Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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Wolsey's Last Interview with the King.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
Wolsey's Last Interview with the King.
You know that thick hot air before a storm,Heavy and lurid, when the very kine,
Languid and restless, switch their tails, and moan,
And paw the ground, impatient for the rain?
Such was the air that day around the Court.
The King was strangely silent: rang no bell,
Nor called his hounds, nor chid a lazy page,
Nor sent for hawks, nor touched his favourite lute;
But sat close at his books, walled in with rolls,
And abbey deeds, and old cathedral charts,
Nor wine nor pasty tasted all that morn.
'T was ominous of ill—of war with France,
Of news from Florence, message from the Doge,
Of Lanzknechts gathering in the German towns.
“Grind sword and spear,” I said; “roll cannon out!”
If Harry bide like this, 't is but the lull
Before the lion's leap—woe to his prey!
Ye abbots, tremble in your padded cells!
Warders of Calais, look to bar and bolt!
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Or a shrill archer's horn, that bids you turn,
Foretell a bitter rain of stinging steel,
And “Ho for Merry England!” stir French air.
What! Wolsey not at Court for three long days?
It bodeth ill for some: that heavy axe
Had best be ground, and crimson block be fit,
For death and doom. But hark! a distant shout
And trumpets scarce so confident as once.—
He comes, the trusty one—the Cardinal.
“Room for my lord!” the boastful heralds cry.
Cross-bearers, see, and lusty halberdmen,
To every scarlet man a gilded axe.—
Yes, there his great red hat and the broad seal,
The red-trapped mules, the stately men-at-arms,
Close steel from top to toe, the laughing boys,
The solemn priests, with cope and chasuble,
And, all but last, that very humble soul,
The true apostle of these later days,
With eyes malign, and close-clenched, fleshless lips,
And body swollen out with greed and pride.
Disdaining earth and air, no glance for heaven;
Not e'en one gracious look for those who wait,
Though knight and noble every single one.
“Angels are proud?”—Yes, firstly Lucifer,
Who by that fell. Upon his wicked thumb
See that great ruby; 't was a Percy's once.
That sapphire at his neck adorned a pyx
At Durham ere they stripped the sacred shrine.
The nuns of Ely made that gold cloth pouch
That shines with diamonds. Bartimæus sure
Might beg some hours ere he could buy those gems.
And mark! all down the staircase as he comes
The plumes sink low as corn before the wind;
Old, young, and rich, and poor, and fool, and wise,
Bend like a forest when the sou'-west blows,
All to'ards the Red Hat—every face one way.
For where this Wolsey smiles is fortune, wealth,
And where he frowns despair and penury.—
But mark as rise the pliant servile herds,
And match each face behind with that before:
Here joy and worship, there but fear and hate;
The coming murder in the eye of some,
And hands on dagger-hilts, and fists that clench:
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These are the slaves that bend their brainless heads
To this base butcher's son, this Cardinal,
This robber of the Church, this murderer.—
Why, who stoop lower when Christ's self descends
In very flesh, and the bell duly rings
For the world's homage? Prush!—the lazar crone
Could not cringe deeper; but behind Red Hat
Some whisper gibes and grind out muttered threats;
Hands press to secret knife and pistolet,
Half drawn in mute despair of a revenge.—
And lo! the placid priest with upraised hand
Blessed all the kneeling crowd of spurious friends,
Lifted the great black curtain, and passed in.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |