoke.
Dunstan sided with (not from loyalty, but because he governed) the King, and opposed the unnatural and ambitious views of Elfrida, whose party was strong and headed by the Earl of Mercia.
Edward was canonized soon after, and ranked among the martyrs; because he had defended the cause of the monks, ejected the secular clergy from their bcnefices, and made Dunstan archbishop of Canterbury. Lockman.
Shakespeare.
St. Dunstan's Declaration at the Baptism of this Prince.
“Il paroit Maitre de tout les autres Hommes: Mais il n'est pas Maitre de lui meme.
On Voyoit plusieurs de ces Rois severement punis, non pour les Maux qu'ils avoient faits, mais pour avoir neglige le biens quils auroient du faire.”
Fenelon.ETHELRED THE UNREADY.
Little recorded in this reign we findBut cowardice and cruelty combined;
Denmark again her warlike fortune tries,
And the “Norweyan banner flouts the skies;”
The fearful King pays tribute to the Dane,
Who partially retires; those who remain
In treacherous massacre are basely slain.
A full revenge th' unkingly act succeeds,
And England in her every province bleeds;
Prelates and Nobles in the ruin share,
Nor sex nor age, the northern ruffians spare:
Nor quit us but to menace swift return.
With Danish Olave came ambitious Sweyn,
Who here obtained a momentary reign;
And fell, as Dunstan's tonsured tribe advance,
By spectred Edmund's visionary lance;
Canute, too, vainly hail'd our Albion's Lord,
Sees Ethelred by Londoners restored;
While gallant Edmund flies to aid his sire,
And wake within his breast a noble fire;
In vain the pious son his King wou'd save,
Untaught by ills, to every vice a slave,
The Monarch sinks to an inglorious grave.
The Monks reported that the spectre of Edmund, King of East Anglia, whose remains Sweyn had disturbed by laying the Abbey of Bury under military execution, fought under Duntan's banner.
Shakespeare.
“To throw the lance and drive the car,
“Taught the bold warrior how to die,
“And bade the vanquish'd scorn to fly.
“And valour's self, to roam no more,
“Has come to Albion's white cliff'd shore.”
Leigh Hunt.
EDMUND IRONSIDE.
Tho' famed for valour, worth, and truth;
Thine unsuspicious soul ne'er thought,
Man's honour could be sold or bought.
And, trusting Edric's hollow guile,
Edric, by stratagem most vile,
Caus'd thine embattled ranks to fly.
Which taught Canute to shrink from harm;
And rather England's rule divide
Than thy fierce prowess more abide:
At Athelney, where single fight,
Was arbiter of double right.
Thy life immortal fame has won;
Thy cruel death in endless shame
Involves a hated traitor's name:
For not a year thy reign had known,
'Ere murder mark'd thee for his own.
Edric, cursed Edric closed thine eyes,
And carried to Canute as prize
Advancement o'er the Peerage of the land.
And placed the traitor's head high o'er the regal town.
So the Amalekite, who Saul had slain,
Aspired from David rich reward to gain.
So they who slew the King of Israel's Son,
And deem'd the Royal Psalmist's favour won,
Found retribution: such just guerdon be,
In ev'ry age, the Meed of Treachery!
Edric, observing the Danes gave ground, raised the bleeding head of a soldier on the point of a spear, and cried aloud, “Haro, Haro, flee Englonde! dead is Edmunde!” He afterwards betrayed Edmund at the battle of Asandone, or Ashdon, in Essex.
Edmund perceiving Canute at the head of his forces, rode off from his own, and Canute advancing, a furious combat ensued, in which neither having much advantage, they agreed to divide the kingdom. The author of the Medulla Historiæ Anglicanæ, says, Canute was wounded and first proposed forbearance.
DANISH SOVEREIGNS.
Shakespeare.
“When Canute the King was passing by;
“‘Row to the shore, Knights,’ said the King,
“‘And let us hear these Churchmen sing.’”
Written by Canute.—Vide Sturt.
CANUTE THE GREAT.
Britons are now sole “liegemen to the Dane;”
Who, less by right than power of the sword,
Of England, Denmark, Norway, is the Lord.
Hence, servile courtiers as they bent the knee,
Hail'd him great master of the land and sea;
His better feeling courts th' unconscious waves,
To roll reproof around his cringing slaves.
From their inheritance to banishment;
Seek Sweden's aid in vain, and, after, found,
A kind asylum on Hungarian ground.
And Dane and Englishman in turn presides;
Olaus, of Norway, next his arms subdue,
And Scottish Malcolm pays the tribute due.
A splendid pilgrimage to Rome he takes,
And needless homage to the Pontiff makes.
Rebuilt the Abbey, which his sire destroy'd
At Bury, hence new wealth the Monks enjoyed.
To appease Old Edgar Ath'ling's spirit, who,
So legends tell, Canute's great father slew.
As (Pallas taught) Idomeneus of Crete
Gave to the useful arts protection meet;
Some wholsome laws the British Monarch made,
Encouraged genius, and assisted trade.
It has been said, that, “Like Augustus, he
“Shou'd never have been born.” We also see
In the same sentence it has been replied,
That, “being born, he never shou'd have died.”
Unjustly tho' the English crown he gain'd,
Few subjects of his Government complain'd;
Who, finally, to all his people proved
A Sovereign respected, and beloved.
A. D. 1036. A tribute levied by the Danish invaders on the English, in arrear for several preceding reigns, and called Danegelt.
Voltaire.
“Les peuples abusés m'ont cru le défenseur,
“De quinze ans de travaux j'ai perdu tout le fruit.
“Croi moi, ces préjugés de sang et de naissance
“Revivront dans les cœurs, y prendront sa defense.”
Ibidem.
HAROLD HAREFOOT.
Hardicanute his father should succeed;
But absence seldom helps the claim of right,
And Harold, in fraternal honour's spite,
Usurp'd the Crown.—His reign was short, and these,
Some of his acts, are little fram'd to please;
Mixture of insignificance and pride,
(Proud to love walking better than to ride. )
And caus'd the blood of Alfred to be spilt.
Alfred, (of Edmund Ironside the Son,)
Who cross'd the seas, by Harold's treachery won.
Which but repeat a catalogue of crimes;
But faithful narrative must be content
With fact, nor seek for bland embellishment.
Else had some episode or harmless joke
Your present comfortable slumbers broke.
Edward, the brother of the Prince who fell,
Escap'd the snare, and 'twill be ours to tell
Hereafter of his fate; it now remains,
That Hardic'nute a pow'rful army gains,
Against King Harold to assert his right;
But, while the doubtful issue of the fight
Depends, the reigning Monarch yields his breath,
And civil strife is ended by his death.
Where many a bark now moulders in the sand;
First flourish'd in this reign, and by his aid,
The selfish King his brother's right betray'd.
Shakespeare.
“In my voluptuousness.
Ibid.
HARDICANUTE.
Hardy in form, but imbecile in mind;
Two years (too long) he reign'd, when at a feast
The tyrant died, as he had lived, a beast.
A surfeit stopp'd the sensual Caitiff's breath,
And merry England celebrates his death.
Hogstide the anniversary they call
Of that good day which saw the glutton fall.
During his life, his brother from the grave
He dragg'd, and gave his body to the wave;
The wave rejects it, and fraternal crime,
Disturbs the hapless corse a second time.
Earl Godwin joins with sacrilegious hand,
To hurl dead Harold from the shelt'ring land.
To answer for young Alfred's timeless fall;
With venal off'ring of a splendid barge
Buys from the shameless King his crime's discharge.
Whose 'plaints are answer'd but with sword and fire;
In fine, tho' brief, from crime this reign appears
In two-and-twenty lines as many years.
None of the names of these tools of a tyrant's caprice have escaped posterity. The diggers up of Harold are known to have been—Alfric, Archbishop of York; Earl Godwin; Styr, the steward; Edric, the sewer; and Troudle, the executioner. J. P. Andrews.
THE SAXON LINE RESTORED.
“Himself best knows, but strangely visited people,
“The mere despair of surgery, he cures,
“Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
“Put on with holy pray'rs:—With this strange virtue,
“He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
“And sundry blessings hang about his throne
“That speak him full of grace.”
Shakespeare.
EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.
Our Bard immortal speaks of, is not our's
To canvass.—'Tis our province to set down
Sans comment, what, it was supposed the Crown
Did, or had pow'r to do.—Of Danegelt eas'd,
The subjects with the sovereign were pleas'd;
And gave him equally deserv'd applause,
For well digested and impartial laws.
Why trickles that reluctant tear
From chiefs who pass in order by,
What sounds of woe salute the ear?
Which marks the step of yonder band
Proclaim that Scotia's legal throne
Is stain'd by an usurper's hand.
And Siward leads a valiant train;
Who, by the tyrant undismay'd,
Replace the son of Duncan slain.
To touch each chord that thrills the heart;
Then let his magic numbers tell
Of murd'rous guile and fiend-like art.
The “unsex'd” wife of Glamis' Thane,
Whose trait'rous hand his master slew,
And earn'd a transitory reign.
This moral he can only shew,
That crowns are but uncertain things,
And, (or in Subjects, or in Kings,)
Error must surely end in woe.
With little trouble, in this reign, we seek;
His breast was coldly fraught with filial love,
Who cou'd, remorseless, cause his mother prove
The fire ordeal. Next, for having wed
A child of one he had good cause to dread;
The coward Prince revenged upon the dame
That hate he dared not for her sire proclaim.
Of worthier men, “saucy and over bold”
In state affairs.—Revengeful, cruel, proud,
When least he deem'd—to fate's stern summons bow'd.
'Tis said denial of Prince Alfred's death
By his connivance, stopt the murd'rer's breath.
The regal chair to Norman William's line;
But, while deliberation held the beam,
The king of terrors closed each worldly dream;
Harold, Earl Godwin's son, assumed the sway,
With what success a future page must say.
Legends report that Godwin was supernaturally suffocated, immediately subsequent to a solemn declaration of his innocence respecting the Prince's murder.
“Help'd the Normans to beat,
“Of traitors they managed to buy land;
“Pict, Saxon, or Dane,
“Had assail'd us in vain,
“While true to the king of the island.
“Brave Harold fought hard for the island,
“He lost both his life and the island;
“And the records of fame
`Shall add to his name,
“Like a Briton he died for his island.”
T. Dibdin's Songs.
HAROLD THE SECOND.
How brief the honours of this short liv'd reign.
Crowns take some value from a nation's voice,
And Harold was, 'tis said, the people's choice:
Harold, (the son of Godwin,) who proclaim'd
That he by Edward was successor named;
William, the Duke of Normandy, declares,
The same pretence; and these two self-named heirs,
Alike, rejecting each the other's word,
Refer decision to the sharpest sword;
Mean time, as oft the muse of hist'ry sings,
The subjects suffer for contending Kings.
With Norway's chief, and Harold's brother made
A league that they should first the isle invade;
Their early efforts with success were crown'd,
And British men gave way on British ground.
Northumberland and Mercia's Earls were beat,
But Harold's arm so well that loss redeem'd
That neither of his foes surviv'd defeat.
And victory in mercy's smile was drest,
The last, last time she beam'd,
On hapless Harold's crest.
To Norway's son the King allow'd retreat,
And greatly gave him back his father's captive fleet.
Reflected by the glassy tide,
Where chiefs in arms refulgent ride,
Our fears exciting?
Near, and more near, they make the land!
And who their prowess shall withstand,
For England fighting?
Where Baieux' Bishop proudly drest,
Blesses the crew with hands unblest,
To blood inviting!
His troops the omen not appals;
Turf, and the cotter's thatch, his warriors bring,
As seizen of the soil, and hail the invader, King.
Marshals yon troop of bowmen bold,
Who land in numbers yet untold,
Each other chearing?
Of troops he leads from Acquitain,
Each knight of whom some peer has slain,
No foeman fearing.
Fitz-Osborn's shrill-toned clarion charms,
While every echoing blast alarms
Our startled hearing.
Beneath their frowning banners move along,
The shore resounds with Rollo's martial song.
(The noblest warriors from the Norman coast)
D'Evreux, Fitz-Richard, with that chieftain famed,
Charles Martel, and (too num'rous to be named)
Longueville, De Thours, Grantmesnil, and Mortaigne,
De Estaples, Warrean, Giffard, and a train,
With Eustace de Boulogne of men renowned.
And, hark again the drum, and hark the trumpet's sound!
Forward they march, and now, from William sent,
A Norman herald seeks the royal tent;
There fiercely throws his master's gauntlet down,
Who proffers single combat for the crown.
Harold with stern disdain the pledge denies,
And on his people's love, and heav'n's high aid, relies.
Expectant of the fight,
Did Britons pass the night
In song unseemly and carousal gay?
While to the sacred pow'r that rules the skies,
Unnumber'd Norman prayers and praises rise.
Brays bold defiance—who can tell
What numbers in its dreadful note
Have heard their dying knell?
But from a thousand chosen knights
The Norman bowstring's fatal twang
Echoed by groans responsive rang.
Not there with simultaneous sound
The well-timed musquetry is found;
But on the glitt'ring ranks,
On iron helms the falling iron clanks,
And cleaves through shiver'd mail with dreadful wound.
The British bayonet the palm obtains;
And bear to earth who bears th' opposing shield.
And Harold's valour almost claims the day.
Three foaming coursers under William slain
Add blood to blood on the ensanguined plain:
The Duke undaunted, “dares again the field,”
The dauntless monarch scorns alike to yield;
His loyal soldiers gallantly contend,
While Norman hopes of conquest nearly end;
The Kentish phalanx ev'ry onset dares,
And fierce invasion pauses and despairs.
Too oft thy keen-brain'd cunning foils the brave;
Too oft his living laurels charm the crowd,
Who vanquish'd, but for thee, had found a grave.
Alternately our hopes and fears divide:
While justice seems a moment to prevail,
See fortune turn, by artifice, the tide.
The English follow to unlook'd defeat;
For suddenly the wily band returns,
The fray renew'd with ten-fold fury burns.
Again the spear, the battle-axe, the bow,
Destroy the van, and lay the distant low!
The British, late of victory secure,
Outwitted thus, the contest scarce endure.
Proudly superior to thy savage fate;
Once, twice, and thrice, from rank to rank he flew,
Once, twice, and thrice, his ranks the fight renew.
Again he leads 'em with resistless rage,
Again a fruitless war the Normans wage;
Another onset ends the doubtful strife,
He leads, he falls, and loses but his life!
His crown he never lost, who, unsurpast,
Maintain'd it like a Briton, to the last.
While hand to hand death threaten'd him in vain,
The shaft accurs'd that pierc'd his royal brain
Left William less a victor than the slain.
The fatal string, and such an hero slew.
Two gallant brothers fighting by his side,
Thousands of faithful hearts, their leader's pride,
His patriot laurels with his fate divide.
But justly celebrate the glorious men;
The Poet's lay a deathless fame shou'd raise,
And deeds immortal meet immortal praise.
4. PART THE FOURTH.
From the Conquest to the Signature of Magna Charta.
CONTENTS.
William the Conqueror—William Rufus—Henry the First. Stephen—The Empress Maud—Henry the Second, the First Plantagenet—St. Thomas a Becket—Fair Rosamond— Richard Cœur de Lion—John—Prince Arthur—Revolt of the Barons—Magna Charta.
THE NORMANS.
Voltaire.
Virgil.
Anon.
“Who yielded to no man,
“Came by water, he cou'dn't come by land;
“And Dane, Pict, and Saxon,
“Their homes turned their backs on,
“And all for the sake of our island.
“Call'd Billy the Norman,
“Cried, truly I never liked my land;
“And 'twou'd be much more handy,
“To leave this Normandy,
“And live on yon nice little island.”
Lockman.
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
PARODY.
The British Chiefs their arms reluctant yield,
The soldiers homeward march their weary way,
And leave to William the disputed field!
And ev'ry Englishman is doom'd a slave,
Save those who nobly perish'd in the fight,
And sunk unconquer'd to a patriot grave.
Who shared with Harold that disastrous hour,
Save Morcar, Edwin, and a loyal few,
Who lived to combat oft the victor's power.
Where whitening bones in sad promiscuous heap,
Unseemly to the trav'ler's eye are laid,
The gallant victims of the battle sleep.
No more resounding thro' the tented shed,
The warlike clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Reward for loyalty and val'rous deed,
No lady fair awaits them in the bower,
To pay with beauty's smile the warrior's meed.
Their biting bills full many a helm have broke,
How loudly rang their anlace on the shield,
How bow'd the foe beneath their sturdy stroke!
Who, cased in iron, trod th' ensanguined plain,
Nor light-arm'd cavalry at heroes smile
Whose mail-clad steeds still answer'd to the reign.
The tube destructive, and the sabre brave,
Can only pay the same much honoured debt,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
No marble monument, with studied lays,
At Paul's or Peter's consecrates their fame,
While nasal organ'd vergers chaunt their praise.
Cou'd famed Pygmalyon, or Promethean lore,
Cou'd Roubilliac's or Bacon's art revive,
The daring chiefs who fell to rise no more?
Some head, once fraught with diplomatic fire,
Hands that Calcutta's sceptre might have sway'd,
And brought from India many a rich Jaghire.
Rich with a Nabob's spoil, did ne'er unroll,
No navy seconded advent'rous rage,
To barter wealth “from Indus to the Pole.”
Or politics, or trade, must think alone;
Full many a heart of valour's boldest form
Is doom'd to wither in the ranks unknown.
Aggressing Gaul had chaced from Egypt's shore;
Some Marlbro', Wolfe, Cornwallis, here may rest,
A Smith, a Stuart, Wellington, or Moore.
The threats of Gaul's Colossus to despise,
To fight for freedom in Iberia's land,
And raise our fame in Lusitania's eyes.
Their growing virtue's but their crimes confin'd,
Forbade to wade thro' blood to Gallia's throne,
And shut the gates of freedom on mankind.
To quench the useful ardor of the press,
To heap the shrine of self-created pride
With honours which but make the wearer less.
Such modern doctrines were by them denied,
They'd hands and hearts to combat for their own,
And for their sov'reign's rights they fought and died.
Nor sculptured arts, with letter'd graces vie,
Oft shall the feeling passer by reflect,
And pay their patriot virtue with a sigh.
But thinks on him whose patriotic mind
Can for his country cast his life away,
Tho' mindful of the friends he leaves behind.
Cou'd praise to equal their desert supply,
Who, scorning Norman William, dared refuse
To yield, and for that bold refusal die.
Few are the lines that may his tale relate,
A life of warfare in his reign he led,
His sons, and Harold's sons, still cross'd his fate.
And caus'd our laws the Norman tongue to speak,
And tax'd poor devils who were in his power,
And help'd the strong to triumph o'er the weak.
Next, to secure of hunting ground a stock,
New forest for his pleasure he laid waste,
And made folks go to bed at eight o'clock.
His horse took fright, Will pull'd him up in vain,
For certainly they buried him at Caen.
Were requiems and masses sung and said,
And little choristers oft warbled there,
As choristers will do when they are paid.
Where is an Epitaph inscribed most fair,
Whether the following, I dare not say,
Because I own, I never saw it there.
The EPITAPH.
A Prince to fame and fortune greatly known,
Of high ambition, tho' of doubtful birth,
Albion he saw, and mark'd her for his own.
Fate did commensurate success send down,
He gave to Harold a severe defeat,
He gain'd from victory, all he wish'd, a crown.
Or on a conqueror's faults too nicely look,
He'll find, when waking from the tomb's repose,
His sentence is inscribed in doomsday-book.
Battel Abbey, in Sussex, where bones are yet to be seen piled up, supposed to be those of the fallen in that memorable fight.
Doomsday-book, is a register now extant, of all landed possessions, introduced among the feudal regulations by the Conqueror.
“Through Boldrewood the chase he led,
“By his loved huntsman's arrow bled.”
Walter Scott.
Shakespeare.
WILLIAM RUFUS.
Was rather short, and very fat,
His eyes, we're told, were not a pair,
Yet who could blame the King for that?
To reign, which Bishop Odo aided,
But when they were both beat in fight,
One fled, and t'other was degraded.
Began, and much the muse it irks,
That Infidels like Christians bled,
And Christian soldiers fought like Turks.
When finish'd swore in princely huff,
The fabrick to his eyes appear'd
Not half-a-quarter large enough.
Respects nor wealth, nor rank, nor pow'r,
O'erflowed Earl Godwin's land, since known
As Goodwin Quicksands, to this hour.
For sport, was of his son the bane,
There by a shaft, which chance missent,
In prime of life was Rufus slain.
By darts dispatch'd from undiscovered hand,
Which folks around, as fearful judgments tell,
On those, who for the chace despoil'd the poor man's land.
Whose people were in most reduced condition;
His Ministers had tax'd each sort of thing,
For there were then no Whigs in opposition.
As you shall learn from ancient lines annex'd,
Robert of Glo'ster scripsit what you'll read,
Tho' Camden rather modernized the text.
The author hopes he has not exceeded the reported character of William's coarseness and vulgarity.—When ten Englishmen had been cleared by the ordeal of fire, for the charge of killing dear, Rufus exclaimed, “Pretty justice above, indeed, to let “ten such scoundrels escape!”
J.P. Andrews.
Yet William exhibited a mixture of firmness and naivete, when a pilot was fearful of embarking with him on an expedition in tempestuous weather; the Monarch asked, “whether he had ever heard of a King being drowned.”
Poetry of the Year 1098.
[“His Chamberlain him brought, as he rose on a day]
“His Chamberlain him brought, as he rose on a day,“A morrow for to wear, a pair of hose of say;
“He ask'd what they costen'd? “Three shillings,” he said,
“Fie a dible,” quoth the King, “to say so vile a deed,
“King's to wear so vile a cloths, that costened no more!
“Buy a pair for a marke, or thou shall reu it sore.”
“A worse pair, sure enough, the other him brought,
“And said they costened a marke—Unneath he then bought;
“Aye!—Bel-ami,” quoth the King, “these are well bought;
“In this manner serve me, otherwise serve me not.”
“A sound of the romantic strain
“Whose Anglo-Norman tones while're
“Cou'd win the royal Henry's ear.
“Famed Beauclere call'd, for that he loved,
“The minstrel, and his lay approved.”
Walter Scott.
School Boy's Poetry.
HENRY BEAUCLERC.
He in the royal houshold made,—nay more,
Abolish'd nightly curfew bells that rung
Throughout the land of Albion, and deranged
At early hour the interesting chat
Of lovers just affianc'd—or of friends,
Who, brought to council by the hope of gain
On trade, were speculating hundreds deep;
Or learned clerks, in disquisition grave,
By classic lamps; or poets, poor as we,
Sing, muse historic—Widows too, we learn,
By his command have jointures, and are free
To marry as they list, and marry did,
Merely to shew the loyal reverence
They bore the King's behest.—The laws 'erst made
By the Confessor Edward were restored
By Henry, who, to please the English, wed
With Maud, descendant of the Scottish King,
And Edgar Ath'ling's sister. —At this time
And from the Holy Land return'd with troops
His fancied right to aid—subdued, forgiven,
And set at liberty, again he fights
Against his brother; captive ta'en, and sent
To Cardiff, whence, in vain, he tries escape,
And, first deprived of sight, soon finds a grave;
Glo'ster Cathedral holds the Duke's remains,
Encag'd in trellis'd iron. Heart of Oak
Supplies a figure, armed cap-a-pie,
But such as modern warriors would disdain,
And ladies' ridicule on gay parade.
Lewis, of France, invades the Norman lands,
Him Henry meets, and quells th' invading King.
But when returning, mournful is the tale,
Prince William, Beauclerc's son, a splendid train
Of Knights and Nobles, with the Princess Maud,
And many worthies perish'd in the waves!
And when to Normandy the King return'd,
By (not habitual) intemp'rance, he
Met also with his death. He was interred
At Reading Abbey, which his zeal endow'd.
Of Godfrey, of Loraine. In time of dearth
(From April till the harvest time,) he fed
Ten thousand of his Norman subjects,—built,
In Oxfordshire, famed Woodstock Palace, which
Still bears the stamp of his munificence.
That, having ta'en in war a hapless bard,
Who in some paltry measures (like to mine,)
Had ridiculed his greatness, his revenge,
(Tho' Sov'reigns for the poet pleaded hard,)
Depriv'd the wretched captive of his eyes,
Whose agony ensuing caus'd his death.
Henry Beauclerc, of all our British Kings,
Shou'd have respected the proud name he bore,
Nor by inordinate and mean revenge,
Have own'd the poet's satyre had its force.
The Dunmow Charter, which entitles those
Who live in wedlock, sans debate, one year
To a fine flitch of bacon—one blest pair
Ask'd and obtained it; and about that time,
Thames water fail'd, the river bed was dry,
Men, women, children, walked across where now
Stands London Bridge—This and the happy two
Who gain'd the Dunmow Flitch, astonish'd much
The gaping vulgar, and we hav'nt heard
That either prodigy occur'd again.
By way of Elegy, thus chose to sing.
Queen Maud, or Matilda, was the delight of the English, both on account of her descent and goodness of heart. To her we owe the first stone arched bridges England ever possessed:— she built two at Stratford, in Essex, (thence called De Arcubus, or Le Bow,) where she had nearly been drowned for want of such a convenience. What follows is part of an eulogy on her, preserved by Camden:
Prospera terror ei, aspera risus erant,
Non decor efficit fragilem non sceptra superbam
Sola potens humilis, sola Pudica decens.
Imitated.
By woes her mind was near cast down,Nor by success beguiled,
She met good fortune with a frown,
At fortune's frowns she smiled:
Where shall we find a Queen with this to pair,
Tho' sceptred, humble—chaste, tho' great and fair?
J.P. Andrews.
“No, no,” said the irritated King to a great foreign Prince who interceded for the wretched poet, “for this man being forsooth a Wit, a Bard, and a Minstrel, hath composed many indecent songs against me, and moreover hath sung them openly to the great entertainment of my enemies. Now, since it hath pleased God to deliver him into my hands, he shall be punished to deter others from the like petulance.” So the sentence took place, and the imprudent poet died of the wounds he receiv'd in struggling with the executioner. Ordericus Vitelis.—Vide Andrews.
Poetry of the Year 1135.
[King Henry is ded! bewty of the world]
For whom is grete dole;
The Goddes now maken room for their kind brother,
For he is Sole.
Mercurius in speech, Marce in battayle,
In hest strong Appollo;
Jupiter in hest, egall with Saturn,
And enemie to Cupido;
King he was a right,
And man of most myght,
And glorious in rayninge.
Then fell honour down,
For misse of such a King;
Normandy then gan Lowre,
For loss of their flowre,
And sange wel-a-way!
Englond made mone,
And Scotland did grone,
For to see that day!
Old Ballads.
Shakespeare.
STEPHEN.
Yet his possession of Old England's Throne,
Was a faux pas, since reasons strong there be,
To prove the property was not his own.
(Matilda, ladies, sounds more sweet, I ween,)
Was heiress—and King Stephen, to his shame,
Had sworn allegiance to her as his Queen.
'Twas merely common honesty to take it,
But every gentleman should be right loath
Having an affidavit made to break it.
Whose reasons were so back'd with horse and foot,
That tho', while axe and sword were good, he fought,
He lost his liberty and crown to boot.
Stephen was freed, and Maud forced to be off in
(Conveyance for a living Queen most strange,)
Not coach or chariot, but a screw'd up coffin.
How “Scotland's dauntless King and Heir,
“(Although with them they led
“Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale,
“And Lodon's Knights, all sheath'd in mail,
“Before his standard fled.”
To make essay for what his mother won;
But England's Monarch kept the youth at bay,
Till Eustace, Stephen's hope and heir,
(Death shews for princes little care,)
Was from the scene of warfare snatch'd away.
King Stephen, to conclude the strife,
With his opponent made this compromise,
He was to wear the crown while he had life,
Mean time young Henry swore to keep the peace,
And take the sceptre at the King's decease.
But little in this reign appears,
Often in law's despite,
To build strong castles, and bereave,
By force and arms, the poor man of his right.
The Canon law, cotemporaries say,
First in this reign, to England found its way.
Remain'd until, disgrace upon their names,
Reformers, who dug up, pull'd down, and burn'd,
Threw the once valiant Sov'reign in the Thames;
With sacrilegious hands profaned the dead,
For paltry plunder of his coffin'd lead.
Maud, or Matilda, first married the Emperor Henry IV. and afterwards Geoffry Plantagenet, Earl of Anjou, by whom she had King Henry II. of England.
Several historians represent a coffin as the vehicle in which the Empress was reduced to make her escape.
This was attributed by the superstition of the times (when David I. with his son Henry, invaded Northumberland, in 1136,) to the holy banner of St. Cuthbert, under which the English marched, and owed to its efficacy the great victory they obtained in the bloody battle of Northallerton, or Arton Moor. Vide Margerion, Notes to Canto II.
LINE OF PLANTAGENET;
OR THE HOUSE OF ANJOU.
“The land awhile respired, and all was peace.
“Then Becket rose, and impotent of mind,
“Bid murd'rous priests the sov'reign frown contemn,
“And, with unhallow'd crosier, bruised the crown.
“Yet yielded not supinely tame a prince
“Of Henry's virtues, learn'd, courageous, wise,
“Of fair ambition.”
Shenstone.
“And still thy priestly pride provoke thy King;
“For this are ‘foreign oracles’ explored,
“To teach the land to murmur at its lord.”
Vide Pope's Homer.
(FAIR ROSAMOND.)
“A maid unmatch'd in manners as in face,“Skill'd in each art, and crown'd with ev'ry grace;
“Not half so dear were wedded ‘Ellen's’ charms,
“When first her blooming beauties met my arms.”
Ibidem.
“Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
“Save what beats there.—Filial ingratitude!”
Shakespeare.
HENRY THE SECOND.
Cross'd in his pow'r by those whom most he lov'd;
By sons fomented, who disgraced their birth;
His Queen too, (tho' tis said much cause was hers
To doubt his faith, yet story often errs),
Join'd to oppose her husband and her lord,
And lift against his crown rebellion's sword!
Adds to the foes he found in sons and wife;
Becket, the kingdom's bane, the popedom's glory,
With temper scarcely I relate the story,
A proof, since told ye in most homely fashion,
We can do nothing well, when in a passion.
A NEW LEGEND OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET.
St. Dunstan being dead and gone,
Some evil genius sent his sprite,
In Becket's form, to curb the throne.
Than I can say in these brief rhymes,
He gain'd all Dunstan gain'd before,
All Wolsey got in after times.
This upstart, who deserv'd a rope?
Of dignity he form'd a trade,
And sold his master to the Pope!
The meddling Monk, who yet return'd
More honour'd, tho' much less content,
While treason in his heart still burn'd.
Some hint to drop in angry mood,
Which caus'd, who heard their zeal to prove,
Unhappily, in Becket's blood.
And public ignominious pain,
Submitted! ne'er was Prince before
So humble, nor is like to be again.
For which too oft he'd given cause,
Struck Becket with a legal hand,
Instead of shame the King had gain'd applause.
Their homage to the King, whose prosp'rous day,
And most unnatural wars,
In unenjoy'd possession, dies away.
As England's King, an early death he found.
Jeffery and William too, the latter died
A child,—the former fell in martial pride.
Richard and John succeeded to the throne
In turn,—with shame the Muse makes known,
That Richard, who with Gallia's King took part,
His sire subduing, broke a parent's heart.
I might be deem'd neglectful did I miss,
Whether correct, or but by fancy penn'd,
My humble tale your leisure doth attend.
“Is there not one of the crew of lazy, cowardly knights, whom I maintain, that will rid me of this turbulent priest, who came to court but t'other day on a lame horse, with nothing but his wallet behind him?” These words unfortunately animated to action Reginal Fitz-urse, William de Tracey, Hugh de Morvil, and Richard Brito.
Berington's Life of St. Thomas a Becket.
The vulgar of Glocestershire have proverbially assigned a whimsical punishment for one of the families concerned in the assassination, thus:
“Have always the wind in their faces.”
James Petit Andrews sportively adds, “No very severe judgment on a summer's day.”
His ill-bred haughtiness was such, that when the English prelates, in one body, represented to him the consequences which must inevitably attend his turbulent obstinacy, he answered only, “I hear you.” Nothing could exceed his pride, or the splendor of his household. Before his advancement to the primacy he had been used to travel attended by two hundred knights and other gay domestics: eight waggons were in his suite, two of those bore his ale, three the furniture of his chapel, of his bed-chamber, and of his kitchen, and the other three carried provisions and necessaries. Twelve pack-horses bore his money, plate, &c. to each waggon was chained a fierce mastiff, and on each pack-horse there sat a baboon.
The following Epitaph, among others, was made on Becket:
Quando? Natali. Quis locus? Ara dei.
Imitated by J. P. Andrews.
Why? For his flock. When? On his natal day.
Say where? 'Twas where we kneel to heaven and pray.
At this coronation, young Henry, on his father's humility being pointed out, arrogantly replied, “A great honour truly, for the son of a King to be waited on by the son of an Earl!” At other times too, he requited his father's tenderness with most unfilial ingratitude, a sense of which, is said, at length to have broken his own heart. His body was carried towards Roan, but the clergy and citizens of Mans took it by force and interred it in their cathedral, near the Old Geoffry Plantagenet, whence it was ultimately taken and re-interred at Roan. King Henry, in allusion to the ingratitude of his sons, had an allegorical picture painted for his palace at Windsor, representing an old eagle, his young ones fighting with him, and one scarcely fledged striving to peck out his eyes; the last he used to say was John, whom he loved best of all. Giraldus Cambrensis.
ROSAMOND's BOWER.
A PARODY.
THE ARGUMENT.
“Lord Cliffor'ds daughter, Rosamond the faire;
“And whilst his sonnes do Normandy invade
“He, forced to France, with wond'rous cost hath made
“A labyrinthe in Woodstocke, where unseene
“His love might lodge safe from his iealous queene.”
I
Embow'r'd sat a lover and lady so gay,Where jas'mine with lilies were curl'd,
They gaz'd on each other with tender delight;
The warrior was Harry Plantagenet hight,
And the lady the Rose of the World.
II
Said the fair, “when you follow the drum and the fife,“I shall wish by my side you had tarried,
“For as soon as you leave me your termagant wife,
“Will be certain to frighten me out of my life,”
For, I'm sorry to say, he was married.
III
“Oh, hush these suspicions,” Plantagenet said,“Offensive to Ellen and me,
“For if she, by anger or jealousy led,
“Should alarm you, while I am abroad, by my head,
“Who's at home, I shall soon let her see.”
IV
“Besides” cried the King, “can my beautiful rose“Fear surprize in this intricate place?
“Where it answers no purpose to follow one's nose,
“Unless a silk clue, that you know of, disclose
“A road none could ever yet trace.”
V
They parted in sorrow; poor girl, she turn'd cold,She ne'er felt so nervous before;
Nor yet many days had elaps'd, when, behold!
The Queen, with a reg'ment of troopers, so bold,
'Gan thunder at Rosamond's door.
VI
Their swords on the porter the Grenadiers drew,The poor man was sadly distrest;
The Queen tried a bribe, soon discover'd the clue,
And of poison so sable, or steel polish'd blue,
Ask'd Rosamond “which she liked best?”
VII
The “Flow'r of the World” changed her “redolent” hueTo white, while she sank on her knee;
The tear on her cheek look'd like heaven-dropp'd dew,
When she said “If, dear ma'am, it's the same thing to you,
“Not either, I thank you, for me.”
VIII
Her majesty threaten'd, her victim complied,She drank, and Plantagenet's power
The death of his mistress reveng'd on his bride,
Up three pair of stairs in a tow'r.
IX
Should couples take warning from “Rosamond's Bow'r,”Not vainly the Muse has harangued;
And, ladies, if rivals shou'd fall in your pow'r,
The Commons consult, or instead of the tow'r,
If you kill them, you're sure to be hang'd.
The phrase of letting a person know “Who's at home,” has (unless the oustom is very much out,) since obtained considerably in domestic circles.
Rosamond was buried at Godstow, and the following quaint Epitaph inscribed on her tomb.
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.
Thus imitated by J. P. Andrews. Here lies, not Rose the Chaste, but Rose the Fair,
Her scents no more perfume but taint the air.
“The awless lion could not wage the fight,
“Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.”
Shakespeare.
“Which means a lion's heart.”
Swift.
“Richard's joys are blows and scars,
“Conquer'd Pagans fly before him,
“Christian warriors all adore him.”
Opera of Richard.
“Urg'd the Crusade:—
“Of ten fair suns that roll'd their annual race
“Not one beheld him on his vacant throne:
“While haughty Longchamp 'mid his livery'd files
“Of wanton vassals spoil'd his faithful realm.
“Battling in foreign fields; collecting wide
“A laurel harvest for a pillaged land.”
Shenstone.
RICHARD CŒUR DE LION.
O, gallant Prince! who loved to roam,When you had better stay'd at home;
Whose subjects at thy crowning slew
Many an unoffending Jew.
A lodging to yourself and bride,
(For on his road to Holy Land,
He stopp'd to win a lady's hand,)
Who 'gainst the Turks flew in a passion,
Because just then it was the fashion.
With Saladin the sword wou'd try,
Without once ever asking why;
Who in each battle did the work,
Of cleaving Saracen and Turk,
And kept the Infidels at bay,
While jealous Philip walk'd away!
Who, (for he was impertinent,)
Kick'd Austria from the royal tent,
(For so the tale appears to us, it
Being set down “pede percussit,”)
The mem'ry of that kick not lost,
And was by Austria's lads surrounded,
And 'till great ransom paid, impounded.
Or, as your Troubadour folks tell,
Was fiddled out by one Blondel,
Critics) Old England paid the piper.
Who made with Saladin a truce,
(As was the war) of little use.
Whose brother John took arms, and then
You made him lay 'em down again.
Who beat King Philip out of measure,
And lost your life while seeking treasure.
Once, during this campaign, Richard was dangerously sick, and his disorder required fresh fruit and snow to render it cool: the generous Saladin sent both in profusion, and thus preserved the life of the only foe he dreaded. Vita Saladini.
The Saracens so dreaded his name they would say to their restive horses, “What do you start at, do you think you see King “Richard?”
To encourage the soldiers in repairing the ruined wall of Acre, (a spot which has since acquired such additional celebrity from the distinguished gallantry of Sir Sidney Smith and his brave associates,) Cœur de Lion not only laboured in person, but appointed hours for other leaders to work at the head of their men. All chearfully obeyed, except the Duke of Austria, who sent word that his father having been neither bricklayer nor mason, he had not learned either business. The English King hearing this insolent speech repeated to his face by the haughty Duke, “cum pede percussit” Anglice kicked him out of his tent, and ordered his banner to be disgraced. Brompton.
King Richard was a passionate lover of poetry, and bears a rank among the Provencal Poets or Troubadours, who were the first of the modern Europeans that distinguished themselves by attempts of that nature.
Hume.Crescimbini, in his Commentary on the Lives of the Provencal Poets, says that Richard composed a sonnet which he sent to Princess Stephanetta, wife of Hugh de Baux, and other sonnets, while a prisoner, which he sent to Beatrix, Count of Provence; the whole of one the latter productions is given in the Catalogue of Royal Authors, one or two verses will be sufficient here to give an idea of the supposed softness of the Provencal dialect.
Adreitamout se com hom dolent non,
Mas per conort pot il faire chanson,
Pro adamis, mas povre son li don,
Onta j avron, se por ma Reezon,
Soi fai dos yver pris.
Or sachon ben mi hom e mi baron,
Engles, Norman, Pettavin & Gascon,
Que ge navoie si' povre compagnon,
Que laissasse por aver en preison,
Ge nol di pas, por nulla retraison,
Mas anquar soise pris.
While besieging the Castle of Chalons, or Choley, where it was supposed a treasure lay concealed, which Richard claimed, and where “an Arbalaster standing upon the wall, and seeing his time, charged his steel bow with a square arrow, making first his prayer to God that he would direct that shot and deliver the innocency of the besieged from oppression, mortally wounded the King in the left shoulder: the anguish and peril whereof was extremely increased by the unskilfulness of the chirurgeon.” Medulla Historiæ Anglicanæ.
To tell, my pen must mending needs,
Therefore I only, valiant King,
Have set down what I wish'd to sing;
Found it a subject keen and hard,
And much was forced his brain to tax,
Even to sing thy battle axe,
With all its murd'rous hews and hacks.
This version shall conclude my page,
And shew the genius of thy age.
SPECIMEN of POETRY,
IN THE YEAR 1190.
[King Richard, I understonde]
King Richard, I understonde,When he went out of En-ge-londe;
Let make an axe, for the nones,
To break therewith the Sarasyns bones.
The head thereof was wrought full weel,
Therein was twenty pounds of steele;
And when he came to Cyprus londe,
This axe taketh he in honde,
The Griffons fast away they rapp'd
All that he hit, he also frapp'd.
And the prison when he came to,
With his axe he smote right thro'
Dores, barres, and iron chaynes!
“And stern with conquest from their tyrant King
“(Now render'd tame) did challenge and secure
“The charter of thy freedom.”
Akenside.
“What ample tyranny! Six tedious years
“Our helpless fathers in despair obey'd
“The Papal interdict; and who obey'd
“The Sov'reign plunder'd.”
Shenstone.
“On yon young boy.—I'll tell thee what, my friend,
“He is a very serpent in my way,
“And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread
“He lies before me.”
Shakespeare.
“Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
“But, as we, under heav'n are supreme head,
“So under him, that great supremacy,
“Where we do reign, we will alone uphold.
“So tell the Pope; all reverence set apart
“To him, and his usurp'd authority.”
Ibidem.
“Thus have I yielded up into your hands
“The circle of my glory.”
Pandulph.
“Take again,
“From this my hand, as holding of the Pope
“Your sovereign greatness and authority.”
Shakespeare.
JOHN.
The gloomy horizon! and Lackland's reign,
With privilege for which our fathers fought,
Knee-deep in slaughter; and, to which their sons,
True to each other, ever will adhere.
In days when strength and skill too frequent won
The regal circle; else had Arthur's name,
With supercession legal, graced the roll
Where John's is now recorded—but what is,
We're told is right.—Had Arthur, haply, reign'd
His milder sway had fail'd create the cause
Which did the glorious great effects produce,
Of England's freedom, and of England's rights.
As if too conscious of his tottering claim,
And, that his crown sat lightly on his head,
Four times inaugurated was the King.
The warlike mind of Richard, now declares
Against the title of his brother John,
And in behalf of Arthur, claims the throne.
By an ambitious uncle, and thy right
Made, by pretended friendship, but a plea,
To sanctify it's interested views!
Their aid to John, who yet o'ercomes his foes;
And Arthur, captive, youthful, innocent,
Nor author of the war that Phillip wag'd,
Dies in imprisonment.—By some we read,
And our great Bard, with magic minstrelsy,
Has sung the tale, that from his prison walls,
Attempting hopeless egress, he was dash'd
Against the earth below, and found, alas!
The spirit of his uncle “in those flints
With which 'twas bedded.” Other stories tell
That murder, (that so frequent blot upon
Our English reigns, related, and to come,)
The Prince of life.
Philip of France, on this pretext, proclaim'd
King John a traitor and a murderer;
Seiz'd on his French possessions, while the Pope
In all concurring, and, pretending right
To chuse our Church Directors, John defies
(The sole good deed he did) the pow'r of Rome;
The Vatican, with thunder loud, replies;
And England excommunicate, cut off
From ev'ry human privilege, cou'd still,
Firm in herself, have scorn'd th' unblest decree,
Which dared to arrogate an awful right
By heaven's almighty power alone possess'd.
For pride and meanness are concomitant,
The land, the people, King, the crown itself,
Are pros trate thrown beneath the Pontiff's fect;
The Barons feel just anger, and disdain
To serve a Prince who owns himself a slave.
And other grievances, most justly drawn,
Was Magna Charta woven, and the King
After subscription tried too oft to break
The golden compact, which has since upheld
Our legal title as a People Free.
Of subterranean chambers yet is seen,
Where first, in secresy, the Barons met
To frame the code of Freedom.—Short the space
From hence to where my humble cot is hid,
By wild sequester'd scenery, and oft,
Bending my footsteps downwards, do I seek
The rock-hewn seats that round the cave remain,
And muse with awfully-delighted mind,
While witchery of fancy brings to view
Majestic forms, and men of other times;
Those aged peers whose venerable locks
A crested helm, the terror oft of France,
Concealed in iron bands,—those youthful lords,
Which, back reflecting ev'ry torch's blaze,
With double light the sacred vault illumed.
Clare, Albermarle, and Gloster, Hereford,
Mowbray, and Oxford, Delaval, and Say,
Norfolk, De Ros, and bands of heroes more,
Retired to fan the patriotic fire,
Which bursting into day at Runnimede,
With rays of glory lighten'd all the land.
And Lewis, son of France, call'd in, was own'd
As England's master: but the patriot lords,
Ill brooking Gallic rule, to John restored
His regal state, short time by him enjoy'd.
At Newark Castle (not at Swinestead, where
Our legendaries tell a fearful tale
Of monks and poison,) John respired his last.
Argentre, in his “Histoire de Bretagne,” says that, John came late one evening, and took his nephew out of prison; that he rode with him to a cliff that overhung the sea; that there he stabb'd him, and drawing his body by the heels to the brink of the precipice, threw it into the ocean.
“The cause of love, the cause of justice own,
“Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd,
“To see them sparkle on their native throne?
“Oh, shame of Britons! in one sullen tow'r
“She wet with royal tears her daily cell,
“She found keen anguish ev'ry rose devour,
“They sprung, they rose, they faded, and they fell.
Shenstone.
Eleanor, of Bretagne, the lawful heiress of the English Crown upon the death of Arthur,—esteem'd the beauty of her time, she died in Bristol Castle, after suffering forty years imprisonment.
The following short sketch of what the people gained by Magna Charta, is an abridgement from Hume, by the ingenious James Petit Andrews.
“Immunities granted to Barons, are extended to their vassals.”
“No Baron to levy money from his vassals, except for attending the King to war, repairing his castles, and the highways and bridges.”
“Measures to be equal through the realm.”
“Merchants not to be illegally taxed.”
“Free egress, and regress to Freemen.”
“Cities to preserve their privileges, and only to be taxed by Parliament.”
“Bridges to be equitably built or supported.”
“Freemen to dispose of goods by will, or, if intestate, their next heir to succeed.”
“The King's Purveyor not to sieze goods, &c.”
“Courts of Justice not to follow the King, but to be stationary, open, and equal to all men.”
“Justice not to be paid for, nor refused to any one, (this was a necessary proviso in a realm where bribes were received by the King to a great amount, and shamelessly set down in books kept for that purpose,) Sheriffs not to put any one on trial without good cause and lawful witnesses.”
“No Freeman to be in any way injured in person or goods, except by the law of the land. [Query,—would that be an injury, D.] Redress to be given to those who have suffered illegally. No extravagant fines to be levied on Freemen. No villain, i. e. rustic, to be deprived of his cart or other instruments of husbandry by fine.”
The story of John's being poisoned at Swinestead Abbey is of a late date, and deserves no credit. Anderson.
5. PART THE FIFTH.
From the Signature of Magna Charta to the Death of Edward the Second.
CONTENTS.
Henry III.—Edward I. Llewellyn, Prince of Wales—David of Scotland—Baliol—Bruce—Wallace—Edward II. his Deposition and Death.
“Grim with Italian usurers, prepared
“To lend, for griping unexampled hire
“To lend, what Rome might pillage uncontroll'd
Shenstone.
“Is mightiest in the mightiest! it becomcs
“The throned monarch better than his crown;
“It is an attribute to God himself,
“And earthly power doth then shew likest God's,
“When mercy seasons justice!”
Shakespeare.
HENRY THE THIRD.
Mercy was ever blended with his name,
Nor should his foibles in our memory live,
Who knew his worst opposers to forgive;
Humane, indulgent, (haply to a fault,)
Tho' wanting energy when cares assault,
Of “Mercy throned in the hearts of Kings.”
When Pembroke's aid secured him England's throne:
The gallant Regent, Lord of Lincoln fight,
Asserted Henry's, and the kingdom's right;
Compell'd French Louis to depart the land,
And held 'till death, the reins with equal hand.
Rule Albion, one in pow'r, but two in mind;
Each Regent disapproves the other's act,
And jarring counsels the young Prince distract:
The Prelate Winchester is first displaced,
Restored, and Hubert in his turn disgraced.
Successless war with France the state alarms,
And a new Pembroke calls the land to arms;
Against the King, his rebel sword he tries,
Fortune first smiles, deserts him, and he dies;
The people's discontents are somewhat quell'd.
The flames of evil warfare rage again;
The Sov'reign, whether wisely, or misled,
Fair Eleanor of Provence having wed,
The Barons, jealous of her former friends,
Relume the brand, which far and wide extends;
Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, heads
The martial Nobles, and their army leads;
Aw'd by their active union, Henry signs
The Oxford statutes, and his pow'r resigns
To a Conservative Commission; framed
One half by him, the rest the Barons named;
Again, ill reconciled, the crown and Peers
Are foes, and Civil Broil her standard rears
At Lewes; Henry and each haughty Lord
“Refer decision to the sharpest sword.”
The King, his brother, son, and nephew, ta'en,
Submit to Montfort, and his Barons reign;
We know not if the end what means they tried
May sanction, but it cannot be denied,
To Leicester and his friends, our nation owes
The source whence all her independence flows,
Long may it's fabric rest upon their choice,
And by it's Freedom tell the nations round,
Safety alone with Liberty is found.
The fate of war, capricious, now ordains
That Edward, Henry's son, shall break his chains;
A third intestine feud at E'sham vale,
Sees Montfort fall, and Henry's son prevail;
Young Leicester's and De Gourdon's prompt defeat,
And Gloucester's fall, submission now compleat
The fame of Edward; and his father's life
Closes unchecquer'd by succeeding strife;
Yet not a Chief of those subdued,
With blood the vengeful axe imbued;
Nor scarce a subject died, as records tell,
Save those who in the sanguine contest fell.
With the fame that young Edward acquired
“To Palestine hasten'd the hero so bold,”
In whose absence King Henry expired.
The present cou'd our warmth of wish extend it
In length, as glory should exceed it far,
And peace, and plenty, cure the ills of war.
These times, 'tis said, old Mathew Paris graced,
Among respectable historians placed,
And those who love worn out poetic lays,
May read two specimens of Henry's days.
Son of the late Regent; he afterwards died miserably through the artifices of the Bishop of Winchester, who was himself quickly disgraced by the new Archbishop of Canterbury. Lockman.
Robert of Glocestere, his Character of English Towns.
“In the countrie of Canterburie plenty of fish is;“And most chase of wild beasts about Salsbrie, I wis, is;
“At London, ships most; and wine at Winchestere;
“At Hartford, sheepe and oxe; and fruit at Worcestere;
“Sope, about Coventry; iron, at Glocestere;
“Metals, lead and tyn, in the countrie of Excestere;
“Evorwick, for fairest wood; Lincolne for fairest men, &c. &c.”
Part of a Ballad on Richard of Cornwell, King of the Romans,—written 1255.
He spende alle his tresour upon swyving,
Haveth he nought of Wallingford oferling?
Let him have, as he brew, bale to drying.
Maugre Wyndesore.
That let passen over see th' Erl of Warynne,
He hath robb'd Englonde, the mores and the fenne,
The gold and the silver, and y beren henne.
For love of Wyndesore.
Hevede he now here the Erl of Warynne,
Shulde he never more come to ys inn,
Ne with shelde, ne with spere, ne with other gyn,
To help of Wyndesore.
Hevede he now here Sire Hue de Bigot,
Ah! he shulde grant here twelf moneth scot,
Shulde he never more, with his sot pot,
To helpe Wyndesore.
“disciplinam modo, sed Exemplum etiam á me petere.”
Livy, Book vii.
“Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
“To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
“From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears.
“Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
“Of the first Edward, scatter'd wild dismay,
“As down the steps of Snowdon's craggy side
“He wound with toil, and march'd his long array.
“Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance,
“To arms! cried Mortimer, and couched his quiv'ring lance.”
Gray.
“Where saints did live and die,
“Where with valiant might
“Do the Christians fight,
“And have won the victory.”
Glee of the Red Cross Knights.
EDWARD THE FIRST.
The Saracen his crescent waves,
And English Edward's gallant band
Seek proud renown, or glorious graves!
Who deem that worship pure and good
Which offers, reeking from the fight,
Hands deeply dipp'd in human blood!
For sinners would have died in vain;
Did his lov'd cause require the sword
Its peaceful doctrine to maintain?
Mistaken impulse wooes the strife,
Proud to be conquer'd, as to kill,
So she but shews contempt of life.
For which the front of death we face;
If fashion bids us court applause
To hesitate were foul disgrace.
Where British Chiefs with Britons met,
His manly hardihood had proved,
Yet deem'd his honour still in debt.
To war's sharp arguments, he fought
Till, from his prowess in the field
They fled, and treach'rous vengeance sought.
Nor less a Zealot had he slain,
But to the Prince he yields his life,
And love's sweet lips the venom drain.
Heralds the solemn tidings bring,
That Edward's father is no more,
And Edward's self is Albion's King.
And clarions loud proclaim afar,
That Edward lives but in the war.
Where dwelt the genuine British race,
Is doom'd to prove stern Edward's hand,
And feel oppression's iron mace.
Helm, and shield, and faulchion ring,
Lightning from each buckler beaming.
Hark! the bards indignant sing,
(Flames around their harp-strings gleaming,)
“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!”
And Wallia for an instant ceas'd to bleed;
Short was the time the olive branch prevail'd,
Llewellyn, stirr'd by David's honest pride,
Renew'd the strife of nations! fought and fail'd,
And graced the felon block on which he died;
And Edward's laurels wither in their death.
Caernarvon with a royal birth to grace;
And compliments his new made Cambrian friends
With a Welch sovereign of English race.
Edward a fierce and cruel foe.
Appeal to England to award,
Whose title was “maist faire, and gude,”
To reign as Caledonia's Lord;
And Edward's arbitrary arbitration
To Baliol decrees the Scottish nation,
Provided to the English Monarch's throne
The King so named does homage for his own;
Baliol with this, at first, complies,
Then, blushing for his bargain, from it flies,
'Gainst England Baliol ventures to advance;
But England made a sudden truce
With France, and gain'd the aid of Bruce,
Who sided with the English band,
And luckless Baliol lost his land.
For ever to the English crown,
The terror of invading foes.
Cou'd ye my feeble muse inspire,
With soul of feeling, and of fire,
To sing the good, the valiant dead!
Whose patriot aims by men of birth,
(Poor substitute for genuine worth),
Were meanly thwarted, cool'd, and crost,
Till what his talents gain'd their envy lost;
Who after many a hard fought field,
Where English chiefs were fain to yield,
In Falkirk's long remember'd fight,
(His band preferring death to flight,)
When left alone to stem the day,
Still kept his enemies at bay,
And from his native shelt'ring rocks,
Awhile fierce Edward's fury mocks;
Till Fortune, fickle, worthless, blind,
The patriot to his foe resign'd,
The savage foe by honour unconfin'd,
Again bids “hangman's hands” pollute the brave,
And dooms an Hero to a Traitor's grave.
And Stirling battle is by England won;
Still are the Scots determin'd to oppose,
And treat intruding Edward's friends as foes.
Till the revengeful King in proud array,
Swears to make Scotland bend beneath his sway;
Or to exterminate the hardy race,
Who greatly scorn'd to give invasion place:
But Heaven, in all its dispensations just,
Levell'd the haughty monarch with the dust.
Thus Longshanks fell, and thus did he bequeath,
His hate to Scotia with is dying breath.
“Edward, my gallant son,” the monarch cried,
“Carry my bones against the Scots,” and died.
One preach'd reform, Rome thunder'd, he preach'd louder;
From nitre found the way to make gunpowder;
But Bacon was of fellow men a lover,
Nor would the death-fraught recipe discover:
Some manuscripts, he left behind, reveal'd
What his humanity had kept conceal'd.
These lines of “Adam Davie,” serve to show,
(Adam was Marshall styled of Stratford Bow).
“I, to-day, shew mine swyven;
“That ich motte, in one nycht,
“Of a knyghte of myche mycht,
“His name is yhole, Syr Edward the Kyng,
“Prince of Wales, Engelonde, the fair thynge.
“Me motte that he was armed well,
“Both with yrne and with stele;
“And on his helm that was of stele,
“A coroune of gold becomen him wele;
“Before the shryne of St. Edward he stood,
“Myd glad cheere, and mylde of mood.”
Eleanor of Castile, consort to the Prince, is said, at the imminent hazard of her own life, to have preserved that of her husband, by extracting the poison with her lips.
He received at the same time intelligence of his son's death, a boy six years of age, which he received with resignation; but appeared extremely afflicted at the death of his father: some surprise being expressed at this, he observed, the loss of a son he might hope to replace; but that of a father was irreparable. Andrews, &c.
Gray.
It is but justice to observe, that the tale of Edward's cruelty to the Welch Bards is much disputed. Andrews says, “It has little authority on its side, except an obscure tradition, and a hint in the Gwydir MS.”
Edward the Second, born at Caernarvon Castle. The Welch had promised, it is said, to be satisfied with a native prince, who could not speak a word of English, and this ruse of Edward's perfectly succeeded.—Vide The Chapter of Welch Princes at the end of this reign.
Edward was delighted when Baliol, by refusing to go and pay homage, gave him pretence to subdue Scotland. “Ha,” said he, “Le fol felon tal folie fait! S'il ne voulut venir à nous, nous “viendrons a lui.”—“Is he then so great a fool! Well, if he will not come to me, I must e'en go to him.” Fordun.
The wife of Bruce, while at the English court, had the following odd attendant allowed her: “a footboy, sober, and not riotous, to make her bed.” Rymer's Fædera.
She had also three men and three women servants, three greyhounds, plenty of fish and game, and the fairest house in the manor. J. P. Andrews.
At the battle of Dunbar, where Baliol was taken prisoner, and Edward became possessed of the national regalia, together with the fatal stone, on which was engraven,
Invenient Lapidem, Regnare tenentiur ibidem.
Anglice.
Or where they find this stone, the Scots shall reign.”
Camb-Wals.
He called the God of Mercy (a most ill-applied attribute) to witness that he would utterly exterminate the Scotch revolters, which oath was rendered more solemn (according to the strange romantic turn of the age) by the presence of two milk white swans with trappings of gold, which were brought into West-minster-abbey on this occasion, and had their part in the sacred rites of the day. Speéd.
He called the God of Mercy (a most ill-applied attribute) to witness that he would utterly exterminate the Scotch revolters, which oath was rendered more solemn (according to the strange romantic turn of the age) by the presence of two milk white swans with trappings of gold, which were brought into West-minster-abbey on this occasion, and had their part in the sacred rites of the day. Speéd.
[_]
As the Title of PRINCE of WALES has from this
period been given to the eldest sons of the Kings of
England, it may not be intrusive to insert here a
brief but correct Chronology of the Princes of Wales,
from Cadwallader, which was written by the
Author of this Work some years ago, at Caermarthen,
and frequently sung to the air of Collins's
“Chapter of Kings.”
The Chapter of Welch Princes.
As the Title of PRINCE of WALES has from this period been given to the eldest sons of the Kings of England, it may not be intrusive to insert here a brief but correct Chronology of the Princes of Wales, from Cadwallader, which was written by the Author of this Work some years ago, at Caermarthen, and frequently sung to the air of Collins's “Chapter of Kings.”
I
When Cadwallader, tired of staying at home,Was bit by the Monks, and retired to Rome,
Prince Ivor reign'd next, of his subjects the hope,
Till he too went over to visit the Pope;
Yet barring all pother,
Of this, that, or t'other,
All came to be Princes in turn.
II
Then Roderick the first govern'd Cambrian land,And after him Conan took sceptre in hand;
When Rod'rick the Great became Britain's delight.
Yet barring, &c.
III
Sanguine and brief was Prince Anaraud's reign,Till in battle himself and his son were both slain;
(Most reigns at this period with discord were curst,)
Next Edwal succeeded, then Howel the first.
Yet barring, &c.
IV
Iago and Ievaf together bore sway,Who six hundred wolves' heads to England did pay,
Brave Howel the second in war met his death;
And a brother deprived poor Cadwalhan of breath.
Yet barring, &c.
V
Prince Meridith died of a broken heart,Edwal the second by Sweyno's dart;
And Llewellyn by traitors who wanted his place.
Yet barring, &c.
VI
Iago the second by treachery fell,As did Gryffyd the first, tho' he reign'd long and well;
And Blethyn ap Confyn, was murder'd too,
By Trahaern, whom Gryffyd in battle slew.
Thus barring, &c.
VII
Good Gryffyd the second ruled many bright years,And his tomb was bedew'd by a whole nation's tears;
He by Owen was follow'd his offspring and heir;
Next David succeeding, was hurl'd from the chair.
For barring, &c.
VIII
Llewellyn the second, so good and so great,To David the second bequeathed his state;
Till by Edward of England he basely was slain.
Yet barring, &c.
IX
Caernarvon gave birth to the next British Prince,And England's first-born have been Sov'reigns since;
While loyal, affectionate, hardy, and free,
The Welch have remain'd, and for aye may they be.
And Cambria united see all of her Princes
Come safe to be Kings in their turn.
“Your passion poor yields matter much too slight:
“To write these plagues that then were coming on,
“Doth ask a pen of Ebon, and the night;
“If there be ghosts their murder that bemoane,
“Let them approach me, and in piteous plight,
“Howle, and about me with black tapers stand,
“To lend a sad light to my sadder hand.”
Drayton.
To illustrate his character, let us view his common amusements from an old French MS. of his private expences:—
Item.—Paye a Jak de scint Albon, peyntre de Roi qui daunsa devant le Roi sur une table, et lui fist grandement rire, &c.
The extract is long, and not easily understood from the obsoleteness of the language; but it proves that the King played at tossing up “heads and tails” for farthings, besides rewarding the above-mentioned buffoon for making him laugh by dancing on a table; he remunerated another for tumbling off a horse before him. Moreover that he made a party on the water in a returned faggot barge, and bought cabbages of the gardeners on the banks of the Thames to compose his soup.
Ancient Relics.EDWARD THE SECOND.
When second Edward claim'd the regal sway;
A life of terror closed in sad despair.
A scene unchanged of fierce, domestic jars,
Rebellion, tyranny, and civil wars,
Mark'd the whole period of a monarch's rule,
Who knew not how to learn in sorrow's school.
Adversity should prove a wholesome friend,
And past experience teach us how to mend;
But who of mild correction takes no heed,
Lost to reflection, must be lost indeed!
Shield from misfortune's overwhelming tide,
Edward had weather'd the relentless storm,
Nor under pangs unprecedented died.
Yet brighter far the lustre of the mind:
And dark and cold as drearest winter night
The soul to intellectual pleasure blind.
The feeble Prince his subjects good neglects
For minions, who monopolize the crown,
And stain the sceptre which their vice protects.
First rous'd our angry Barons' slighted pride;
Till forced to banish him, the King with pain,
Escorts his darling to the vessel's side.
Edward once more his favourite recalls;
The land o'erflows with furious discontent,
And, spite of royal frowns, the Gascon falls.
Whose arrogance the people's rage renew'd;
Who peaceful England gave to quenchless flame,
And harmony exchanged for civil feud.
When the first Edward with his spoilers came,
At Bannockbourn on their now humbled foes
Take great revenge and win eternal fame.
To terms prescribed, that wars abroad may cease;
By follies which at home destroy his peace.
For rude extortion and oppression sore;
Turn pirates, and with fierce marauding band,
Infest the coast they oft had robb'd before.
Edward for once against a foe succeeds;
And his opponent on a scaffold bleeds.
(Jealous of influence the Spencers gain, )
Against her husband mingles in the strife,
And thoughtless Edward quickly ceas'd to reign.
To seek her brother, Charles the Fair;
Her lord and sov'reign to assault.
From stigma, and deserved blame;
Was it for her the mote to spy
That haply dimm'd her consort's eye:
When Mortimer as it should seem,
Was, in her own, a monstrous beam.
The hapless King what next befell;
Deposed, deserted, and disgraced,
In Ruffian restriction placed,
To insult cruelly exposed,
With agony his being closed!
Gurney, Mautravers, and the crew,
Who dared so fell a crime to do,
Yet live immortalized in guilf.
Oh! may the careless, thoughtless, great,
Profit by reading Edward's fate,
And men of cruel nature know,
Like Edward's murd'rers, more than Edward's woe.
Paid for delinquency with life;
And what the folks of England gain,
Is, Edward's son styled King in vain,
While Mortimer and Isabella reign.
Gaveston returning in 1312, the whole kingdom was up in arms; the favourite was besieged in Scarborough, taken, and beheaded by the Earl of Warwick.
Isabella of France, daughter of Philip le Bel, the greatest beauty of her age, whom Edward's father had in his dying moments conjured him to marry.
The Spencers were recalled and loaded with fresh honours.— They were, however, on the King's fortunes suffering a reverse, both executed by the Queen's and Mortimer's party.
Miscreants, who after practising every degradation on the deposed King, that meanness and malice could invent, put him to a most excruciating death in Kenilworth Castle. When to add to other atrocious indignities, they brought cold and dirty water for Edward to shave with, the unfortunate Monarch, whose tears flowed fast, exclaimed, “You see I have warm water “in spite of you!” It is some alleviation to know that all concerned in Edward's murder met signal retribution. Gurney died by the hands of the executioner; Mautravers perished for want; Edmund, Earl of Kent, who conspired against the King, his brother, was beheaded through the intrigues of Mortimer, and the Queen; of whom the former was hanged, and the latter imprisoned for life.
Adam de Orleton, Bishop of Hereford, is said to have sanctioned the assassination of Edward by this ambiguous line:
Edwardum occidere, nolite timere, bonum est.Or,
Edwardum occidere nolite, timere bonum est.The punctuation making it either,
Edward to slay avoid, to fear 'tis good.Or,
Edward to slay, avoid to fear! 'tis good.Royal Poetry of this Reign.
The following lines, his own, may serve to shew it;
When, to a dungeon fallen from a throne,
The royal sufferer thus made his moan:
Written by Edward the Second.
(On the authority of Fabian.)
Damnum mihi contulitTempore brumali,
Fortuna satis aspera
Vehementis mali.
Nullus est tam sapiens,
Mitis, aut formosus
Tam prudens virtutibus,
Cæterisque famosus
Quin, stultus reputabitur
Et satis despectus,
Si fortuna prosperos
Avertat effectus.
Imitated by J. P. Andrews.
On my devoted headHer bitterest showers,
All from a wintry cloud
Stern fortune pours;
View but her favourite,
Sage and discerning,
Grac'd with fair comliness,
Famed for his learning;
Should she withdraw her smiles
Each grace she banishes,
Wisdom and wit are flown,
And beauty vanishes.
Of these verses, which Bishop Tanner styles, “Lamentatio gloriosi “Regis Edwardi, de Karnarvon, quam edidit temporæ suæ incarcerationis.”
Horace Walpole says,
I should believe that this melody of a dying Monarch is about as authentic as that of the old poetic warbler the Swan, and no better founded than the title of Gloriosi.
Catalogue of Royal Authors.Motto of the Garter.
“His Redcross Knights, and Barons bold.
“Whose vacant seats, by virtue bought,
“Ambitious Emperors have sought;
“Where Britain's foremost names are found,
“In peace beloved, in war renowned;
“Who made the hostile nations moan,
“Or brought a blessing on their own.”
Tickell.
Motto of the Black Prince.
“A sage in peace, a demi-god in war;
“Who stern in fight made echoing Cressey ring,
“And mild in conquest, served his captive King?”
Tickell.
EDWARD THE THIRD.
With mind, desert and talent to protect,
Edward presents a model to admire:
His subjects' hearts before their sov'reign bend;
The widow's guardian, and the orphan's sire;
Foe to the vicious, to the good a friend.
Link'd to his Queen by mutual regard;
Proud of a son, whose better scarce drew breath,
Through life beloved, lamented in his death.
Saw Mortimer ascendant o'er the Queen;
Indignant at their joint and lawless rule,
Scorning to be a mean, convenient, tool,
He boldly took the reins, well knowing, he
Who rules o'er Freemen should himself be free.
“To Nottingham, the north's imperious eye,
“Which as a pharos doth survey the soile,
“Armed by nature, danger to defie,
“Marche to repose him after all his toile.
“Where treason (least advantage might espie)
“Closely convey'd his past price valued spoyle;
“That there residing from the publique sight,
“He might with measure relish his delight.”
There with “ninescore of special worth and sort
“Marche and the Queen maintaine one equal port.”
“And the bright Queen rule all things by their might,
“The state wherein at Nottingham they be,
“The cost wherewith their pompeous court is dight,
“Envy'd by those their hateful pride that see:
“The King attempts the dreadful cave by night;
“Entering the castle, taketh him from thence,
“And Marche at London dyes for his offence.”
Ambition taught him to deceive the Scot;
With Caledonian blood his broad sword dyed;
At Hallidown too, mournful legends tell,
The Douglas with his thirty thousand fell.
With more of honour thins the ranks of France;
To where in naval fight 'tis Edward's boast
Their fleet to vanquish on the Flemish coast;
Two hundred ships destroyed, some tell us more,
With thirty thousand corses, fright the shore;
The King, with half their force, this vict'ry gains,
And England's flag most gallantly maintains;
With less success the warlike chief, on land,
Headed an Anglo-German-Flemish band,
Till quarrels, for the duchy of Bretagne,
“Cry havock! and let loose the war” again.
Edward to 'venge his friend, the slain Artois,
Joins Montfort's party against Charles de Blois:
While valiant Jane de Montfort leads the fight,
To vindicate a captive husband's right;
Sustaining 'gainst De Blois' superior powers,
A fierce blockade and siege in Hennebonne Towers,
Where, nearly forced by famine to give place,
Sir Walter Manny saves her from disgrace;
From conquest almost gain'd, her foes retreat,
Aw'd by the presence of an English Fleet!
The muse to aid with mingled power of pen,
Cou'd time, fame, vict'ry, furnish each a wing,
She might essay, but faintly even then,
The laurels won on Crecy's plains to sing.
With what success then shall her humble plume
Of goose-quill uninspired, the task asume?
Dare she attempt the praise of England's King,
Who like the lion cross'd in wish'd retreat,
Turn'd sudden on his hunters? dare she tell
Directed fortune as by magic spell,
And saw Bohemia's Monarch at his feet,
While round him Gallia's choicest leaders fell?
The King, who cared but for the Prince's fame,
And valued less his safety than his name.
(His age fifteen,) sought from his sire relief;
No, cried the father, with demeanour stern,
My aid would snatch the laurel he may earn,
More worthy he to grace a future throne,
Who can in danger make success his own,
And owe the glory to himself alone.
Bohemia's King, eleven leaders more,
Who regal ensigns on their armour bore,
With eighty bannerets, twelve hundred knights,
Of nobles, fifteen hundred—men of name;
Four thousand (so undoubted hist'ry writes),
With thirty thousand soldiers of less fame,
While Edward's loss was only, strange to say,
Three knights, one valiant squire, and few indeed
Of private station who were known to bleed.
Till “famine cling them,” and the King enraged,
Soon as the city at his mercy lies,
To punish those whom self-defence engaged
In patriot warfare, to their pray'r for peace,
Decrees from slaughter 'ere the sword shall cease,
Six of their noblest with disgrace shall die:
Six, self-devoted, to the threat reply;
But great and good Phillippa's suppliant breath,
Saves Edward from dishonour, them from death;
Phillippa who from England came,
With more of wreaths for Edward's name.
The Scottish King who vainly thought,
He, in the royal absence, might invade
And by Phillippa's arm was prisoner made
At Nevill's Cross, where, fatal to his reign,
Of valiant Scots are fifteen thousand slain.
For triumphs won in contest hard,
O'er Edward's oft defeated foes,
The Order of the Garter rose.
The story coupled with a lady's name,
Yet, with due rev'rence to the lovely dame,
(We delicately touch so soft a string)
Tho' great effect from little cause may spring,
'Twere better here to have it understood,
As royal guerdon for the great and good.
Glory, untired of decking Edward's helm,
(And with her beams his enemies to whelm)
Another day, unmatch'd in former reigns:
A second Crecy to the first succeeds,
At Poictiers, scene of more than mortal deeds;
With front unmoved, the Prince beholds advance,
To crush his little band, the power of France:
Attacked by Monarch, Princes, Nobles, all,
He sees their Princes, Nobles, Warriors, fall;
Hears their King own himself in grief's despite,
Surpass'd in courtsey as foil'd in fight;
While England views her sovereign mildly greet
Two captive Monarchs kneeling at his feet.
Young Edward, after deeds excelled by none,
'Mid dazzling career was snatch'd away,
And with him, for a while, set England's sun!
Scarcely a year his mourning sire survived
The darling son in whom his glory lived;
“The paths of glory lead but to a grave.”
To poesy and “lisp'd in numbers” still;
Chaucer gave birth to a prophetic hope,
Of what succeeding ages might fulfil.
From him and others, en passant, we chuse,
Some dozen lines, which occupy a place,
Not as fair samples, haply of the muse,
But the gradations of our tongue to trace
Since our last extract—and because their rhymes,
In some sort, sketch the manners of the times;
And, first from Chaucer, we are taught to guess
At style of living, cookery, and dress.
A labyrinth constructed under the castle, through which the King's guards made way to the apartment, where,
“Too soft a shield to beare their boys'trous blowes,
“Who least of all suspected such alarmes.”
Taking an ungenerous advantage of some border excursions, he declared the treaty of Northampton broken, and besieged Berwick; while Baliol (who had been intruded on the Scots as King by Edward, to the prejudice of David Bruce, and chased back to England by the indignant natives,) with an English army entered Scotland, and made Moray, the Regent, prisoner. Archibald Douglas, who succeeded to the Regency, attacking the English, with more courage than conduct, at Hallidown Hill, was slain with the principal nobility, and the army utterly destroyed, with hardly any loss on the side of Edward.— And says an old MS. in the Harleian Collection,
“With pipes, trompes and tabors therto,
“And loud clarionnes they blew also.”
Vide J. P. Andrews.
The French are said to have had four hundred vessels, out of which number they lost two hundred and thirty: while Edward's fleet only consisted of two hundred and forty. It is presumed these ships were principally transports, and those but of small dimensions; the disparity of numbers, however, serves to prove that the bravery and conduct of the British were always supereminent on the ocean.
Four thousand men at arms, which implies a distinction, are given in the list; besides thirty thousand common soldiers.
Phillippa on more than one occasion had the happiness to be successful in the amiable character of an intercessor. In the fourth year of this reign, a scaffold on which the Queen and many ladies were seated to see a tournament in Cheapside, fell down, and the royal and noble auditresses were precipitated from a considerable height; the carpenters would have inevitably suffered death, but the stern Edward was softened by the prayers and tears of the amiable Phillippa.
Though many give credit to what Andrews calls the picturesque story of this order, originating from the Countess of Salisbury's garter, yet he adds from Rastell's Chronicle, that “Some do affirme that this order beganne fyrst by King Richard Cœur de Lyon, at the siege of the citie of Acres, where in his greate necessy tie there were but twenty-five knights that firmlye and surelye abode by him, where he caused all them to wear thonges of blue leythere aboute their legges, and afterwards they were called knights.”
The number of French slain were, two Dukes, nineteen Earls, many Knights and Gentlemen, with several thousand men at arms. The prisoners were still more numerous, at the head of whom was their King John, who was treated with the most delicate respect by his conqueror, after his arrival in England. Henry Picard, Lord Mayor of London, had the honour to entertain the captive Kings of France and Scotland, and the King of Cyprus at one table, with most hospitable magnificence.
Chaucer, styled the first English poet, was page to Edward III. in 1359, married Phillippa, the sister of Catherine Swynford, (the future wife of John of Gaunt,) and is said to have had a large income, he was imprisoned as a Lollard, but ended his life in ease and plenty, at Donnington Castle, Berks, where he composed most of his best productions.
Eating.
“A coke thei hadde with them for the nonce,“To boil the chikens and the marie-bones,
“Well couth he knew a draught of London ale;
“He couth rostè, boilè, grillè, and frie,
“And makè mortries, and well bake a pie;
“For blank manger that made he with the best, &c.”
Drinking.
“We shall have Rumney and malespine,“Both Ypocras and Vernage wyne,
“Mountrese and wyne of Greke,
“Both Algrade and despice eke,
“Antioche and Bastarde,
“Pymont also and Garnarde, &c.
Spices.
“There was ike wexin many a spice,“As clowe, gilofre, and licorice,
“Gingiber, and grein de Paris,
“Canell at sette wale of prys,
“And many a spice delitable,
“To eten when men rise fro' table.”
Dress of an Archer.
“And he was cladde in cote, and hode of grene,“A shefe of pecockes arrwes bryghte and clene,
“Under his belt he bore full thriftily,
“And in his hand he bare a mighty bowe,
“A not hed haddè he, with browne visage,
“Of wood craft couth he wel al the usage;
“Upon his arme he had a gai bracèr,
“And by his side a sworde and à bokelèr;
“And on the other side a gai daggere,
“Harneised well, and sharp as point of spere;
“A christofre on his breste of silken shene,
“An horne he bare, the baudrike was of grene.”
Spring.
“This was in midst of month of May,“When birdis sing on ilka spray,
“Melland their notes with seemly soun,
“For softness of the sweet seasoun.
“And leaves of the branches spreeds,
“And bloomis bright, beside them, breeds,
“Well favouring of seir colours.”
Born at Aberdeen, but who, after he was an Archdeacon, obtained a licence from Edward III. to study at Oxford.
Hunger.
“Hunger, in heste, though, hent Wastour by the mawe,“And wronge him so by the wembe that both his eien water'd;
“He buffeted the Breton about the chekes,
“That he loked lyke a lanterne all his life after.”
[And as the new abashed nightingale]
And as the new abashed nightingale,That stinteth first when she beginneth sing,
When that the herith any hardis' tale,
And after, siker doth her voice outring;
Right so Cresseide (when that her drede stent,)
Open'd her herte, and told him her intent.
“Her nobles slain, her laws, her freedom, lost;
“Let this reflection from the action flow,
“We ne'er from foreign foes can ruin know.
“Oh, let us then intestine discord shun,
“We ne'er can be but by ourselves undone.”
Savage.
“And yet I bear a burden like an ass.”
“With shallow jesters and rash basin wits,
“Mingled his royalty with carping fools;
“Had his great name prophaned with their scorns;
“Grew a companion to the common streets,
“That, being daily swallowed by men's eyes,
“He was but as the cuckoo is, in June,
“Heard, not regarded.”
Shakespeare's Rich. II.
RICHARD II. surnamed of BOURDEAUX.
Son of the Black Prince Edward, but in sooth,
No heir to his great sire's illustrious deeds,
Was Richard, “being but a moonish youth;”
With York, whose guardianship the States obey.
Ambitious guardians! to prolong their rule,
They represent their nephew as the tool
Of Nevil and Tresilian, Pole and Vere,
(Who certainly had gained the royal ear.)
Much more his uncles had their charge befriended,
If they in honesty had recollected,
Some faults without exposure may be mended,
And by mild means are ofttimes best corrected.
Save what we must record with pain,
Sans further comment let us try,
A very brief Chronology,
'Twill trouble spare to you and us,
Kind reader if you'll take it thus:
King Edward went, we hope, to heaven;
To wear a careful crown on earth.
In thirteen hundred seventy eight,
Wickliff's opinions posed the state.
And John of Gaunt marched many men
To France,—to bring them back again;
While thirteen seventy nine and eighty,
Are not renowned for matters weighty,
Until a poll tax, ill collected,
Much danger to the land effected;
And caused the evils which were done
In thirteen hundred eighty one.
Wat Tyler and his friend Jack Straw,
Into their own hands take the law,
'Till Walworth knock'd rebellion down,
By cracking Master Tyler's crown;
And 'tis but just in Richard's cause,
To say his gallantry deserved applause,
Were by his conduct, mild, yet brave, reclaimed.
The anarchy that er'st prevailed,
Is by friend Andrew's thus detailed,
Translated in a prosperous hour,
From that famed poet Master Gower:
“Wat cries, Tom flies, nor Symkin stays aside;
“And Batt and Gibb, and Hyke they summon loud,
“Colin and Bob combustibles provide,
“While Will the mischief forwards in the crowd;
“Greg hawls, Hob bawls, and Davy joins the cry
“With Larry, not the least among the throng;
“And Jack with sword and firebrand madly strides along.
In thirteen hundred eighty two,
The King had something more to do;
For doomed to lead a restless life,
Bohemian Ann he took to wife.
In thirteen hundred eighty three,
A Bishop militant we see
Against the French, who does no more
Than John of Gaunt achieved before.
In eighty four and eighty five,
The Scots against our armies thrive;
And Richard loses Joan his mother,
For grief, he would'nt spare his brother.
In thirteen hundred eighty six,
King Richard's favourites play sad tricks;
Degrading so their lord's condition,
The crown was rendered in commission.
The British Tars command success;
Being by Nottingham's brave fleet.
As since by others, soundly beat.
'Twas Tresil'an and Brembres fate,
To swing in thirteen eighty eight;
“Sponges” who “soak'd authority”
'Till “squeez'd, and then hung up to dry;”
In this year too we find a place
For famous fight of Chevy Chace
In thirteen hundred eighty nine,
The Nobles to the King resign
Unfettered rule, and ninety sees
(Only one year) the land at ease.
Famine and plague and discontent;
Nor ninety two, nor three brought more
Of happiness, while ninety four,
Still to depress the luckless man,
Deprived him of his good Queen Ann;
Who bid the fair no more bestride
Their steeds like men, but first to ride
As now, with decent modest pride,
Gracing the happy saddle's side.
Assists him in the Irish war;
And 'tis his fate in ninety six,
On Is'bel for a wife to fix,
Some bridegrooms had prefer'd to wait,
The lady's years were only eight.
In ninety seven Glo'ster fell,
And foully too, as records tell.
In ninety eight the banishment
Of Hereford such discontent
Did in his partizans create,
As caus'd the King's ensuing fate;
For Hereford, his father dead,
(He, Duke of Lancaster instead),
Returns with means which soon encrease,
As Richard's failing powers cease;
And Bolingbroke the King deposes,
Whose scene of earthly grandeur closes.
In thirteen hundred ninety nine.
And soon in the succeeding year,
By means most horrible we fear,
His spirit sought that Judge most just,
Who sees in Kings but common dust.
Of fiend-like ruffians join'd to slay
Their 'prisoned Sovereign, who bore
Himself in knightly sort that fatal day,
Of his opponents killing four,
As tho' the spirit of his sire in death,
Breathed valour from the source which gave the Monarch breath.
The celebrated John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; the Earl of Cambridge, afterwards Duke of York; and the Duke of Gloucester; all uncles to the King, were appointed his guardians, he being but ten years old.
Vere, Earl of Oxford, Marquis of Dublin, and Duke of Ireland; Tresilian, a Judge; Michael de la Pole, a merchant's son; and Nevil, Archbishop of York.
A reformer of the Romish Church, he was cited by the Ecclesiastical Courts, but protected against them by the Duke of Lancaster.
Sir William Walworth, Lord Mayor of London, enraged at Tyler's insolence in an interview with the King, struck him to the ground, and the dagger with which he dispatched him is commemorated by a place in the city arms.
Gower's verses as a specimen of this reign's literature may not be unacceptable, particularly from the comic effect produced by putting English nick-names into a Latin dress.
“Watte vocat cui Thoma venit, neque Symme retardat,“Bat que, Gibbe simul, Hykke venire subent.
“Colle furit, quem Bobbe juvat, nocumenta parantes,
“Cum quibus ad damnum Wille coire vovet.
“Grigge rapit, Dum Davie, strepit, comes est quibus Hobbe,
“Larkin, et in medio non minor esse putat,
“Hudde ferit, quem Judde terit, dum Tibbe juvatur,
“Jakke domosque vivos vellit, & ense neeat, &c.”
She broke her heart because Richard would not forgive Lord Holland, her son by a second marriage, for the murder of Lord Stafford's heir. Yet the inconsistent King granted him the next day the very pardon which, however unjust, would some hours earlier have saved his parent's life.
The King was forced through a dread of deposition to abandon his Ministers, and even commit the government of the realm to twelve commissioners appointed by parliament.
Celebrated by ancient Scotch Bards as the battle of Otterbourne. —Vide Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, p. 27.
Richard at this period abounded in money, which he raised by various extortions, to squander it away in ridiculous prodigality; of this, John Handinge, a cotemporary poet, “not over smoothly,” sings:—
“Truly I herd Robert Ireleffe say,“(Clerke of the grene cloth) that to thè housholde
“Came every dayè forth, most part alway,
“Ten thousand folkis, bi his messes told,
“That follow'd the house, ayè as thei wold;
“And, in the ketchin, three hundred servitours,
“And, in eche office, many occup'ours;
“Chamberers also, eke and launderers,
“And ladies fair, with their gentlewomen,
“Three hundred of them occupied were then,
“There was great pride among the officers;
“And of all men far passing their compeers,
“Of rich arraye, and more cost o-us,
“Than was before or since more preci-ous.”
Richard's favorite method of obtaining money, was by loan; the proportions of the respective sums (as given by Andrews, from Rymer's Fædera) will shew the comparative wealth of the English Chies:
“From London, was asked ....................... 10,000 Marks. “York, Gloucester, Salisbury, and Lincoln, each 200 Marks. “Cambridge, Canterbury, & Southampton, each 100 Marks. “Bristol ....................................... 800 Marks. “Norwich ....................................... 500 Marks. “Lynn .......................................... 400 Marks. “Bath, Derby, and Litchfield, each ............. 20 Marks. “Harwich and Liskeard. each .................... 10 Marks.
A manuscript in the late Royal Library at Paris, entitled Embassies, and numbered 8448, makes the unfortunate Richard reproach the ingratitude of Bolingbroke, in what are given as his genuine words: “Thrice have I saved his life; once my dear uncle of Lancaster (on whom God have mercy) would have slain him for his treason and villainy; and then, O God of Paradise, all night did I ride to preserve him from death. Once, also, he drew his sword on me, in the chamber of Queen Ann! Oh, heaven! how truly is it said that the most deadly foe a man can have, is he whom he has saved from destruction.”
6. PART THE SIXTH.
From the Death of Richard II. to the Accession of the House of York.
CONTENTS.
Henry IV.—Henry V.—Battle of Agincourt, and Conquest of France—Henry VI.—The Maid of Orleans—Red and Wkite Roses—Jack Cade—Accession of the House of York.
HOUSE of LANCASTER.
“Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.”
“The banished Bolingbroke repeal'd himself;
“Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
“Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
“With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
“While all tongues cried, God save thee, Bolingbroke,
“Jesu preserve thee, welcome Bolingbroke;
“Whilst he from the one side to the other turning,
“Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck.”
“I dress'd myself in such humility
“That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
“Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
“Even as the presence of the crowned king.”
“—Heaven knows
“By what paths and crooked ways
“I met this crown; and I myself know well
“How troublesome it sat upon my head.
“And I had many living to upbraid
“My gain of it, by their assistance,
“And by whose power I well might lodge or fear
“To be again displaced: which to avoid,
“I cut them off.”
Shakespeare.
HENRY THE FOURTH.
SURNAMED OF BOLINGBROKE.
Q.Under what colour, or pretended claim,
Did Bolingbroke aspire to Richard's Throne?
A.
Edward the third's fourth son, who bore the name
Of John of Gaunt, as Henry's sire was known.
Q.
What claimant else look'd upward to the crown?
A.
One whose more just pretensions were put down
By Henry's friends,—young Mortimer the heir
Of Clarence, Edward's second son,—more fair
His title: but in Henry's hand was power,
Which brow beats Justice to this very hour.
Q.
What troubles shaded Henry's prosp'rous star?
A.
A scene of foreign and of civil war;
And tho' he conquered each domestic foe,
'Twas Henry's lot to find new troubles grow;
From these o'ercome, as poets sing of yore,
That Hydra Heads, when crop'd, encreas'd the more.
Whose tyranny but grew with his success.
Religion too excites mistaken ire,
And martyr'd Lollards feed the bigots fire;
“Henry the Cruel” was the name obtain'd
From blood of subjects almost daily drain'd.
Q.
What foreign powers join with mighty foes,
The right and reign of Henry to oppose?
A.
The Scotch; bold Douglas leads a hardy band,
To aid young Percy of Northumberland
In Mortimer's behalf,—their efforts meet
In frequent fields, succession of defeat.
The Douglas yields , the Percy breathless lies:
And Scotland's Prince becomes the Victor's prize.
What nations else co-operation bring,
To join with those who hate the reigning king?
A.
The French assist the fiery chiefs of Wales,
Whose enterprize, like that related, fails;
Glen dower's fortune seems at first to soar,
Aided by stormy blasts, and thunder's roar,
So strangely that the lustre of his arms
Is dimm'd by a belief that magic charms
Enabled him to lull his foes to sleep,
And “conjure spirits from the vasty deep.”
Q.
Against the King what else attempted France?
A.
In Guienne with some success their arms advance,
At Calais too the chance of war they tried;
But Henry's arts the gallic chiefs divide,
Distract their councils, keep their force at bay,
'Till “Divide and Imp'ra” wins the day.
Was he not with paternal cares opprest?
A.
The conduct of his son disturbed his rest;
The Prince forgetful of his rank and worth,
Associates with men of slightest worth,
Unblushing leads their vulgar sports by day,
And, rendered by their nightly revels gay,
“Hot with the Tuscan grape and high in blood,”
'Tis said with robbers leagued he rashly stood,
And here might we “in jocund strains recite,
The prurient “humours of the braggart knight; ”
But one Will Shakespeare having told the tale,
We should but make a shrimp of Billy's whale.
The Prince who thus his dignity could stain,
Had power lost reputation to regain;
And “revocare gradus” firmly tried,
'Till, from its scorn, he shone a nation's pride;
“Redeeming time” he'd let too long stand still.
Q
Or did the Monarch feel, or seem to feel,
Against the infidels “most christian” zeal?
A.
Yes, and no more of foes at home afraid,
He meant to undertake a grand crusade;
For some false prophet ventured to divine,
He should expire in holy Palestine,
And expiating sins and folly's past,
Jerusalem should see him breathe his last.
Q.
And did it?
A.
Yes; and yet the prophet err'd,
For this Jerusalem, as we have heard,
Was but a room so called, where Henry's breath,
Cut short by leprosy, was closed in death.
Q.
What men of eminence his reign adorn?
A.
With English science 'twas but early morn;
William of Wickham, Chaucer, Master Gower,
Sir Robert Knolles, of valiant knights the flower;
The famed Sir Richard Whittington, Lord Mayor,
Of whom each 'prentice has the story pat,
Of London bells, cross cook maids, and a cat.
Q.
Did not the King, who ow'd it most protection,
Oft' violate the freedom of election?
A.
Most shamefully, and Sheriffs were required
But to return what men the Court desired;
Who, acquiescing with obsequious bow,
Projected taxes, high as they are now.
The rich the taxes wou'd'nt pay,
The poor the taxes cou'd'nt pay;
And middle ranks might rightly say,
(As sang a poet of that day):
“Est igitur notum, Cater-tray solvere totum.”
We add James Petit Andrew's imitation:
“Says Size Cinque I sha'n't:
“So poor Cater-tray
“The whole sum must pay.”
Thomas Badby, a Worcestershire tailor, burnt in Smithfield for denying the corporeal presence in the sacramental bread, was one of the first English martyrs. The young Prince Henry twice ordered him to be taken from the stake, and a pardon and a pension were offered him; but he persisted, and died in the maintenance of his opinion.
Earl Douglas had before been taken prisoner, at the battle of Holmedon, where, enraged at the havoc made by the English archers, (according to Walsingham) he rushed forward, accompanied by eighty men of rank, to disperse that formidable corps; but was wounded in five places, and made prisoner. After his liberation, he again led the Scots at the battle of Worcester, where he broke through the English ranks, and slew three persons dress'd like Henry. At length he fled, and having fallen down and wounded himself in a strange manner, was taken. The Prince of Wales, hitherto not an estimable character, fought bravely, and though wounded in the face, would not quit the field: the King, too, is said to have performed prodigies of valour, and to have slain thirty-six rebels with his own hand.
The Prince had the imprudence to appear in Court, to countenance one of his offending associates, and actually struck the Judge on the Bench: but, as instantly ashamed of his conduct, submitted to go to prison. The King was equally pleased with the firmness of the Judge, (Gascoigne) and the obedience of his Son; who afterwards hearing his Father suspected him of measures to disturb the public peace, went to Court to acquit himself, in a kind of allegorical habit, which has never been accounted for.—“He was apparelled in a gown of blue satin, full of oilet holes; at every hole, the needle hanging by a silk thread with which it was sewed.”
Gower; a specimen from whom is given under Richard II. died in 1402.
Chaucer addresses him, “O! moral Gower! &c, &c.”
James I. of Scotland thus speaks of him and Chaucer;
“Unto Impnis of my maisteris dere“Gower and Chaucer, on the steps they sate
“Of rhetorike, whyle they were lyvande here,
“Superlative as Poets-Laureatte.
“In moralitie and eloquence ornate.”
Whittington founded an Hospital, made many charitable bequests, and rebuilt Newgate, where the statue of his Cat, according to Pennant, accompanied his own.
Mrs. Brookes.
Nor took himself, but gave to Heav'n, the praise!
Tickel.
“Soon did he shake his head, and say that all was wrong!
“Then, streams of radiance mark'd his destin'd way;
“Where'er he trod the magic gleams appear;
“His burnish'd breast-plate sparkled on the day,
“And glory's harp still roll'd along his ear.”
Leigh Hunt's Palace of Pleasure.
“Oh! not to-day! Think not upon the fault
“My father made in compassing the crown.
“I Richard's body have interred new,
“And on it have bestowed more contrite tears,
“Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
“Five hundred poor have I in yearly pay,
“Who, twice a day, their wither'd hands hold up
“To Heav'n, to pardon blood!—And I have built
“Two chauntries, where the sad and solemn priests
“Sing still for Richard's soul!
Shakespeare.
“To thump the French, poor creatures, to excess,
“Tho' Britons now-a-day show more compassion,
“And thump them, certainly, a great deal less.
“Of York's pale blossoms had usurp'd the right,
“As wine drives nature out of drunkards' noses,
“'Till red, triumphantly, eclipses white
“In Harry's reign.—But let me to my song,
“Or, good King Harry's reign may seem too long.”
George Colman, the Younger.
HENRY V. surnamed of MONMOUTH.
E're the succeeding Prince with ardour burn'd
To pay obedience to a sire's behest,
And keep the nobles from reflective rest.
To stigmatise the life he lately led,
Young Henry bade his former friends draw near,
And on his own, as on their faults severe;
Taking an ample share of serious blame,
Pointed the better path to honest fame,
Admonish'd, gave the means, their lives to mend—
Yet promised only further to befriend,
When merit justly claiming his regard,
By reformation led, should seek reward.
And served his father with unyielding truth,
But found his thoughtless race of error run;
Advancement on their former zeal attends,
And all are hailed as counsellors and friends.
But chiefly him whose bold and upright mind
(To all distinction, in his duty, blind,)
Maintain'd the honor of his master's place,
Nor would permit a prince the law disgrace
Without reproof; his ancient sovereign then
Proclaim'd himself most blest of royal men.
In such a son who feared to disobey,
Or rather, who, for disobedience shown,
Submitted gracefully his fault to own,
Confess'd himself inferior to the laws,
And turn'd past censure to deserv'd applause.
Proposing France and England should be friends,
A league of lasting amity might bind;
But then, for dowry, 'tis demanded, France
Two million crowns, prompt payment, should advance;
With an old debt of near two million more,
As King John's ransom, bargained for before.
Then Normandy and other lands beside,
Were woo'd with much more ardor than the bride.
France offers Harry, and I think no slight,
A wife, eight hundred thousand crowns, with right
Of Sovereignty in Guienne, and to be Lord
Of Rouerne, Saintongue, Aug'more, Perigord;
But Henry ready with a numerous fleet,
Refused, for less than what he ask'd to treat.
There be some cunning folks to think inclined,
The King had pretty well made up his mind,
From terms on purpose framed to be refused;
Whether such policy suit ill or well
With honest dealing, is not mine to tell,
My task but gives in brief the Sovereign's acts,
'Tis your's to make due inference from facts.
That Charles the Dauphin, slighting Henry's youth,
A tun of tennis balls in gibe sent o'er,
As suited to the life Hal led before;
But all historians of respected name
The verity of such an act disclaim;
France at all time, from circumstances, was far
From wishing ought that might provoke a war.
And France is threaten'd with our hottest ire;
When treason midst an host of knightly peers,
Close to the King's her felon banner rears,
Lord Scrope, Earl Cambridge, and Sir Thomas Grey,
Conspire (supposed with March,) to take away
As sudden as unlook'd for, steps between
The plot and execution, treason fails,
The traitors fall, and gallant Henry sails.
Give note our English hero comes.
Prepares for Calais, when 'tis found
That France, collecting all her boast
Of rank and valour, line the coast,
And with proud threat the British band surround.
And to retrace his steps; the French deny;
The English Chief has but one project more,
To beat his four-fold enemy or die.
And Poictiers too.—Shades of the slain ne'er scoff,
Let your bright blades assist to mend my pen,
Or Agincourt will come most tamely off.
Had sold the English as they did before,
Lost ev'ry purchase, cou'dn't save their bacon,
And got, to clench the nail, one drubbing more.
Their gilded herald asked our iron King
His army's safety, and his own to buy;
Harry thrice answer'd he'd do no such thing,
And his applauding troops with shouts reply.
On any terms, so pitied us the beating
Intended for us, they'd no heart to give it,
And (Memory of the deed will long out-live it!)
The kind compassionating well-bred elves,
Were good enough to take it on themselves;
In two words, never was a day so dashing,
Nor ever did Mounseer get such a thrashing.
Or, a-la-modern French, the dust did bite;
Archbishop Sens, and Constable of France,
Fall also victims to the English lance.
With Boucicaut, and Richemonte on the field,
Of fourteen thousand captives swell the train,
Who mourn at least ten thousand comrades slain!
The Duke of York, brave Suffolk, and as few
As thirty more, if chronicles speak true,
Were all who fell on conquering Harry's side;
Among them Davy Gam, of Wales the pride,
Who being ask'd how many were the foe?
Answered, “Hur did not quite exactly know:
“But this hur poldly wou'd peg leave to say,
“There wou'd pe found enough upon that day,
“To die, be taken, or to run away.”
Yet this great victory, like those of yore,
At Cressy and Poictiers, produced no more
Than reputation,—Henry made a pause,
In which his foes recruit their sinking cause.
Gaining alone the honor of that day;
While in succession to dissentions rude,
A two years truce the adverse Kings conclude.
And “civil dudgeon” foreign wars succeeds;
Henry returns and joins King Charles—poor elf,
To fight against the Dauphin for himself;
Wins lower Normandy, each claim renews
That France erst did, but dare not now refuse,
Proving our sacred Master's lesson good,
“No kingdom self-divided ever stood.”
Thus Henry strength from Charles's weakness gains,
And each ambitious wish with ease obtains;
Kate's hand endowed with treasure, province, town,
And the reversion of the Gallic crown,
(Which came in time, for he had pawn'd his own.)
When England is of France decreed the heir;
The Dauphin, scorning to resign his right,
Subdues and is subdued, in frequent fight.
Henry to reinforce his troops comes over,
And levies bands which rendezvous at Dover;
Mean time the Scots, by gallant Buchan led,
Against us in the Dauphin's cause make head;
For England royal Clarence heads the strife,
And loses, in a brother's cause, his life.
Dorset and Somerset, of English lords,
With Huntingdon, resign their captive swords,
When Henry with his new-raised force arrives,
To 'venge his brother's and his warriors' lives,
And well retrieved what late our arms disgraced.
Scarce had his conquering sword this laurel won,
'Ere Catherine presents him with a son;
His glory and success attain their height,
When death converts his brilliant day to night.
Were doom'd the fires of bigotry to feel;
And good Lord Cobham, for opinion's sake,
With other martyrs suffered at the stake.
Few other incidents to tell remain,
The visit of an Emp'ror graced this reign;
Three Popes at once assume St. Peter's Chair,
And-Seven Dolphins swam to Greenwich fair!!!
Somewhat of Chaucer “doth in him appear;”
And it were well, perhaps, you think for me,
To take good note by “hys humiletie;”
Thro' which fair veil a spark of genius shines,
As is “set forth” in these “his pythie lines.”
“Of Bury, call'd John Lydgate by my name,
“And wear a habit of perfection,
“Altho' my life agree not with the same;
“That meddle should with things spiritual,
“As I must needs confess unto you all.”
“At his commands whom I could not refuse,
“I humbly do beseech all those that read,
“Or leisure have this story to peruse,
“If any fault therein they find to be,
“Or error that committed is by me,
“The rather to correct, and mend the same,
“Than rashly to condemn it with disdain;
“For well I wot, it is not without blame,
“Because I know the verse therein is wrong,
“As being some too short, and some too long.”
Who for his “mayster” Chaucer's loss doth grieve:
“But well awaye so is myne hert'e wo',
“That the honour of English tongue is dede,
“Of which I wont was han cousel rede!
“O, mayster dere, and fader reverent!
“My mayster Chaucer, flowre of eloquence!
“What eyled Deth? alas! why wode he sle' the?
“O Deth thou didst no harm singuliere,
“In slaughter of him, both all the land it smarteth;
“But nathless yt hast thou no power,
“His name to sle,” &c, &c.
“He was not only anxious to repair his own misconduct. but also to make amends for those iniquities into which his father had been betrayed. He expressed the deepest sorrow at the fate of the unhappy Richard; performed his funeral obsequies with pomp and solemnity; and cherished all who had been attached to him.” Hume.
He was, perhaps, the first English Monarch who had ships of his own; two were called the King's Chamber, and the King's Hall; they had purple sails, and were large and beautiful; there were also the Trinitie, the Grace de Dieu, the Holy Ghost, and many more which now be lost. Vide J. P. Andrews.
With the English Army there was only one Surgeon, who, says Rymer's Fædera, had engaged to find fifteen more; three of whom were to act as Archers.
“The King had been rescued by Davy Gam, and two others, right valiant Welchmen, Roger Vaughan and Walter Lloyd, of Brecknock, who were knighted as they lay bleeding to death.” Monstrelet.
The revenues of the Government, and the grants of Parliament, were so inadequate to Henry's expensive armies and expeditions, that he was forced to pawn his crown to his uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, for a large sum; and certain jewels to the Lord Mayor of London, for ten thousand marks; he was also obliged to pledge two gold chased basons, weighing together 28lb. 80z. to two Canons of Saint Paul's, for six hundred marks; and two golden shells to the Dean of Lincoln, for one hundred more.—The cost of his army was great: each Knight received 20s. per diem; a 'Squire, 10s. and each Archer, 5s—Besides which, he had a costly band of music, among which were ten clarions, which played an hour, night and morning, before his tent. Bertrand De Moleville, J.P. Andrews, Rymer's Fædera, Monstrelet, &c.
In the battle of Bareges, where a Knight, wounded the Duke of Clarence in the face, and the mace of Lord Buchan deprived him of his life.
“Benedict, Gregory, and John, the Council of Constance, sate to terminate this schism. Henry sent nine English prelates thither; one of whom, Richard Clifford, Bishop of London, was the first nominated by the Council to be Pope, and the first nominated him that succeeded, which was Otho Colonna, by the name of Martin the Fifth.” Medulla Historiæ Anclicanæ.
In the third year of Henry's Reign, four of them were taken; they made their appearance in the Thames on Candlemas day, but author finding that date no rhyme to “St. Peter's Chair,” took the liberty of treating the said Dolphins with an Easter or Whitsuntide peep at the grand gala of the London 'prentices.
Shakespeare.
“They hate to mingle in the filthy fray,
“Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour grows
“Imbittered more from peevish day to day.”
Thomson.
“Doom'd for his grandsire's guilt, poor Henry falls
“In civil jars, avenging judgment blows
“And royal wrongs, entail a people's woes;
“Henry unversed in wiles, more good than great,
“Drew on by meekness his disastrous fate.”
Savage.
Shakespeare.
Lee.
HENRY VI. surnamed OF WINDSOR.
Whose baby sceptre ruled a brace of thrones;
At Westminster and Paris, crown'd in both,
His subjects take the customary oath.
Sits loose, his English sceptre beaten down
By party and rebellious civil war,
He proves the splendor of a falling star!
During the infant Sovereign's tender years;
Bedford in France not destin'd long to stay,
In Henry's name supports the English sway.
The Dauphin, (who when meaning to be merry,
The English styled “the little King of Berry,”)
Still of his birthright kept encreasing hold,
Nor let his, surely just, pretence take cold.
And now to help him with most wond'rous aid,
From fields obscure, darts forth a village maid;
A shepherdess—her story you may mark,
Told wond'rously in “Southey's Joan of Arc;”
So well indeed—the Imp of Envy fetch it!
That I'm afraid in outline but to sketch it.
Has an historian now, who cannot write;
She's to be pitied, but unless I err,
The loss is more to me, than 'twas to her:
Well, be it so, whether I win or lose,
The tale I'll tell, and tell it how I chuse.
“About this time, at the siege of Orleans, fell the Earl of Salisbury by a cannon shot, being the first English gentleman ever slain thereby.” Camden.
JOAN of ARC.
A Tragedye fulle of Merrie Conceites.
Some a conjuror misname her;
And swear she by the Dauphin had
A little—but why here defame her?
Enemies I dare assure ye;
And she's no subject well I wis,
For trial by an English Jury.
At men of France,—could kill and eat 'em;
Yet contrived, I can't tell how,
To let a French young woman beat 'em.
Had nor learning, name, nor riches;
Yet did wonders, to be sure,
As ladies will who wear the breeches.
She by the Dauphin's friends was taught
To play her pretty patriotic part;
Well, if she was,
She own'd, that's poz,
Uncommon skill, and most consummate art.
Yet nightly visited, she said,
By visions, and by angel sights;
Which told her where, if she'd a mind,
A rare and rusty sword to find,
With power to put the English folks to rights.
She sent to William De la Pole,
Or, by the guardian pow'rs of France,
She swore to make his people dance,
And bang his body like a sack.
But Joan would speak her mind you know;
And, I know too, a shepherd wench is,
(Whether she English girl or French is),
Not sheepish when conversing with a foe.
Something she must have said, which form derides,
For De la pole
Thought it so droll,
He laugh'd enough to split his Suffolk sides.
But when his armour she began to batter,
The chief declared 'twas no such laughing matter;
Nor knew by what ill-natured names to christen her,
When, spite of his broad sword, she took him pris'ner.
Talbot, and Hungerford, Rampstone, and Scales,
Fretted like hottest gentlemen of Wales
The French ascribed the power of a God
To sturdy Joan, while Englishmen less civil,
Declared such treatment was the very Devil.
And thro' her valour Charles, it seems,
Was crown'd the Sovereign of France at Rheims
When by her brilliant star forsook,
A knight of Burgundy o'ercame poor Joan,
Sent her in irons to be tried at Roan.
Where can I without shame relate it?
Wicked transaction! how I hate it!
Soldiers and nobles, gentlemen of note,
Prelates,—the story's sticking in my throat,
A mean trap laid,
To catch the maid
And, foul befal the chiefs that so could harm her!
To all their everlasting shames,
(I burst to call them fifty names,)
Condemn'd the gallant damsel to the flames.
And was this most unmanly action done
Merely for putting martial harness on?
No, 'twas mere spite, one sees it in a minute,
Because she had most soundly thrash'd 'em in it.
French authors say she never slept in camp without two of her brothers to guard her; nor in a town without some female, of exemplary character, to bear her company.
Suffolk was taken by Renaud, a French gentleman, whom he first knighted before he would surrender to him.
The Regent, in his letter to the King and Council, speaks of Joan as a Disciple and Lymme of the Fiende that used fals Enchauntments and Sorcerie, the which strocke and discomfiture not onlie lessed in grete Pertie the nombre of youre people there, bote as well withdrowe the courage of the reminant in mervellous wyse.” Rymer's Fædera.
After the coronation, she embraced the King's knees, and with tears extorted by pleasure and tenderness, congratulated him in this singular and marvellous event.” Hume.
Each day we gain'd a foe or lost a friend;
Each day our gallic fortune met reverse,
And bad news only came to herald worse.
King Henry some time after this got married,
A match which gave his subjects little pleasure,
For all his wishes, save the Queen, miscarried,
And folks grew discontented out of measure.
The people laid the good Duke Humphrey's death;
His nephew Beaufort 'twere as just to deem
An agent too,—his constant wrangling strife,
Embitter'd the deceased protector's life.
Beaufort not long survived, at it should seem
And left, sans sign of grace, this world's unequal dream.
Affairs in France proceed as ill as ever,
Normandy, Gascony, their interests sever;
While Somerset in France is losing ground,
At home dissentions and distrust abound.
The Duke of York that flame 'gins light,
Which, fed by Roses red and white,
Produced to hundreds, then unborn,
Many a sharp and burning thorn;
Suffolk is banished; on his way a friend
Of York's, turn'd pirate, as 'tis said,
Makes Suffolk shorter by the head.
When the Dauphin, after being crowned, was advised to demolish the Regent's decent monument of black marble, “Let him repose”, said the generous monarch, “in peace, and be thankful that he does repose; were he awake, he would make the stoutest among us tremble.”
Cardinal Beaufort had been a Bishop fifty years; he left an illegitimate daughter, and founded the Abbey of Saint Cross, at Winton; as Legate from Rome, and as an ambitious meddling Priest, he was universally dreaded. He survived his uncle, the good Duke, whom he had greatly persecuted, but a few days.
Soon after having been seized by the Queen's party on a charge of treason, he was found dead in his bed. His wife Eleanor had been ignominiously punished on a charge of sorcery, and was not permitted to enjoy her jointure after her husband's death. The Duke has the credit of having founded the Bodliean Library.
“Lord of Misrule,” comes famed Jack Cade;
And thus the essence of his doctrine ran,
And, thus inscribed, his standard graced the van:
“When Adam delv'd,
“And Eve span,
“Who was then
“A Gentleman?”
With Johnny decent dress or education
Were 'clep'd high treason 'gainst the nation;
And every mortal that could read or spell,
By axe or halter swang or fell.
For taking peoples nobs off, Jack took pride in:
Yet changed his tone,
Just as his own
Was going to be cropp'd by Mister Iden;
Was, by King Henry, dubb'd Sir Alexander.
“Now am I master of London.” said Cade, striking his staff upon London-stone. He had been a dependant on Sir Thomas Dacre, in Sussex, and lately returned from France, whither he had fled in consequence of having murdered a woman and her child. Rymer.
And we lose Talbot and the valiant Lisle:
Now York and Lancaster with fury glow,
And Roses, red and white, alternate blow.
York heads St. Alban's battle, and the King,
Wounded, defeated, and in rebel hands,
Begins, as Avon's swan doth sweetly sing,
To envy peasants on his humblest lands.
The Duke of York protector they create,
And on a thread depends King Henry's fate;
Next year the new protector is displaced,
And Henry, once more, with dominion graced:
Now mark a strange reverse, the Frenchmen land
At Sandwich, fifteen thousand from their band
In Devonshire and Cornwal too, to make
Reprisals on old England they begin,
And unprotected spoil they burn or take;
Thus have we war without, and war within.
York, at Bloreheath, in sanguinary fight,
Depress'd the red rose, to exalt the white;
At Ludlow battle Henry's fortune led,
To crush the white and elevate the red;
A fatal field to Harry and his reign.
When treacherous Ruthyn, most disloyal Grey,
Deserting, changed the fortune of the day,
The King again is prisoner, and the crown
Decreed to pass to York's descendants down;
But martial Margaret, on Wakefield's plains,
Her husband's honor manfully regains;
York, late triumphant, fierce defeat appals,
And crimsoned o'er, “the white rose leader falls.”
Edward his son his better fortune tries,
And fickle vict'ry from Henry flies;
The Queen again essays the doubtful field,
And now once more the white rose banners yield.
This second battle of St. Alban's fought,
Redeem'd the captive King, but still it brought
No true advantage:—London chose to name
Edward of York their Sovereign, he came:
The shadow only of poor Hal remain'd,
Who from this time in substance never reigned.
After events which Edward's life will tell,
By crooked Gloucester's sword King Henry fell.
Foil'd by his friends, and governed by his wife;
The last a foible you may often see
In other folks besides him, you, or me.
Eaton and Cambridge each a College owe
To Henry's bounty. Of no man the foe,
Unless it were himself, He deemed each woe
He suffered here, correction kindly sent
From Heaven, in lieu of future punishment,
A gracious earnest given to insure
Him bliss, where bliss can only long endure.
Queen Margaret founded Queen's College, Cambridge; Archbishop Chicheley, All Souls and Bernard's College, Oxon; and Wainfleet, Bishop of Winchester, founded Magdalen College there.
To a Ruffian who struck him in the face, while prisoner, he only said, “Forsooth you do wrong to strike your anointed King;” and when some ladies appeared at a masque with their necks apparelled too much like our modern fashion, he exclaimed with characteristic simplicity, “Fie, fie, for shame—in sooth you are to blame.”
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