The Battaile of Agincourt, The Miseries of Queene Margarite, Nimphidia, The Quest of Cinthia, The Shepheards Sirena, The Moone-calfe, Elegies

The battaile of Agincourt Fought by Henry the fift of that name, King of England, against the whole power of the French: vnder the raigne of their Charles the sixt, anno Dom. 1415. The miseries of Queene Margarite, the infortunate wife, of that most infortunate King Henry the sixt. Nimphidia, the court of Fayrie. The quest of Cinthia. The shepheards Sirena. The moone-calfe. Elegies vpon sundry occasions. By Michaell Drayton, Esquire.
Drayton, Michael, 1563-1631.
1631
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The battaile of Agincourt Fought by Henry the fift of that name, King of England, against the whole power of the French: vnder the raigne of their Charles the sixt, anno Dom. 1415. The miseries of Queene Margarite, the infortunate wife, of that most infortunate King Henry the sixt. Nimphidia, the court of Fayrie. The quest of Cinthia. The shepheards Sirena. The moone-calfe. Elegies vpon sundry occasions. By Michaell Drayton, Esquire.
Drayton, Michael, 1563-1631.
[12], 908 [i.e. 308] p.
printed by A[ugustine]. M[athewes]. for William Lee, and are to be sold at the Turkes Head in Fleete-Streete, next to the Miter and Phænix,
London :
1631.
In verse.
Printer's name from STC.
P. 308 misnumbered 908.
Signatures: A-V.
Reproduction of original in the Folger Shakespeare Library.
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Margaret, -- of Anjou, Queen, consort of Henry VI, King of England, 1430-1482 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
Agincourt (France), Battle of, 1415 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
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THE BATTAILE OF AGINCOVRT.
FOVGHT BY HENRY THE FIFT of that name, King of England, againſt the whole power of the French: vnder the Raigne of their CHARLES the ſixt, Anno Dom. 1415.
The Miſeries of Queene MARGARITE, the infortunate Wife, of that moſt infortunate King HENRY the ſixt.
NIMPHIDIA, the Court of Fayrie.
The Queſt of CINTHIA.
The Shepheards SIRENA.
The Moone-Calfe.
Elegies vpon ſundry occaſions.
By MICHAELL DRAYTON, Eſquire.
LONDON, Printed by A. M. for WILLIAM LEE, and are to be ſold at the Turkes Head in Fleete-Streete, next to the Miter and Phaenix. 1631.
TO you thoſe Nobleſt of Gentlemen of theſe Renowned Kingdomes of Great Britaine: who in theſe declining times, haue yet in your braue boſomes the ſparkes of that ſprightly fire, of your couragious Anceſtors; and to this houre retaine the ſeedes of their magnanimitie and Greatneſſe, who out of the vertue of your mindes, loue and cheriſh neglected Poeſie, the delight of
Bleſſed ſoules, And the language of Angels. To you are theſe my Poems dedicated.
By your truely affectioned Seruant, MICHAELL DRAYTON.
THE VISION OF BEN. IOHNSON, ON THE MVSES OF HIS FRIEND M. DRAITON.
IT hath beene queſtion'd MICHAEL, if I be
A Friend at all; or, if at all, to thee:
Becauſe, who make the queſtion, haue not ſeene
Thoſe ambling viſits, paſſe in verſe, betweene
Thy Muſe, and mine, as they expect. 'Tis true:
You haue not writ to me, nor I to you;
And, though I now begin, 'tis not to rub
Hanch againſt Hanch, or raiſe a riming Club
About the towne: this reck'ning I will pay,
Without conferring ſymboles. This's my day▪
It was no Dreame! I was awake and ſaw!
Lend me thy voice, O FAME, that I may draw
Wonder to truth! and haue my viſion ho
•
rld,
Hot from thy trumpet, round about the world▪
I ſaw a Beauty from the Sea to riſe,
That al Earth look'd on; & that earth, all Eyes!
It caſt a beame as when the chear-full Sun
Is fayre got vp, and day ſome houres begun!
And fill'd an Orbe as circular as heauen!
The Orbe was cut foorth into Regions ſea
•••
And thoſe ſo ſweet, & well proportion'd parts,
As it had bin the circle of the Arts!
When, by thy bright Ideas ſtanding by,
I found it pure, and perfect Poeſy,
Ther read I, ſtreight, thy learned Legends three,
Heard the ſoft airs, between our ſwains & thee,
Which made me thinke, the old Theocritus,
Our Rurall Virgil come, to pipe to vs!
But then, thy▪epiſtolar Heroick Songs,
Their loues, their quarrels, iealouſies & wrongs
Did all ſo ſtrike me, as I cry'd, who can
With vs be call'd, the Naſo, but this man?
And looking vp I ſaw Mineruaes fowle,
Pearch'd ouer head, the wiſe Athenian Owle:
I thought thee thē our Orpheus, that wouldſt try
Like him, to make the ayre, one volary:
And I had ſtil'd thee Orpheus, but before
My lips could forme the voyce, I heard that rore,
And rouze, the marching of a mighty force,
Drums againſt drums, theneighing of the horſe,
The fights, the cryes, & wondring at the iarres
I ſaw, and read, it was thy Barons Warres!
O, how in thoſe, doſt thou inſtruct theſe times,
That Rebels actions, are but valiant crimes!
And caried, though with ſhout, & noiſe cōfeſſe
A wild and an authoriz'd wickedneſſe!
Sayſt thou ſo, Lucan? But thou ſeornſt to ſtay
Vnder one title. Thou haſt made thy way
And flight about the Ile, well neare, by this
In thy admired Periegeſis,
Or vniuerſall circumduction
Of all that reade thy Poly-Olbyon.
That reade it? that are rauiſh'd! ſuch was I
With euery ſong, I ſweare, and ſo would dye:
But that I heare, againe thy Drum to beate
A better cauſe, and ſtrike the braueſt heate
That euer yet did fire the Engliſh blood!
Our right in France! if rightly vnderſtood.
There, thou art Homer! Pray thee, vſe the ſtile
Thou haſt deſeru'd: And let me read the while
Thy Catalogue of Ships, exceeding his,
Thy liſt of aydes, and force, for ſo it is:
The Poets act! and for his Country's ſake
Braue are the Muſters, that the Muſe wil make.
And whe he ſhips thē where to vſe their Arms
How do his trūpets breath! What loud alarms!
Looke, how we read the Spartans were inflamd
With bold Tyrtaeus verſe, when thou art nam'd
So ſhall our Engliſh Youth vrge on, and cry
An Agin-court, an Agin-court, or dye.
This booke! it is a Catechiſme to fight,
And will be bought of euery
•
ord and Knight,
That can but read; who cannot, may in proſe
Get broken pieces, and fight well by thoſe.
The miſeries of Margaret the Queene
Of tender eyes will more be wept, then ſeene:
I feele it by mine owne, that ouerflow,
And ſtop my ſight, in euery line I goe.
But then refreſhed by thy Fayrie Court,
I looke on Cynthia, and Syrenas ſport,
As on two flowry Carpets, that did riſe,
And with their graſsy green reſtor'd mine eyes
Yet giue mee leaue, to wonder at the birth
Of thy ſtrange Moon-Calfe, both thy ſtraine of mirth
And Goſſip-got acquaintāce, as to vs,
Thou hadſt brought Lapland or old Cobalus,
Empuſa, Lamia, or ſome Monſter more
Then Affricke knew, or the full Grecian ſtore!
I gratulate it to thee, and thy Ends,
To all thy vertuous and well choſen Friends,
Onely my loſſe is, that I am not there:
And till I worthy am to wiſh I were,
I call the world, that enuies me, to ſee
If I can be a Friend, and Friend to thee▪
VPON THE BATTAILE OF AGINCOVRT, VVRITTEN BY HIS DEARE FRIEND MICHAEL DRAYTON Eſquire.
HAd Henryes name beene only met in Proſe,
Recorded by the humble wit of thoſe
Who write of leſſe then Kings: who Victory,
As calmely mention, as a Pedigree,
The French alike with vs, might view his name
His actions too, and not confeſſe a ſhame:
Nay, grow at length, ſo boldly troubleſome,
As to diſpute if they were ouercome.
But thou haſt wakt their feares: thy fiercer hand
Hath made their ſhame as laſting, as their land.
By thee againe they are compeld to know
How much of Fate is in an Engliſh foe.
They bleed afreſh by thee, and thinke the harme
Such; they could rather wiſh, t'were Henries arme,
Who thankes thy painefull quill; and holds it more
To be thy Subiect now, then King before.
By thee he conquers yet; when eu'ry wora
Yeelds him a fuller honour, then his ſword.
Strengthens his actions againſt time: by thee,
He Victory, and France, doth hold in fee,
So well obſeru'd he is, that eu'ry thing,
Speakes him not only Engliſh, but a King.
And France, in this, may boaſt her fortunate,
That ſhe was worthy of ſo braue a hate.
Her ſuffering is her gayue. How well we ſee
The Battaile labour'd worthy him, and thee,
Where we may Death diſcouer with delight,
And entertaine a pleaſure from a fight.
Where wee may ſee how well it doth become
The brau'ry of a Prince to ouer come.
What Povver is a Poet: that can add
A life to Kings, more glorious, then they had
For what of Henry, is vnſung by thee,
Henry doth want of his Eternity.
I. Vaughan.
TO MY VVORTHY FRIEND Mr. MICHAELL DRAYTON vpon his Poems.
SONNET.
VVHat lofly Trophyes of eternall Fame,
England may vaunt thou do'ſt erect to her,
Yet forced to confeſſe, (yea bluſh for ſhame,)
That ſhe no honour doth on thee confer
How't would become her, would ſhe learne to know
Once to requite thy Heauen-borne Art and zeale,
Or at the leaſt her ſelfe but thankefull ſhowe
Her ancient Glories that do'ſt still reueale:
Sing thou of Loue, thy ſtrains (like powerful charmes)
Enrage the boſome with an amorous fire,
And when againe thou lik'ſt to ſing of Armes
The Coward thou with courage do'ſt inſpire:
But when thou com'ſt to touch our Sinfull Times,
Then Heauen farre more then Earth ſpeakes in thy (Rimes.)
Iohn Reynolds.
THE BATTAILE OF AGJN COVRT.
CEas'd was the Thunder of thoſe Drums view,
which wak'd,
Th'affrighted French their miſeries to
At Edwards name, which to that houre
ſtill quak'd,
Their The law Salique was, that women ſhould no
•
i
•
herite; wh
•
law Edward the third
•
his right to
•
the Crowne by his mot
•
cancelled w
•
his ſword: ſo much as at that ti
•
made way his clarme, though in France th
•
law bee inviolable.
Salique Tables to the ground that threw,
Yet were the Engliſh courages not ſlak'd,
But the ſame Bowes, and the ſame Blade
•
they drew,
With the ſame Armes thoſe weapons to aduance,
Which lately lopt the Flower de liz of France.
Henry the fift, that man made out of fire,
Th'Imperiall Wreath plac'd on his Princely browe;
His Lyons courage ſtands not to enquire
Which way old Henry came by it; or how
At Pomfret Caſtell Richard ſhould expire:
What's that to him? he hath the Garland now;
Let Henry th
•
ſo named
•
Town in L
•
colne Shi
•
where he borne.
Bullenbrooke beware how he it wan,
For Henry the fift borne Munmou
•
in W
••••
.
Munmouth meanes to keepe it if he can.
That glorious day, which his great Father got,Dowglas in that battaile
•
ew three in the Kings
•
oat A
•
mo
••
Vpon the Percies; calling to their ayde
The Valiant Dowglas, that Herculian Scot,
When for his Crowne at Shrewsbury they playde,
Had quite diſhartned eu'ry other plot,
And all thoſe Tempeſts quietly had layd,
That not a cloud did to this Prince appeare,
No former King had ſeene a skie ſo cleere.
Yet the rich Clergy felt a fearefull Rent,
In the full boſome of their Church (whilſt ſhe
A Monarcheſſe, immeaſurably ſpent,
Leſſe then ſhe was, and thought ſhe might not be:)Wickliffe a learned Diuine, and the greateſt Propeſtant of thoſe times.
By Wickliffe and his followers; to preuent
The growth of whoſe opinions, and to free
That foule Aſperſion, which on her they layd,
She her ſtrong'ſt wits muſt ſtir vp to her ayde.
When preſently a Parliament is cal'd
To ſet things ſteddy, that ſtood not ſo right,
But that thereby the poore might be inthral'd,
Should they bee vrg'd by thoſe that were of might,
That in his Empire, equitie enſtaul'd,
It ſhould continue in that perfect plight;
Wherefore to Leſter, he t
•
' Aſſembly drawes,A Parliament at Leiceſter.
There to Inact thoſe neceſſary Lawes.
In which one Bill (mongſt many) there was red,
Againſt the generall, and ſuperfluous waſte
Of temporall Lands▪ (the Laity that had fed)
Vpon the Houſes of Religion caſte,
Which for defence might ſtand the Realme in ſted▪
Where it moſt needed, were it rightly plac'd;
Which made thoſe Church-men generally to feare,
For all this calme, ſome tempeſt might be near.
And being right skilfull, quickly they foreſawe,
No ſhallow braines this buſineſſe went about:
Therefore with cunning they muſt cure this flawe;
For of the King they greatly ſtood in doubt,
Leſt him to them, their oppoſites ſhould drawe;
Something muſt be thruſt in, to thruſt that out:
And to this end they wiſely muſt prouide,
One, this great Engine, Clearkly that could guide.
Chichley, that ſate on Canterburies See,Henry Chichly ſucceeding Arund
•
ll (late dec
••
ſed) in that See.
A man well ſpoken, grauely ſtout, and wiſe,
The moſt ſelect (then thought of that could be,)
To act what all the Prelacy deuiſe;
(For well they knew, that in this bus'neſſe, he
Would to the vtmoſt ſtraine his faculties;)
Him lift they vp, their maine ſtrēgth, to proue
By ſome cleane ſlight this So they termed it as unworthy of a better title. libell to remoue.
His braine in labour, gladly foorth would bring
Somewhat, that at this needfull time might fit,
The ſprightly humour of this youthfull King,
If his inuention could but light of it;
His working ſoule pro
••
cteth many a thing,
Vntill at length out of the ſtrength of wit,
He found a warre with France muſt bee the vvay
To daſh this Bill, elſe threatning their decay.
Whilſt vacant minds ſate in their breaſts at ea
•
And the remembrance of their Conqueſts paſt,
Vpon their fanſies doth ſo ſtrongly ſeaſe,
As in their teeth their Cowardiſe is caſt,
Rehearſing to them thoſe victorious dayes▪
The deeds of which, beyond their names ſhould la
•
That after ages, reading what was thei
•
s,
Shall hardly thinke, thoſe men had any Heires.
And to this point, premeditating well,
A ſpeech, (which chanc'd, the very point to cleau
•
Aym'd, whatſoeuer the ſucceſſe befell
That it no roomth ſhould for a ſecond leaue,
More of this Tittle then in hand to tell,
If ſo his skill him did not much deceiue,
And 'gaiuſt the King in publike ſhould appeare
•
Thus frames his ſpeech to the Aſſembly there.
PA
•
don my boldnes, my Liedge Soueraigne L
•
The Archbiſhop of Canterburies Oration, to t
••
King
•
•
nd Parliament at Leceſter
•
in the
〈…〉
following Stanzaes.
Nor your Dread preſence let my ſpeech offer
Your milde attention, fauourably affoord,
Which, ſuch cleere vigour to my ſpirit ſhall lend,
That▪ it ſhall ſet an edge vpon your Sword,
To my demand▪ and make you to attend,
Asking you, why▪ men train'd to Armes you
••
Your right in France yet ſuffering ſtill to ſleep
•
Can ſuch a Prince be in an Iland pent,
An
•
poorely thus ſhut vp within a Sea.
When as your right includes that large extent,
To
〈…〉
Alpes your Empire forth to lay,
Can he be Engliſh borne▪ and is not bent
To follow you, appoint you but the way,
We'
•
e wade if we want ſhips, the waues to climme,
In one hand hold ou
•
ſwords, with th'other ſwim.
What time cōtrouls your braue great grādſirs claimThe Cr
••••
of France deſcended vpon Edward the third, from Iſabell
•
u Mother, Daughtar and ſu
••••
•
ing heire, to King Philip of France named the faire.
To th'Realme of France, from Philip nam'd the faire
Which to King Edward by his mother came,
Queene Iſaebel; that Philips onely heire,
Which this ſhort intermiſſion doth not maime,
But if it did, as he, ſo yours repaire;
That where his blood in right preuailed not,
In ſpight of hell, yet by his Sword he got.
What ſet the Conquerour, by their Salique Lawes,
Thoſe poore decrees their Parliaments could make,
He entred on in iuſtneſſe of his Cauſe,
To make good, what he dar'd to vndertake,
And once in Action he ſtood not to pauſe,
But in vpon them like a Tempeſt brake,
And downe their buildings with ſuch fury bare,
That they from miſts diſſolued were to ayre.
As thoſe braue Edwards, Father, and the Sonne▪
••
Conquer'd Creſſy▪
with ſucceſſefull lucke,
Where firſt all France (as at one game) they wonne,
Neuer two Warriours, ſuch a Battaile ſtrucke,
That when the bloody diſmall fight was done,
Here in one heape, there in another Rucke
Princes and peaſants lay together mixt,
The Engliſh Swords, no difference knew betwixt.
There Lewe
•
King of Beame was ouerthrowne,
With valiant Charles, of France the yonger brother
Iames, Daulp
••••
of Viennoies. The Dukes of L
••
raine & Burbon. The Earles of Aumerl
•
, Savoye, Mountbilliard Flaunders, Nevers, &
••
arcourt. King Iohn of France and Philip his ſon taken by the Blacke Prince, at the Battaile of Poyteers, brought Priſoners to
••
land. Iohn of Cleumount. Peter of Burbon. Examples of ſuch as haue aduan
•
d themſelues to the Crowne of France, againſt the ſtrict letter of the lawe Salique, in two following Stanzaes. A Daulphine and two Dukes, in pieces hewen;
To them ſixe Earles lay ſlaine by one another;
her the grand Prior of France, fetcht his laſt groa
•
Two Archbiſhops the boiſtrous croud doth ſmothe
•
There fifteene thouſand of their Gentrie dy'de▪
With each two Souldiers, ſlaughtered by his ſid
•
Nor the Blacke Prince at Poyters battaile fough
•
Short of his Father, and himſelfe before,
Her King and Prince, that priſoners hither broug
•
From forty thouſand, weltring in their gore,
That in the worlds opinion it was thought,
France from that inſtant could ſubſiſt no more,
The * Marſhall, and the * Conſtable, there
•
laine,
Vnder the Standard, in that battaile ta'ne.
Nor is this claime for women to ſucceed,
(Gainſt which they would your right to France de
•
ba
•
A thing ſo new, that it ſo much ſhould need
Such oppoſition, as though fetcht from farre,
By Pepin this is prou'd, as by a deed,
Depoſing Cheldricke, by a fatall warre,
By Blythyld dat'd his title to aduance,
Daughter to Clothar, firſt ſo nam'd of France.
Hugh Capet, who from Charles of Lorayne too
•
The Crown of France, that he in peace might raig
•
As heire to Lingard to her title ſtooke,
Who was the daughter of King Charlemaine,
So holy Lowes poring on his booke,
Whom that Hugh Capet made his heire againe,
From Ermingard his Gra
•
da
••
, claimd the crown,
Duke Charles his caughter, wrongfully put down.
Nor thinke my Liege a fitter time then this,
You could haue found your title to aduance,
•
t the full height, when now the faction is,
•
'wixt Burgoyne, and the houſe of Orleance,
Your purpoſe you not poſſibly can miſſe,
•
for my Lord ſo luckily doth chance,
That whilſt theſe two in oppoſition ſtand,
You may haue time your Army there to land.
And if my fancy doe not ouerpreſſe,
•
y viſuall ſence, me thinkes in euery eye
•
ſee ſuch cheere, as of our good ſucceſſe
•
France hereafter ſeemes to Prophecie;
Thinke not my Soueraigne, my Alegiance leſſe
Quoth he; my Lords nor doe you miſaply
My words: thus long vpon this ſubiect ſpent,
Who humbly here ſubmit to your aſſent.
THis ſpeech of his, that powerful Engine prou'd
Then e'r our Fathers got▪ which rais'd vs hier,
The Clergies feare that quietly remou'd,
And into France transferd our Hoſtile fier,
•
made the Engliſh through the world belou'd,
•
hat durſt to thoſe ſo mighty things aſpire,
And gaue ſo cleare a luſter to our fame,
That neighboring nations trembled at our name.
When through the houſe, this rumor ſcarſely r
•
That warre with France propounded was againe▪
In all th'aſſembly there was not a man,
But put the proiect on with might and maine,
So great applauſe it generally wan,
That elſe no bus'neſſe they would entertaine,
As though their honour vtterly were loſt,
If this deſine ſhould any way be croſt.
So much mens minds now vpon France were ſ
•
That euery one doth with himſelfe forecaſt,
What might fall out this enterpriſe to let,
As what againe might giue it wings of haſt,
And for they knew▪ the French did ſtill abet
The Scot againſt vs, (which we vſ'd to taſt)
It queſtion'd was if it vvere fit or no;
To conquer them, ere we to France ſhould goe▪
Which Raulph then Earle of Weſtmerland propo
•
Ralph Neuill then warden of the Marches betwixt England and Scotland. An
•••
adag
•
He that will France wi
•
▪ muſt with Scotland firſt beginne. The Duke of Exceſter the Kings owne
••••
.
Quoth he with Scotland let vs firſt begin,
By which we are vpon the North inclos'd,
And lockt with vs, one Continent within,
Then firſt let Scotland be by vs diſpos'd,
And with more eaſe, yee ſpatious France may win
•
Elſe of our ſelues, ere we our ſhips can cleere,
To land in France; they will invade vs here.
Not ſo braue Neuill, Exceſter replies,
For that of one tvvo labours were to make,
For Scotland wholly vpon France relies;
Firſt Conquer France, and Scotland yee may take▪
•
is the French pay, the Scot to them that tyes,
That ſtopt, aſunder quickly ye ſhall ſhake,
The French and Scots; to France then firſt ſay I,
Firſt, firſt, to France then all the commons cry.
And inſtantly an Embaſſy is ſent,The firſt brea
•
h with France.
To Charles of France, to will him to reſtore
•
hoſe Territories, of whoſe large extent,
The Engliſh Kings were owners of before;
Which if he did not, and incontinent,
The King would ſet thoſe Engliſh on his ſhore,
That in deſpight of him, and all his might,
Should leaue their liues there, or redeeme his right.
Firſt Normandy, in his demaund he makes,
With Aquitane, a Dutchy no leſſe great,
Aniou, and Mayne, with Gaſcoyne which he takes,
Cleerely his owne, as many an Engliſh ſeat:The Countries demanded by the King of England.
With theſe proud France, he firſt of all awakes,
•
or their deliuery, giuing power to treat;
For vvell he knew, if Charles ſhould theſe reſtore,
No King of France was euer left ſo poore.
The King, and Daulphin, to his proud demand,
•
at he might ſee they no ſuch matter ment,
•
a thing ſitter for his youthfull hand;
•
Tunne of Paris Tennis Balls him ſent,The King and Daulphine of France, d
•••
deth the King of England.
•
tter himſelfe to make him vnderſtand,
•
riding his ridiculous intent:
•
And that was all the anſwere he could get,
Which more the King doth to this Conqueſt
•
he
•
.
That anſwering the Ambaſſadour, quoth he,
Thanks for my Bals, to Charles your Soueraign gi
•
Henry the fiſt anſwered for the Tennis Balles.
And thus Aſſure him, and his ſonne from me,
I'le ſ
•
nd him Bals, and Rackets if I liue,
That they ſuch R
•
c
•
et ſhall in Paris ſee,
When ouer line with B
••
dies I ſhall driue,The language of Tennis.
As that before the ſet be fully done,
France may (perhap) into the H
•
zzard runne▪
So little doth luxurious France fore ſee
By her diſdaine, vvhat ſhee vpon her drew:
In her moſt brau
••
y ſ
•
e
•
ing then to bee,
The puniſhment that ſhortly ſhould enſue,
Which ſo incenſt the Engliſh King, that he,
For full reuenge into that fury grew:
That thoſe three horro
•
s, Famine, Sword, and F
•
Could not ſuffice to ſatisfie his ire.
In all mens mouthes novv was no word but w
•
As though no thing had any other name;
And folke would aske of them ariu'd from farre,
What forces were preparing whence they came
•
Gainſt any bus'neſſe 'twas a lawfull barre
To ſay for France they were; and 'tvvas a ſhame
For any man to take in hand to doe
Ought, but ſomething that did belong thereto
•
Old Armours are dreſt▪ vp, and new are made
•
Iacks are in vvorking, and ſtrong ſhirts of Male,
He ſcovvers an * old Foxe, he a Blades accounted of the beſt▪ tem
•
er▪
bilbow blade,
Novv Shields and Targets onely are for ſale;
Who works for wa
•
re, now▪ thriueth by his Trade▪
The brown-Bill, and the Battle-Axe preuaile:
The curious Fletcher fits his well-ſtrung Bowe,
And his barb'd Arrow which he ſets to ſhowe.
Tents and Pauillions in the fields are pitcht,
(
••
full wrought vp their Roomthyneſſe to try)
Windowes, and Towers, with Enſines are inricht,
With ruffing Banners, that doe braue the skie,
Wherewith the wearied Labourer bewitcht
To ſee them thus hang wauing in his eye:
His toylſome burthen from his back doth throw,
And bids them work that wil, to France hee'l go.
Rich Sadles for the Light-horſe and the Bard,Armed at all poynts▪
For to be brau'ſt ther's not a man but plyes,
Plumes, Bandroules, a
•
d Caparizons prepar'd;
Whether of two, and men at Armes diuiſe,
The Armings for the thigh and legge- Greaues, or * Guyſes were the ſurer guard,
The Armings for the arme and ſhoulder. Vambraſſe, or the Pouldron, they ſhould prize,
And where a ſtand of Pikes plac't cloſe, or large,
Which way to take aduantage in the Charge,
One traynes his Horſe, another trayles his Pike.
He with his Pole▪ Axe, practiſeth the fight,
The Bowe-man (which no Country hath the like)
With his ſheafe Arrow, proueth by his might,
How many ſcore off, he his Foe can ſtrike,
Yet not to draw aboue his boſomes height:
The Trumpets ſound the Charge and the Retreat,
The bellowing Drum, the March again doth beat,
Cannons vpon their Carriage mounted are,
Whoſe Battery France muſt feele vpon her Walls,
The Engineer prouiding the Petar,
To breake the ſtrong Percullice, and the Balls
Of Wild fire deuis'd to throw from farre,
To burne to ground their Pallaces and Halls:
Some ſtudying are, the Scale which they had got,Great Ordnance then
•
u
•
newly in
•••
.
Thereby to take the Leuell of their Shot.
The man in yeares preacht to his youthfull ſo
•
Preſt to this Warre, as they ſate by the fire,
What deedes in France were by his Father done,
To this attempt to worke him to aſpire,
And told him there, how hee an Enſigne vvonne,
Which many a yeare was hung vp in the Quire:
And in the Batrell, where he made his way,
How many French-men he ſtruck down that day
•
The good old man with teares of ioy would tell,
In Creſſy field, vvhat prizes Edward play'd,
As what at Poycteers the Blacke Prince befell,
How like a L
•
on hee about him layd:
In deedes of Armes, how Audely did excell,
For their olde ſins▪ how they the French-men paid
•
How brauely Baſſet did be haue him there:
Hovv Oxford charg'd the Van, Warwick the reare
And Boy, quoth he, I haue heard thy Grandſire ſ
•
That once he did an Engliſh Archer ſee,
Who ſhooting at a French twelue ſcore away,
Quite through the body, ſtucke him to a Tree;
Vpon their ſtrengths a
•••
ng his Crowne might lay:
Such wer
•
the men of that braue age quoth hee,
When with his
•••
he at his foe did driue,
Murrian and ſcalpe down to the teeth could riue,
The ſcarlet Iudge might now ſet vp his Mule,
With neighing Steeds the Street ſo peſtred are,
For where he went in Weſtminſter to rule,
On his Tribunall ſeate the man of vvarre,
The Lawyer to his chambe
•
doth recule,
For hee hath now no bus'neſſe at the barre:
But to make Wills, and Teſtaments for thoſe,
That were for France, their ſubſtance to diſpoſe▪
By this, the Councell of the War had met,
And had at large of euery thing diſcuſt;
And the graue Clergie had with them beene ſet,
To warrant vvha they vndertooke was iuſt,
And as for monies that to be no let,
They, bad the King for that to them to truſt:
The Church to pawn, would ſee her chalice laid,
E'r ſhe would leaue one Pyoner vnpayd.
From Milford Hauen, to the mouth of Tweed,
Halfe th
•••••
cutt of the Iſland, from the Spaniſh to the German Ocean.
Ships of all burthen to Southampton brought,
For there the King the Rendeuous decreed
To beare abroad his moſt victorious fraught:
The place from whence he with the greateſt ſpeed,
Might land in France▪
(of any that was thought)
And with ſucceſſe vpon that lucky ſhore,
VVhere his great Grandſire landed had before.Edward the third.
But for he found thoſe veſſels were too few,
That into France his Army ſhould conuay:
He ſent to Belgia, whoſe great ſtore he knew,
Might now at need ſupply him euery way,
His bounty ample; as the vvindes that blew,
Such Barkes for Portage out of eu'ry bay
In Holland, Zeland, and in Flanders, brings;
As ſpred the wide The Soa betwixt France and England
••
called. A Catalogue of the S
•
ps in
••
Stanzaes. ſleeue with their canuaſe wings▪
But firſt ſeuen Ships from Rocheſter are ſent,
The narrovv Seas, of all the French to ſweepe;
All men of vvar with ſcripts of Mart that went,
And had command, the Coaſt of France to keepe:
The comming of a Nauie to preuent,
And view what ſtrength was in the Bay of Deepe:
And if they found it like to come abroad,
To doe their beſt to fire it in the Road.
The Bonauenture, George, and the Expence,
The names of the Kings 7. Ships of War
Three as tall ſhips, as e'r did Cable tewe,
The Henry Royall, at her parting thence,
Like the Huge Ruck from Gillingham that flevv:An Indian Bird ſo great, that ſhe is able to carrie an Elephant.
The Antilop, the Elephant, Defence,
Bottoms as good as euer ſpred a clue:
All hauing charge, their voyage hauing bin,
Before Southampton to take Souldiers
••
.
Tvvelue Merchants ſhips, of mighty burthen all,
New of the
•
tocks, that had beene rig'd for Stoad,
Riding in Thames, by Lymehouſe, and Blackwall,
That ready were their Merchandize to load,
Straightly commanded by the Admirall,
At the ſame Port to ſettle their aboad▪
And each of theſe a Pinnis at command.
To put her fraught conueniently to land.
Eight goodly Ships, ſo Briſtow ready made,
Which to the King they bountifully
•
ent,
With Spaniſh Wines which they for ballaſt lade,
In happy ſpeed of his braue Voyage ment,
Hoping this Conqueſt ſhould enlarge their Trade,
And there▪ withall a rich and ſpacious Tent:
And as this Fleete the Seuerne Seas doth ſtem,
Fiue more from Padſtowe came along with them.
The Hare of Loo a right good ſhip well knowne,
The yeare before that twice the ſtraits had paſt,
Two wealthy Spaniſh Merchants did her owne,
Who then but lately had repair'd her waſt;
For from her Decke a Pyrate ſhee had blowne,
After a long Fight, and him tooke at laſt:
And from Mounts Bay ſixe more, that ſtil in ſight
Walted with her before the Ile of Wight.
From Plymmouth next came in the Blazing Star,
And fiery Dragon to take in their fraught;
With other foure, eſpeciall men of warre,The Bay of Portugal
•
of the high working S
•
that is know
••
.
That in the Bay of Portugall had fough,
And though returning from a Voyage farre,
Stem'd that rough ſea, whē at the high'ſt it wroght▪
With theſe of Dertmouth ſeu'n good ſhips ther were
The golden Creſſant in their tops that beare▪
So Lyme, three Ships into the Nauy ſent,
Of which the Sampſon ſcarce a mon'th before,
Had ſprung a Planke, and her maine Maſt had ſpent▪
With extreme perill that ſhee got to ſhore;
Wich them fiue other out of Waymouth went,
Which by Southampton, vvere made vp a ſcore:
With thoſe that rode (at pleaſure) in the Bay,
And that at Anchor before Portſmouth lay.
Next theſe, Newcaſtle furniſheth the Fleet
With nine good Hoyes of neceſſary vſe;
The Daniſh Pyrats▪ valiantly they beet,
Offring to Sacke them as they ſayl'd from Sluce:
Sixe Hulks from Hul at Humbers mouth them meet,
Which had them oft acompanied to A country
••
ng vpon
•
e
•
aſt Sea, ordering vpon Poland.
•
amous for
••
erring fiſhng.
Pruce,
Fiue more from * Yurmouth falling them among▪
That had for fiſhing beene prepared long.
The Cow of Harwitch neuer put to flight,
For Hides and Furres, late to Muſco
•
ia bound,
Of the ſame Port, another nam'd the Spight,
That in her comming lately, from the Sound,
After a two dayes-ſtill▪ continued fight,
Had made three Flemings run themſelues on ground;
With three neat Flee-boats which with thē do tak
•
Sixe ſhips of Sandwich vp the Fleet to make.
Nine ſhips for the Nobility were there,
•
ydes to the
•
ing by the
•
obility.
Of able men, the enterprize to ayde,
VVhich to the King moſt liberally they lent,
At their owne charge, and bountifully payd,
Northumberland, and Weſtmerland in ſent,
Foureſcore at Armes a peece, themſelues, and layd
At
•
ix ſcore Archers each, as Suffolke ſhowes,
Twenty tall men at Armes, with forty Bowes.
Warwicke, and Stafford leauied at no leſſe,
Then Noble Suffolke, nor doe offer more,
Of men at Armes, and Archers which they preſſe▪
Of their owne Tenants Arm'd wite their own ſtore;
Their forwardneſſe foreſhewes their good ſucceſſe,
In ſuch a Warre▪ as had not beene before:
And other Barrons vnder Earles that were,
Yet dar'd with them an equall charge to beare.
Darcy, and Camois, zealous for the King,
Louell, Fitzwater, Willoughby, and Roſſe,
Berkely, Powis, Burrell, faſt together cling;
Seymor and Saint-Iohn for the bus'neſſe cloſſe,
Each twenty Horſe, and forty foote doe bring,
More, to nine hundred mounting in the groſſe
In thoſe nine Ships, and
•
itly them beſtow'd,
Which with the other fall into the Road.
From Holland, Zeland, and from Flanders won,
By weekely pay, threeſcore twelue Bottoms came,
From fifty vpward; to fiue hundred Tunne;
For eu'ry vſe a Marriner could name,
Whoſe glittering Flags againſt the Radient Sunne,
•
how'd as the Sea had all beene of a flame;
For Skiffes, Crays, Scallops, & the like, why theſe
From eu'ry ſmall Creeke, couer'd all the Seas.
The man whoſe way from London hap'd to lye,
By thoſe
•
e met might gueſſe the generall force,
Dayly encountred as he paſſed by,
Now with a Troupe of Foote, and then of Horſe,
To whom the people ſtill themſelues apply,
Bringing them victuals as in meere remorce▪
And ſtill the acclamation of the preſſe▪
Saint George for England, to your good ſucceſſe.
There might a man haue ſeene in euery ſtreete,
The Father bidding farewell to his Sonne:
Small Children kneeling at their Fathers feete:
The Wife with her deare Husband ne'r had done,
Brother his Brother, with adieu to greet:
One Friend to take leaue of another runne:
The Mayden with her beſt belou'd to part,
Gaue him her hand, who tooke away her heart▪
The nobler Youth the common ranke aboue,
On their coructing Courſers mounted faire,
One ware his Miſtris Garter, one her Gloue,
And he a locke of his deare Ladies haire;
And he her Collours, whom he moſt did loue,
There was not one but did ſome Fauour weare:
And each one tooke it, on his happy ſpeed,
To make it famous by ſome K
•
ightly deed.
The cloudes of duſt, that from the wayes aroſe,
Which in their March the trampling troups do rear
•
When as the Sunne their thickneſſe doth oppoſe,
In his deſcending, ſhining wonderous cleare,
To the beholder far off ſtanding ſhowes,
Like ſome beſieged towne, that were on fire,
As though fore-telling e'r they ſhould returne,
That many a City yet ſecure muſt burne.
The well-rigd Nauy falne into the Road,
For this ſhort Cut with victuall fully ſtord,
The King impatient of their long aboad,
Commands his Army inſtantly aboard,
Caſting to haue each company beſtow'd,
As then the time conuenience could afford;
The Ships appointed wherein they ſhould goe,
And Boats prepar'd for waſtage to and fro.
To be imbarqu'd when euery band comes down,
Each in their order as they muſtred were,
Or by the difference of their A blazon of the Enſignes of the ſeueral Shire
•
in 14. Stanzas following. Armings knowne,
Or by their Collours; for in Enſignes there,
•
ome wore the Armes of their moſt ancient towne,
Others againe their owne Diuiſes beare.
There was not any▪ but that more or leſſe,
Somthing had got, that ſomthing ſhould expreſſe.
FIrſt, in the Expreſſing their freedome, as ſtill retaining their ancient liberties, by ſurprizing the Conqueror like a mouing wood.
Kentiſh Stremer was a Wood,
Out of vvhoſe top, an arme that held a ſword,
As their right Embleme; and to make it good,
They aboue other onely had a word,
Which was; Vnconquer'd; as that freeſt had ſtood.
An expreſſion of King Harolds deat
•
ſlaine with an Arrow i
•
the head, at
•
the Ba
•
ta
•••
of Haſtings fighting againſt the Conquerour.
Suſſex the next that was to come Aboard
Boare a blacke Lyon Rampant ſore that bled,
With a Field-Arrow darted through the head.
The men of The firſt famous Earle of that country.
Surry, Checky Blew and gold▪
Which for braue Warren their firſt Earle they w
•
In many a Field, that honour'd was of old)
And Hamſhiere next, in the ſame collours bore,
Three Lyons Paſſant, th'Armes of Benis Bold,
Who through
•
he Wo
•
ld, ſo famous was of yore▪
A ſiluer Expreſsing the pleaſantneſſe of the ſcituation of that country, lying vpon the French Sea Tower, Dorſets Red Banner beares
The Corniſhmen two Wreſtlers had for theirs.
The At lying the fitteſt to expell or fore▪warne. Inua
••
on.
Deuonſhire Band, a Beacon ſet on fire,
Sommerſet
Expreſſ
•
ng the delica
•
y of the Bath, their chiefe City. a Virgine Bathing in a Spring,
Their Cities Armes the men of Gloſterſhire,
In Gold▪ three Bloudy Cheuernells doe bring,
Wiltſhire
•
Crowned * Piramed; As higher
Then any other to match to the King;
Barkeſhire, a * Stag, vnder an Oake that ſtood,
Oxford, a White Bull wading in a Flood.h The Armes of the ancient Family of Clare Earle of Gloſter borne by the City. Stonidge being the firſt wonder of England, ſtanding in Wiltſhire: An old Em
•
l
•
m
•
of B
•
••
c
•
, or
••
rkſhire.
The muſtred men for A
•
adge of the ancient Family of the Staffords, Dukes of that place.
Buckingham, are gone,
Vnder the Swan, the Armes of that old Towne;
The Londoners, and Middleſex as one,
Are by the Red Croſſe, and the Dagger knowne▪
The Men of Queene
〈…〉
Founder-of the Croſſe, wife to Conſtantine, and daughter to King Co
•
ll, builder of Colcheſ
〈…〉
Eſſex.
Eſſex ouermatcht by none,
Vnder Queene Hellens Image Marching downe;
Suffolke the moſt Eaſterly of the Engliſh ſhieres.
Suffolke a Sunne halfe riſ
•
n from the brack,
For the br
••
: prospect to
〈…〉
Germaine Ocean.
Norfolke a Triton on a Dolphins backe.
The ſouldiers ſent from Cambridgeſhire, a Baya Hauing relation to that famous Vniuerſity their Shire townes.
Vpon a Mountaine watred with a ſhower:
Hartford
The Armes of the Town
•
ſomewhat alluding to th
•
name. two Harts that in a riuer play:
Bedford an Eagle pearcht vpon a Tower,
And The Armes of the towne of Hunting▪don, firſt ſo named of a place where Hunters met▪
Huntington a people proud as they,
Nor giuing place to any for their power,
A youthfull Hunter with a Chap
•
et Crown'd,
In a pyde Lyam leading foorth his Hound.
Northampton
The Armes of the towne. with a Caſtle ſeated high,
Supported by two Lyons thither came,
The men of From the aboundance of wool in that tract.
Rutland, to them marching nie;
In their rich Enſigne beare an Ermine Ram,
And A sport more vſed in that ſhire from ancient time▪ then in any other.
Leſterſhire that on their ſtrength relye,
A Bull and Maſtiue fighting for the game,
Lincolne
For the length that it hath vpon the German Ocean. a ſhip moſt neatly that was lim'd,
In all her ſailes with Flags and Pennons trim'd.
Sto
••
The Bear and ragged Staffe, th
•
Ancient Armes of that Earledome.
Warwickſhire, her ancient badg the Beare,
W
•
rſter
For the abundance of fruite more there then in any other tract. a Peare-tree laden with the fruit,
A Golden fl
••
ce and The fine
〈…〉
of the Wooll of Lemſter in that ſhire
Hereford doth weare
Stafford▪
Many Hermites liued there in the woods in ti
〈…〉
paſ
•
, it being all forreſtrie. A Hermet in his homely ſute,
Shropſhire
Expreſſing the loftineſſe of the mountaines in that S
〈…〉
on which many Hawkes were wont
••
ay
•
y. a Falcon towring in the ayre,
And for the Shire whoſe ſurface ſeemes moſt brute,
Darby, an Eagle ſitting on a Roote,
A ſwathed infant holding in her foote.
Olde That famous out▪law
•••
ed
〈…〉
ch in▪ that Country, and is yet by many places there Celebrated.
Nottingham an Archer clad in greene,
Vnder a Tree with his drawne bowe that ſtood,
Which in a checkquer'd Flagge farre off was ſeene
It was the picture of old Robin Hood,
And A
•
c
••
nted o
••
r the beſt Archers of England.
Lancaſhire not as the leaſt I weene,
Thorough three Crowns, three arrows ſmeard wi
〈…〉
blood
Cheſhire a Banner very ſquare & broad,
Wherein a man vpon a Lyon rode.
A flaming Lance, the For their
〈…〉
with the sp
•
are, &
〈…〉
of their Nagg
•
.
Yorkeſhir
•
men for the
•
As thoſe for Durham neere againe at hand,
A Myter crowned with a Diadem:
An armed man▪ the men of Being ready ſtil in Armes againſt the Scots
Cumberland:
So Expreſſing the ſ
•
it
•
ther
•
f
•
uting ou
•
into thoſe dangerous S
•••
, betwixt England and Ireland
Weſtmerland link'd with it in one Stem,
A ſhip that wrackt lay fierd vpon the ſand:
Northumberland
Their
〈…〉
conflicts (
〈…〉
) with the Scots, expr
•
ſſ
•
d in the fight between
•••
golden &
••
d Lyon▪
with theſe com'n as a broth
〈…〉
Two Lyons fighting tearing one another.
Thus as themſelues the Engliſh men had ſhow'd
〈◊〉
Vnder the Enſigne of each ſeuerall Shiere,
The natiue Welch who no leſſe honour ow'd,
To their owne King, nor yet leſſe valiant were;
In one ſtrong Reg'ment had themſelues beſtow'd,
And of the reſt, reſumed had the Reare:
To their owne Quarter marching as the reſt,
As neatly Arm'd, and brauely as the beſt,
Milford Hauen in Penbrooke▪ſhi
•••
, one of the
〈…〉
harbours in the kno
〈…〉
world, therefore not vnaptly ſo expreſſed.
Pembrooke, a Boat wherein a Lady ſtood,
Rowing herſelfe within a quiet Bay;
Thoſe men of South-wales of the Partly Dut
••
, partly Engliſh, partly Welch. mixed blood
Had of the Welch the leading of the way:
Ca
•
rmardin
Me
•
i
•
, by whoſe birth and knowledg that towne
••
ma
••
f
•
mous in her collours beare a Rood,
Whereon an old man lean'd himſelfe to ſtay,
At a Starre poynting; which of great renowne,
Was skilfull M
••
lin, namer of that towne.
A watch Tower or pharus, hauing the ſcituation wh
•••
Seuor
•
beginneth to
•
widden, as when Pirats haue come in to gi
•
e warning to the other Maritine Countryes.
Glamorgan men, a Caſtell great and hie,
From which, out of the battlement aboue,
A flame ſhot vp it ſelfe into the skie:
The men of For the glory it hath attained to be the Kings birth-place, and to ex
〈…〉
ſſe his principalities.
Munmouth (for the ancient loue
To that deare Country neighboring them ſo nie)
Next after them in Equipage that moue,
Three Crownes Imperiall which ſupported were
With three Arm'd Armes, in their proud Enſigne (beare.)
The men of The Armes of Brecknocke.
Brecknock brought a Warlik Tent,
Vpon whoſe top there ſate a watchfull Cocke,
Radnor,
Lying towards the mi
•
ſt of W
•
l
••
〈…〉
for abundance of Sheepe liuing on thoſe high mountaines. a mountaine of an high aſcent,
Thereon a ſhepheard keeping of his Flocke,
As Lying towards the mi
•
ſt of W
•
l
••
〈…〉
for abundance of Sheepe liuing on thoſe high mountaines.
Cardigan the next to them that went,
Came with a Meremayd ſitting on a Rocke,
And For the abundance of G
•
ate
•
〈…〉
thoſe inac
•
eſſible Mountaines.
Merioneth beares (as theſe had done)
Three dancing goates againſt the riſing Sunne.h Expreſſing the ſcituation
〈…〉
Sh
••
r
•
, lying on the Maritine part vpon the Iriſh Sea.
Thoſe of The ſhiere breeding the beſt Horſes of Wales
Montgomery, beare a prancing Stee
•
Denbeio
••
As
〈…〉
it ſelfe to the great North or Deucal
•
donian Sea. in Expreſſing the abundance of Corn and graſſe, in that little Tract. a Neptune with his three-fork'd Mace
Flintſhire (m) a Workemayd in her Summer wee
•
with Sheafe and Sickle (with a warlike pace)
Thoſe of Caernaruon not the leaſt in ſpeed,
Though marching laſt (in the maine Armies face)
Three golden Eagles in their Enſigne brought,
Vnder which oft braue Owen Guyneth fought,
The Seas amazed at that fearefull ſight,
Of Armes and Enſignes that abroad were brought
Of Streamers, Banners, Pennons▪ Enſignes pight,
Vpon each Pub, and Prowe; and at the fraught,
So full of terror, that it hardly might
Into a naturall courſe againe be brought,
As the Vaſte Nauie which at Anchor rides,
Proudly preſumes to ſhoulder out the Tides.
The Fleete then full and floating on the maine
The numerous Maſts, with their braue topſails ſ
•
When as the wind a little doth them ſtraine,
Seeme like a Forreſt bearing her proud head▪
Againſt ſome rough flaw, that foreruns a raine:A Simile of the Nauy.
So doe they looke from euery lofty ſted,
Which with the ſurges, tumbled to and fro,
Seeme (euen) to bend, as trees are ſeene to doe
From euery Ship when as the Ordnance ror
•
Of their depart that all might vnderſtand,The braus ſolemnity of the departing of the
•
l
•
et
When as the zealous people from the ſhore,
Againe with fires ſalute them from the Land,
•
or ſo was order left with them before,
•
o watch the Beacons with a carefull hand,
Which being once fierd, the people more or leſſe,
Should all to Church, to pray for their ſucceſſe.
They ſhape their courſe into the Mouth of Seyne,
The Nauy Landing in the mouth of Seyne.
•
hat deſtin'd Flood thoſe Nauies to receiue,
•
efore whoſe fraught, her France had proſtrate laine
•
s now ſhee muſt this, that ſhall neuer leaue,
•
ntill the Enſignes that it doth containe,
•
to the ayre her heightned walls ſhall heaue;
Whoſe ſtubborne Turrets had refus'd to bow,
To that braue Nation that ſhall ſhake them now.
Long Boats with Scouts are put to land before,
•
pon light Naggs the countrey to diſery,
Whilſt the braue Army ſetting is on ſhore,)
•
vievv what ſtrength the enemy had nie,
•
eſſing the boſome of large France ſo ſore,
•
at her pale Genius, in affright doth flye
To all her Townes, and warnes them to awake,
And for her ſafety vp their Armes to take▪
At Paris, Roane, and Orleance, ſhe calls,
•
d at their gates with groanings doth complaine:
•
en cries ſhe out, O get vp to your walles:
•
e Engliſh Armies are return'd againe,
•
hich in two Battailes gaue thoſe fatall falls,
Creſſy, and at Poyteers, where lay ſlaine,
Our conquered Fathers, which with very feare,
Quake in their graues to feele them landed here.
The King of France now hauing vnd
•
rſtood,
Of Henryes entrance. (but too wel unprou'd,)
He cleerely ſaw that deere muſt be the blood,
That it muſt coſt
•
e'
•
he could be remou'd,
He ſends to make his other ſ
•
a Townes good,
Neuer before, ſo much it him behou'd,
In euery one a Gariſon to lay,
Fearing freſh powers from England eu'ry day.
To the high'ſt earth whilſt awfull Henry gets,
From whence ſtrong Harflew he might eaſieſt ſee,
With ſprightly words, & thus their courage whe
•
The br
•
ue encouragement of a
•
o
•
ragious King.
In yonder walls be Mines of gold (quoth hee)
He
•
's a poore ſlaue that thinkes of any debts;
Ha
•
flew ſh
•
ll p
•
y for all, it ours ſhall bee,
This ayre of France doth like me wonderous we
•
Lets burne our ſhips, for here we meane to dw
•
But through his H
•
aſt he firſt of all proclai
•
In paine of death no Engliſh man ſhould take,
From the Religion
•
aged, or the maym'd,A charitable Proclamation made by the King.
Or women that could no reſiſtance make;
To gaine his owne for that he only aym'd;
No
•
would haue ſuch to ſuffer for his ſake:
Which in the French (when they the ſame did he
•
Bred of this braue King, a religions feare.
His arm
•
rang'd, in order fitting war,The Kings mayne Standard (for the p
•
nderouſnes thereof,) eu
••
borne vpon a Carriage.
Each with ſome greene thing doth his Murrian cro
•
With his mayne ſtandard fixt vpon the Carre;
Comes, the great King before th'intrenched to
•
Whilſt from the walles the people gazing are,
•
all their ſights he ſets an army downe,
Not for their ſhot he careth not a pin.
But ſeekes where he his battery may begin.
And into three, his Army doth diuide,The King makes his aproches on three parts.
•
is ſtrong approaches on three parts to make;
•
imſelfe on th'one, Clarence on th'other ſide,
•
o Yorke, and Suffolke he the third doth take,
•
he Mines the Duke of Gloceſter doth guide,
•
hen caus'd his Ships the riuer vp to Stake,
That none with victual ſhould the Town relieue,
Should the ſword faile, with famin them to grieue.
From his pauillion where he ſate in State,
•
rm'd for the ſiedge, and buckling on his Shield,
•
raue Henry ſends his Herauld to the Gate,The King ſummons Harflew.
•
y trumpets ſound to ſummon them to yeeld,
•
nd to accept his mercy e'r too late,
•
r elſe to ſay, ere he forſooke the field,
Harflew ſhould be but a meere heape of Stones,
Her buildings buried with her owners bones.
France on this ſuddaine put into a fright,
•
ith the ſad newes of Harflew in diſtreſſe,
•
hoſe inexpected, miſerable plight,
•
ee on the ſuddaine, knew not to redreſſe,
•
t vrg'd to doe, the vtmoſt that ſhe might,
•
e peoples feares and clamours to ſuppreſſe,
Raiſeth a power with all the ſpeed ſhe could,
•
om what thereby to looſe King Henryes hold.
The Marſhall and the Conſtable of France,
Charles de A
•
bert, and Iohn Boweequalt.
Leading thoſe Forces lev
•
ed for the turne,
By which they thought their Titles to aduance,
And of their Countrey endleſſe praiſe to earne,
But it with them farre otherwiſe doth chance,
For when they ſaw the villages to burne,
And high-towr'd Harflew round ingi
•
t with fire
They with their power to Cawdebeck retire.
Like as a Hinde when ſhe her Calfe doeth ſee,A Simile of the French power.
Lighted by chance into a Lyons pawes,
From which ſhould ſhee aduenture it to free,
Shee muſt her ſelfe fill his deuouring Iawes,
And yet her young one, ſtill his prey muſt bee,
(Shee ſo inſtructed is by Natures Lawes:)
With them ſo fares it, which muſt needs go dow
•
If they would figh
•
; and yet muſt looſe the Tow
•
Now doe they mount their Ordnance for the da
•
A diſcription of the ſiege of Harflewe, in the 19 following Stanzaes.
Their ſcaling Ladders rearing to the walls,
Their battering Rams againſt the gates they lay,
Their brazen ſlings ſend in the wild-fire balls,
Baskets of twigs now carry ſtones and clay
And to th'aſſault, who furiouſly not falls;
The ſpade and Pick-Axe working are below;
Which then vnfelt, yet gaue the greatſt blow.
Rampiers of earth the painfull pyoners raiſe,
With the walls equall, cloſe vpon the Dike,
To paſſe by which the ſouldier that aſſayes,
On plankes thruſt ouer, one him downe doth ſtrike
Him with a mall a ſecond Engliſh payes,
•
ſecond French tranſpearc'd him with a pike
That from the height of the embattel'd Towers,
Their mixed blood ran down the wals in ſhowers.
A French-man b
••
ke into the towne doth fall,
With a ſheafe Arrow ſhot into the head,
An Engliſh man in ſcalling of the wall,
From the ſame place, is by a ſtone ſtrucke dead,
Tumbling vpon them logs of wood, and all,
That any way for their defence might ſted:
The hills at hand re-echoing with the din,
Of ſhouts without, and feareful ſhrikes within.
When all at once the Engliſh men aſſaile,
The French within all valiantly defend,
And in a firſt aſſault, if any faile,
They by a ſecond ſtriue it to amend:
Out of the towne come Crosbowe Arrowes.quarries thicke as haile;
As thicke againe their Shafts the Engliſh ſend:
The bellowing Canon from both ſides doth rore,
With ſuch a noyſe as makes the thunder poore.
Now vpon one ſide you ſhall heare a cry,
And all that Quarter clowded with a ſmother,
The like from that againſt it by and by;
As though the one were eccho to the other,
The King and Clarence ſo their turnes can ply:
And valiant Gloſter ſhowes himſelfe their brother;
Whoſe Mynes to the beſieg'd more miſchiefe do,
Then with th'aſſaults aboue the other two.
An old man ſitting by the fier ſide,
Decrepit with extreamity of Age,
Stilling his little Grand-childe when it cride,
Almoſt diſtracted with the Batteries rage:
Sometimes doth ſpeake it faire, ſometimes doth chide
As thus he ſeekes its mourning to aſſwage,
By chance a bullet doth the chimney hit,
Which falling in doth kill both him and it.
Whilſt the ſad weeping Mother ſits her downe,
To giue the little new-borne babe the Pap,
A luckleſſe quarry leuel
〈…〉
Towne,
Kills the ſweete baby ſleeping in her lap,
That with the fright ſhee falls into a ſwoone,
From which awak'd, and mad with this miſhap,
As vp a Rrampire ſhreeking ſhe doth clim,
Comes a great ſhot, and ſtrikes her lim from lim,
Whilſt a ſort runne confuſedly to quench,
Some Pallace burning, or ſome fired Street,
Cal'd frō where they were fighting in the Trench:
They in their way with Balls of wild-fire met,
So plagued are the miſerable French,
Not aboue head, but alſo vnder feete,
For the fierce Engliſh vowe the Tovvne to take,
Or of it ſoone a heape of ſtones to make.
Hot is the ſiege the Engliſh comming on;
As men ſo long to be kept out that ſcorne,
Careleſſe of wounds as they were made of ſtone,
As with their teeth the walls they would haue torn:
•
nto a breach who quickly is not gone,
•
by the next behinde him ouer-borne:
So that they found a place that gaue them way,
They neuer car'd what danger therein lay.
From euery Quarter they their courſe might ply,
As't pleaſ'd the King them to th'aſſault to call:
Now
•
n the Duke of Yorke the charge doth lye:
To Kent and Cornewall then the turne doth fall:
Then Huntingdon vp to the walles they cry:
Then Suffolke, and then Exceſter; which all,
In their meane Souldiers habits vs'd to goe,
Taking ſuch part as them that own'd them
••
e,
The men of Harflew rough excurſions make,
Vpon the Engliſh in their watchfull Tent,
Whoſe courages they to their coſt awake,
With many a wound that often backe them ſent,
So proud a Sally that durſt vndertake,
And then the Chaſepell mell amongſt them went,
For on the way ſuch ground of them they win,
That ſome French are ſhut out, ſome Engliſh in.
Nor idely ſit our men at Armes the while,
Foure thouſand Horſe that eu'ry day goe out,
And of the Field are Maſters many a mile,
By putting the rebellious French to rout,
No peaſants them with promiſes beguile:
Another bus'neſſe they were come about;
For him they take, his ranſome muſt redeeme,
Onely French Crownes, the Engliſh men eſteeme.
Whilſt Engliſh Henry laſtly meanes to trye;
By three vaſt Mines, the walls to ouerthrow,
The French men their approches that eſpy,
By countermynes doe meete with them below,
And as oppoſed in the workes they lye:
Vp the Beſieged the beſiegers blow,
That ſtifled quite, with powder as with duſt,
Longer to walls they found it vaine to truſt.
Till Gaucourt then, and Tuttiuile that were
The townes commanders, (with much perill) find
The Reſolution that the Engliſh beare;
As how their owne to yeelding were enclinde,
Summon to parly, offring franckly there;
If that ayde came not by a day aſsignde,
To giue the town vp, might their liues ſtand freee:
As for their goods, at Henryes will to be.
And hauing wonne their conduct to the King,
Thoſe hardy chiefes on whom the charge had laine▪
Thither thoſe well-fed Burgeſles doe bring,
What they had off'red ſtrongly to maintaine,
In ſuch a caſe, although a dangerous thing,
Yet they ſo long vpon their knees remaine:
That fiue days reſpight from his Grant they haue
Which was the moſt, they (for their liues) durſt craue
The time prefixed comming to expire,
And their reliefe ingloriouſly delay'd,
Nothing within their fight but ſword, and fire;
And bloody Enſignes eu'ry where diſplay'd,
The Engliſh ſtill within themſelues entire,
When all theſe things they ſeriouſly had way'd,
To Henryes mercy found that they muſt truſt,
For they perceiu'd their owne to be vniuſt.
The Ports are opened, weapons layd aſide,
And from the vvalles th'artillery diſplac'd,
The Armes of England are aduanc'd in pride:
The watch tower, with Saint Georges banner grac'd
Liue England Henry, all the people cry'd:
Into the ſtreets the vvomen run in haſt,
Bearing their little children, for whoſe ſake,
They hop'd the King would the more mercy take.
The gates thus widned vvith the breath of vvar;
Their ample entrance to the Engliſh gaue.
There was no doore that then had any bar,
For of their owne not any thing they haue:The King of England entreth Harflew in triumph.
When Henry comes on his Emperiall Carre:
To whom they kneele their liues alone to ſaue.
Strucken with wonder, when that face they ſaw,
Wherein ſuch mercy was vvith ſo much avve.
And firſt themſelues the Engliſh to ſecure,
Doubting what danger might yet be within,
The ſtrongeſt Forts, and Citadell make ſure,
To ſhovve that they could keepe as vvell as winne,
And though the ſpoyles them wonderouſly allure.
To fall to pillage e'r they will beginne,
They ſhut each paſſage, by which any power,
Might be brought on to hinder, but an hower.
That Conquering King which entring at the g
•
Borne by the preſie as in the ayre he ſwamme:
Vpon the ſuddaine layes aſide his ſtate,
And of a Lyon is become a Lambe:
He is not now what he was but of late:
But on his bare feete to the Church he came:
By his example, as did all the preſſe,
To giue God thanks, for his firſt good ſucceſſ
•
And ſends his Herauld to King Charles to ſay,
That though he thus was ſetled on his ſhore,
Yet he his Armes was ready downe to lay,
His ancient right if ſo he would reſtore;
But if the ſame he wilfully denay,
To ſtop th'effuſion of their Subiects gore;Hing Henry offereth to decade his right by ſingle combat.
He frankly off'reth in a ſingle fight,
With the yong Daulphine to decide his right▪
Eight dayes at Harflew he doth ſtay to heare,
What anſwere back, his Harauld him would b
••
But when he found that he was ne'r the neere,
And that the Daulphine meaneth no ſuch thing,
As to fight ſingle; nor that any were
To deale for compoſition from the King:
He caſts for Callice to make foorth his way.
And take ſuch townes as in his iourney lay,
But firſt his bus'neſſe he doth ſo contriue,
To curbe the Townes-men, ſhould they chanc
•
ſt
•
Of Armes, and office, he doth them depriue,
And to their roomes the Engliſh doth preferre;
•
ut of the ports all Vagrants he doth driue,
•
nd therein ſets his Vncle Exceſter:
This done, to march he bids the thundring Drums,
To ſcourge proud France when now her conqueror comes.
The King and Daulphine hauing vnderſtood,
•
ow on his way this haughty Henry was,
•
uer the Soame, which is a dangerous flood;
•
uckt down the bridges that might giue him paſſe,
•
nd euery thing, if fit for humane food,
•
us'd to be forrag'd; (to a wonderous maſſe,)
And more then this, his iourneys to fore-ſlow,
He ſcarce one day vnskirmiſh'd with doth goe,
But on his march, in midſt of all his foes,
•
e like a Lyon keeps them all at bay,
•
nd when they ſeeme him ſtrictly to incloſe;
•
et through the thick'ſt he hewes him out a way:
•
or the proud Daulphine dare him to oppoſe;
•
hough off'ring oft his Army to fore-lay:
Nor all the power the enuious French can make,
Force him one foote, his path (but) to forſake.
And each day as his Army doth remoue,
•
arching along vpon Soams Marſhy ſide,A f
•••
d found in the riuer of Soame.
•
is men at Armes on their tall Horſes proue,
•
o find ſome ſhallow, ouer where to ride,
•
ut all in vaine againſt the Streame they ſtroue,
•
ill by the helpe of a laborious guide,
A Ford was found to ſet his Army ore
Which neuer had diſcouered bene before.
The newes divulg'd that he had waded Soame▪
And ſafe to ſhore his Caridges had brought,
Into the Daulphines boſome ſtrooke ſo home,
And on the weakeneſſe of King Charles ſo wrou
•
That like the troubled Sea, when it doth Foame,
As in a rage, to beate the Rocks to nought;
So doe they ſtorme, and curſe on curſe they hea
•
Gainſt thoſe which ſhould the paſſages haue ke
•
And at that time, both reſident in Roan,
Thither for this aſſembling all the Peeres,
Whoſe counſailes now muſt vnder prop their thro
•
A counſill held at Roan againſt the King of England.
Againſt the Foe; which not a man but feares;
Yet in a moment confident are growne,
When with freſh hopes each one his fellow chee
•
That ere the Engliſh to their Callis got,
Some for this ſpoyle ſhould pay a bloody ſhot,
Therefore they both in ſolemne Counſaile ſat
•
With Berry and with Britane their Allies;
Now ſpeake they of this courſe, and then of that,
As to inſnare him how they might deuiſe;
Something they faine would do, but know not w
•
At length the Duke Alanzon vp doth riſe,
And crauing ſilence of the King and Lords,
Againſt the Engliſh, brake into theſe words,
HAd this vnbridled youth an Army led,A ſpeech of the Duke Alanzon againſt the Engliſh.
That any way were vvorthy of your feare▪
Againſt our Nation that durſt turne the head,
Such as the former Engliſh forces were,
This care of yours, your Countrey then might ſted,
To tell you then, who longer can forbeare,
That into queſtion you our vallour bring,
To calla counſaile for ſo poore a thing.
A Route of tatter'd Raſcals ſtarued ſo,
As forced through extremity of need,
To rake for ſcraps on Dunghils as they goe,
And on the Berries of the Shrubs to feed,
Beſides with fluxes are enfeebled ſo,
And other foule diſeaſes that they breed,
That they diſabled are their Armes to ſway,
But in their march doe leaue them on the way.
And to our people but a handfull are,
Scarſe thirty thouſand, when to land they came,
Of which to England dayly ſome repaire,
Many from Harflew carried ſicke and lame,
Fitter for Spittles, and the Surgions care,
Then with their ſwords on vs to winne them fame,
Vnſhod, and without ſtockings are the beſt,
And thoſe by Winter miſerably oppreſt.
To let them dye vpon their March abroad,
And foules vpon their Carkaiſes to feed,
The heapes of them vpon the common road,
A great infection likely were to breed,
For our owne ſafeties ſee them then beſtow'd,
And doe for them this charitable deed,
Vnder our ſwords together let them fall,
And on that day they dye be buried all▪
This bold invectiue forc'd againſt the Foe,
Although it moſt of the aſſembly ſeaſ'd,
Yet thoſe which better did the Engliſh know,
Were but a little with his ſpeeches pleaſ'd,
And that the Duke of Berry meant to ſhow:
Which when the murmure ſomewhat was appeaſ
•
After a while, their liſtning ſilence breakes,
And thus in anſwere of Alanzon ſpeakes.
MY Liedg, quoth he, & you my Lords & pee
•
The Duke of Berrys anſwere to Alanzon.
Whom this great buſineſſe chiefly doth co
〈…〉
ce
••
By my experience, now ſo many yeres,
To know the Engliſh
•
am not to learne,
Nor I more feeling haue of humane feares,
Then fitteth Manhood, or do
•
hope to earne
Suffrage from any; but by zeale am wonne,
To ſpeake my mind here, as the Duke hath do
•
Th'euents of War are various (as I know,)
And ſay, the loſſe vpon the Engliſh light,
Yet may a dying man giue ſuch a blow,
As much may hinder his proud conquerours might▪
It is enough our puiſſant power to ſhowe,
To the weake Engliſh, now vpon their flight,
When want, and winter, ſtrongly ſpurre them
•
You elſe but ſtay them, that would faine be go
•
I like our Forces their firſt courſe ſhould hold▪
To skirmiſh with them vpon euery ſtay,
But fight by no means with thē, though they wo
•
Except they find them forraging for pray,
So ſtill you haue them ſhut vp in a foold,
And ſtill to Callis keepe them in their way,
So Fabius wearied Haniball, ſo wee,
May Engliſh Henry, if you pleaſed be.
And of the Engliſh rid your Countrey cleane,
If on their backs, but Callis walles they winne,
Whoſe Frontier Townes you eaſily may maintaine,
With a ſtrong Army ſtill to keepe them in,
Then let our Ships make good the mouth of Seyne,
And at your pleaſure Harflew you may winne,
E
•
e with ſupplyes againe they can inuade,
•
pent in the Voyage lately hither made▪
That day at Poyteers, in that bloody Field,
The ſudden turne in that great Battell then,
Shall euer teach me, whilſt I Armes can weeld,
Neuer to truſt to multitudes of men;
•
was the firſt day that ere I wore a Shield,
Oh let me neuer ſee the like agen
Where their Blacke Edward ſuch a Battell won,
As to behold it might amaze the Sunne.
There did I ſee our conquered Fathers fall,
Before the Engliſh on that fatall ground,
When as to ours their number was but ſmall,
And with braue Spirits France ne'r did more abound
•
et oft that Battaile into minde I call,
Whereas of ours, one man ſeemd all one wound,
I inſtance this; yet humbly here ſubmit,
My ſelfe to fight, if you ſhall thinke it fit.
The Marſhall and the Conſtable about,
To ſecond, what this ſager Duke had ſayd:
The youthfull Lords into a cry brake out,Yong mens counſails ofttimes proue the vtter ſubuerſion both of themſelues and others.
Gainſt their opinions, ſo that ouer-ſway'd,
Some ſeeming of their Loyalties to doubt;
Alanzon as an Oracle obey'd,
And not a French then preſent, but doth ſweare
To kill an Engliſh, if ynow there were.
A Herault poſted preſently away,
The King of England to the field to dare,
To bid him ceaſe his ſpoyle, nor to delay,The French King ſendeth
•
o dare the King of England to Battaile.
Gainſt the French power his forces but prepare:
For that King Charles determin'd to diſplay
His bloody Enſignes, and through France declare,
The day and place, that Henry ſhould ſet dow
•
In which their Battails, ſhould diſpoſe the cro
•
The newes to Henry by the Herault brought,
As one diſpaſsion'd ſoberly (quoth he)
Had your King pleas'd, we ſon
•
r might haue fou
•
For now my ſouldiers much enfeebled bee:
Nor day, nor place, for Battaile ſhall be ſought,The King of Englands modeſt anſwere.
By Engliſh Henry: but if he ſeeke me,
I to my vtmoſt will my ſelfe defend,
And to th'Almighties pleaſure leaue the end,
The brute of this intended Battaile ſpred,
The coldneſſe of each ſleeping courage warmes,
And in the French that daring boldneſſe bred:
Like caſting Bees that they ariſe in ſwarmes,
•
hinking the Engliſh downe ſo farre to tred,
•
paſt that day ne'r more to riſe in Armes.
T'ext rpe the name, if poſsible it were,
At leaſt not after to be heard of there.
As when you ſee the enuious Crow eſpie,
•
omething that ſhe doth naturally deteſt,A Simily of the riſing of the French.
•
ith open throat how ſhe doth ſquall and cry,
•
nd from the next Groue ſhe doth call the reſt,
•
nd they for thoſe beyond them bawling flye,
•
ll their foule noyſe doe all the ayre infeſt:
Thus French, the French to this great Battaile call,
Vpon their ſwords to ſee the Engliſh fall.
And to the King when ſeriouſly one told,
•
ith what an hoſt he ſhould encountred be,
•
m noting well, the King did him behold,Dauid Ga
•
a great Captaine in that Warre.
〈…〉
the reporting; Merrily (quoth hee).
•
y Liedge I'le tell you if I may be bold,
•
e will diuide this Army into three,
One part we'll kill, the ſecond priſoners ſtay,
And for the third, we'll leaue to runne away.
But for the Foe came hourely in ſo faſt,
•
ſt they his Army ſhould diſordred take;
•
e King who wiſely doth the worſt forecaſt,
•
s ſpeedy march doth preſently forſake,
•
o ſuch forme and his Battalion caſt;
•
t doe their worſt, they ſhould not eaſ'ly ſhake;
For that his ſcouts which Forrag'd had the coaſt,
Bad him at hand expect a puiſſant Hoſt▪
On which ere long the Engliſh Vauward light,The Duke of Yorke.
Which Yorke, of men the braueſt doth command,
When either of them in the others ſight,
He cauſ'd the Army inſtantly to ſtand,
As though preparing for a preſent fight,
And rideth foorth from his couragious Band,
To view the French, whoſe numbers ouer ſpread
The troubled countrey on whoſe earth they tre
•
Now were both Armies got vpon that ground
As on a ſtage, where they their ſtrengths muſt try
Whence from the wydth of many a gaping wou
〈…〉
Ther's many a ſoule into the ayre muſt fly,
Meane while the Engliſh that ſome eaſe had found,
By the aduantage of a Village nie,
There ſet them downe the Battell to abide,
When they the place had ſtrongly fortiſide,
Made drunk with pride the haughty French diſ
•
The French ſcorning the Engliſh being ſo few in respect of their mighty power.
Leſſe then their owne, a multitude to view,
Nor aske of God, the victory to gaine,
Vpon the Engliſh wext ſo poore and few,
To ſtay their ſlaughter thinking it a paine,
And laſtly to that inſolence they grew,
Quoyts, Lots, and Dice for Engliſhmen to caſt,
And ſweare to pay the Battaile being paſt.
For knots of corde to eu'ry towne they ſend,
The Captiu'd Engliſh that they caught to bind,
For to perpetuall ſlau'ry they intend:
Thoſe that aliue they on the Field, ſhould find,
•
o much as that they fear'd leſt they ſhould ſpend,
•
oo many Engliſh wherefore they aſsignd,
Some to keep
•
faſt thoſe, faine that would be gon,
After the Fight, to try their Armes vpon.
One his bright ſharp edg'd Semiter doth ſhowe,
Off'ring to lay a thouſand crownes (in pride)
•
hat he two naked Engliſh at one blowe,
•
ound backe to backe will at the waſts diuide,
•
ome bett his ſword will do't, ſome others no,
•
fter the Battaile, and they'll haue it tride:
Another wafts his Blade about his head,
And ſhews them how their hāſtrings he will ſhread
They part their priſoners, paſſing them for debt,
•
nd in their Ranſome ra
•
ibly accord,
•
o a Prince of ours, a Page of theirs they ſet,
•
nd a French Lacky to an Engliſh Lord,
•
s for our Gentry them to hyre they'll let,
•
nd as good cheape as they can them afford,
Branded for ſlaues, that if they hapt to ſtray,
Knowne by the marke, them any one might ſtay.
And caſt to make a Chariot for the King,
•
ainted with Antickes, and ridiculous toyes,
•
which they meane to Paris him to bring,
•
o make ſport to their Madames, and their boyes,
•
nd will haue Raſcalls, Rimes of him to ſing,
••
de in his mock'ry; and in all theſe ioyes,
They bid the Bells to ring, and people cry,
Before the Battaile, France and Victory.
And to the King and Daulphine ſent away.
(Who at that time reſiding were in Roane)
To be partakers of that glorious day:
Wherein the Engliſh ſhould be ouerthrowne,
Leſt that of them enſuing dayes ſhould ſay;
That for their ſafety they forſooke their owne,
When France did that braue victory obtaine,
That ſhall her laſting'ſt Monument remaine.
The poore diſtreſſed Engliſhmen the whiles,
Not dar'd by doubt, and leſſe appaul'd by dread,
Of their Arm'd pikes, ſome ſharpning are the pyle
The Archer grinding his barb'd Arrow head:
Their Bils & blades, ſome whetting are with File
And ſome their Armours ſtrongly Reuited,
Some poynting ſtakes to ſticke into the groun
•
To guard the Bow-men, & their Horſe to woun
•
The night fore-running this moſt dreadfull da
•
The French that all to iollity incline;
Some fall to dancing, ſome againe to play:The ryot in the French Campe the night before the Battell.
And ſome are drinking to this great Deſigne:
But all in pleaſure ſpent the night away,
The tents with lights, the fields with bon-fires ſhi
•
The common Souldiers free-mens catches ſing
•
With ſhouts and laughter al the Camp doth ri
•
The wearied Engliſh watchfull o'r their Foes,
(The depth of night then drawing on ſo faſt,
That faine a little would themſelues repoſe,
With thankes to God, doe take that ſmall repaſt,
Which that poore Village willingly beſtowes:Pondering in hu thoughts hu Fathers comming to the crowne by depoſing of the rightfull King. Henry the fift cauſed the body of King Richard to be taken vp, where it was meanly buried at Langly, and to be layd in Weſtminſter by his firſt. Wife, Queene Anne.
And hauing plac'd their Sentinels at laſt,
They fall to prayer, and in their Cabins bleſt,
T'refreſh their ſpirits, then tooke them to their reſt
In his Pauillion Princely HENRY lay'd,
Whilſt all his Army round about him ſlept:
His reſtleſle head vpon his Helmet ſtay'd,
For carefull thoughts his eyes long waking kept:
Great God (quoth he) withdraw not now thy ayde,
Nor let my Father HENRIES ſinnes be heapt
On my tranſgreſsions, vp the Summe to make,
For which thou may'ſt me vtterly forſake.
King Richards wrongs to mind, Lord do not call,
Nor how for him my Father did offend,
From vs alone deriue not thou his fall,
Whoſe odious life cauſ'd his vntimely end,
That by our almes be expiated all:
Let not that ſinne on me his Sonne deſcend,
When as his body I tranſlated haue,
And buried in an honourable graue.
Theſe things thus pondring, ſorrow-ceaſing ſleep,
From cares to reſcue his much troubled mind,
Vpon his Eye-lids ſtealingly doth creepe,
And in ſoft ſlumbers euery ſenſe doth blind,
(As vndiſturbed euery one to keepe)
When as that Angell to whom God aſsign'd,
The guiding of the Engliſh, gliding downe,
The ſilent campe doth with freſh courage crown.
His glittering wings he gloriouſly diſplayes,
Ouer the
•
oſt as euery way it lyes,
With
•
olden Dreames their trauell, and repayes,
This Herault from the Rector of the skies,
In Viſion wa
•
nes them not to vſe delayes,
But to the Battell cheerefully to riſe,
And be victorious for that day at hand,
He would amongſt them for the Engliſh ſtand.
The dawne ſcarſe drew the curtaines of the Eaſt▪
But the late wearied Engliſhmen awake,
And much refreſhed with a little reſt,
Themſelues ſoone ready for the Battaile make,
Not any one but feeleth in his breaſt,
That ſprightly fire which courage bids him take,
For cre the Sunne next riſing went to bed,
The French by them in triumph ſhould be led,
And from their Cabins, ere the French aroſe,
(Drown'd in the pleaſure of the paſſed night)
The Engliſh caſt their Battailes to diſpoſe,
Fit' or the ground whereon they were to fight:
Foorth that braue King couragious Henry goes,
An hower before that it was fully light,The great are of a wiſe
•
nd p
•
litike aptaine.
To ſee if there might any place be found,
To giue his Hoſt aduantage by the ground.
Where twas his hap a Quickſet hedge to view,
Well growne in heigh; and for his purpoſe thin,
Yet by the Ditch vpon whoſe banke it grew,
He found it to be difficult to winne,
•
ſpecially if thoſe of his were true,
•
mongſt the ſhrubs that he ſhould ſet within,
By which he knew their ſtrēgth of horſe muſt come
If they would euer charge his Vanguard home.
And of three hundred Archers maketh choice,This S
•
rat
•
gem the ouerthrow of the French.
Some to be taken out of euery Band,
The ſtrongeſt Bowmen▪ by the generall voyce,
Such as beſide were valiant of their hand,
And to be ſo imployed, as would reioyce,
Appointing them behind the hedge to ſtand,
To ſhrowd themſelues from ſight, and to be mute,
Vntill a ſignall freely bad them ſhoote.
The game ſome Larke now got vpon her Wing,
As twere the Engliſh early to awake,
And to wide heauen her cheerefull notes doth ſing,
As ſhe for them would interceſsion make,
Nor all the noyſe that from below doth ſpring,
Her ayrie walke can force her to forſake,
Of ſome much noted, and of others leſſe,
But yet of all preſaging good ſucceſſe.
The lazie French their leiſure ſeeme to take,
And in their Cabins keepe themſelues ſo long,
Till flocks of Rauens them with noyſe awake,
Ouer the Army like a cloud that hong,
Which greater haſt inforceth them to make,
When with their croaking all the Country rong,
Which boaded flaughter as the moſt doe ſay,
But by the French it turned was this way.
That this diuining Foule well vnderſtood,The French miſ-interpre
•
the flight of Rauens
•
ouering ouer there owre
〈…〉
Vpon that place much gore was to be ſpill'd,
And as thoſe Birds doe much delight in blood,
With humane fleſh would haue their gorges fill'd,
So waited they vpon their ſwords for food,
To feaſt vpon the Engliſh being kil'd,
Then little thinking that theſe came indeed,
On their owne mangled Carkaſes to feed.
When ſoone the French preparing for the Field,
Their Armed troupes are ſetting in array,
Whoſe wondrous numbers they can hardly weeld,
The place too little whereupon they lay,
They therefore to neceſſity muſt yeeld,
And into order put them as they may.
Whoſe motion ſounded like to Nilus fall,
That the Vaſt ayre was deafned therewithall,
The Conſtable, and admirall of France,
With the grand Marſhall, men of great command▪
The Dukes of Burbon, and of Orleance,
Som for their place, ſome for their birth-right ſtand,
The Daulphine of Auerney (to aduance,
His worth and honour) of a puiſſant hand:
The Earle of Ewe in Warre that had bene bred,
Theſe mighty men the mighty Vauward led.
The maine brought forward by the Duke of Bar▪
〈…〉
Marſhal
〈…〉
of the
〈…〉
ch Ar
•
y▪
•
ontai
••
g three
〈…〉
.
Neuers and Beamont, men of ſpeciall name,
Alan Zon thought, not equall'd in this Warre,
With them Salines, Rous, and Grandpre came,
•
heir long experience, who had fetcht from farre,
Whom this expected Conqueſt doth enflame,
Conſiſting moſt of Crosbowes, and ſo great,
As France her ſelfe it well might ſeeme to threat.
The Duke of Brabant of high valour knowne,
•
he Earles of Marle, and Faconbridge the Reare,
•
o Arthur Earle of Richmount's ſelfe alone,
•
hey leaue the right wing to be guided there:
Lewes of Burbon, ſecond yet to none,
•
ed on the left; with him that mighty Peere
The Earle of
Ʋandome, who of all her men,
Large France entytled, her great Maſter then.
The Duke of Yorke the Engliſh Vauward guides,The Marſhal ling of the Engliſh Army containing fiue Stanzaes.
Of our ſtrong Archers, that conſiſted moſt;
Which with our horſe was wing'd on both the ſides,
•
affront ſo great and terrible an hoſt;
•
here valiant Fanhope, and there Beamont rides,
With Willoughby which ſcowred had the Coaſt,
That morning early, and had ſeene at large,
How the Foe came, that then they were to charge,
Henry himſelfe, on the mayne battell brings,
Nor can theſe Legions of the French affright,
This Mars of men, this King of earthly Kings:
Who ſeem'd to be much pleaſed with the ſight,
As one ordayn'd t'accompiſh mighty things;
Who to the field came in ſuch brau'ry dight:
As to the Engliſh boades ſuccesfull lucke,
Before one ſtroke, on either ſide was ſtrucke.
In Warlike State the Royall Standard borne,The brauery of King Henryes ow
•
e Perſon.
Before him as in ſplendrous Armes he road,
Whilſt his coruetting Courſer ſeem'd in ſcorne,
To touch the earth whereon he proudly troad;
Lillyes and Lyons quarterly adorne,
His ſhield, and his Capariſon doe load:
Vpon his Helme a crowne with Diamonds dec
•
Which through the field, their Radient fires ref
•
e
•
The Duke of Gloceſter neere to him agen,
T'aſsiſt his Brother in that dreadfull day,
Oxford, and Suffolke both true Marſhall men,
Ready to keepe the battell in Array,
To Exceſter there was appointed then,
The Reare; on which their ſecond ſuccours lay,
Which were the youth moſt of the Nobleſt blo
•
Vnder the Enſignes of their names that ſtood.
Then of the ſtakes he doth the care commend,
To certaine troupes that actiue were and ſtrong,
Onely deuiſ'd the Archers to defend,
Poynted with Iron and of fiue foote long,
To be remou'd ſtill which way they ſhould bend,
Wher the French horſe ſhold thick'ſt vpō thē thro
•
Which when the hoſt to charge each other went▪
Show'd his great wit that firſt did them inuent.
Both armies fit, and at the point to fight,
The French aſſuring of themſelues the day,The ſcornfull meſſage of the French to the King of England▪
Send to the King of England (as in ſpight,)
To know what he would for his Ranſome pay,
Who with this anſwere doth their ſcorne requite:The Kings anſwer to the French.
•
pray thee Herault wiſh the French to ſtay,
And e'r the day be paſt, I hope to ſee.
That for their Ranſomes they ſhall ſend to mee.
The French which found how little Henry makes
•
f their vaine boaſts, as ſet therewith on fire,
Whilſt each one to his Enſigne him betakes,The Conſtables Oration to the French
•
he Conſtable to raiſe his ſpleene the hyer,
•
hus ſpeaks: Braue friēds, now for your Grandſires ſaks,
•
our countrys honor, or what may inſpire,
Your ſouls with courage, ſtrain vp all your power
To make this day victoriouſly ours.
Forward ſtout French, your vallours and aduance,
•
y taking vengeance for our Fathers ſlaine,
•
nd ſtrongly fixe the Diadem of France,
Which to this day vnſtead
•
doth remaine:
Now with your ſwords their Traitors boſoms lance
•
nd with their bloods waſh out that ancient ſtaine,
And make our earth drunke with the Engliſh gore,
Which hath of ours oft ſurfetted before,
Let not one liue in England once to tell,
•
hat of their King, or of the reſt became:
Nor to the Engliſh what in France befell,
But what is bruted by the generall fame:
But now the Drums began ſo loud to yell,
As cut off further what he would declame:
And Henry ſeeing them on ſo faſt to make,
Thus to his Souldiers comfortably ſpake.
THinke but vpon the iuſtneſſe of our cauſe,The King of Englands Oration
•
o the Engliſh.
And he's no man their number that will w
•
Thus our great Grandſire purchaſ'd his applauſe
The more they are, the greater is our prey,
We'll hand in hand wade into dangers iawes,
And let report to England this conuey
That it for me no ranſome e'r ſhall rayſe,
Either Il'e Conquer, or here end my dayes,
It were no glory for vs to ſubdue▪
Them, then our number, were the French no mo
•
When in one battaile twice our Fathers flew,
Three times ſo many as themſelues before,
But to doe ſomething that were ſtrange and new▪
Wherefore (I aske you) Came we to this ſhore▪
Vpon theſe French our Fathers wan renow
•
And with their ſwords we'l hew yan forreſt d
•
The meaneſt Souldier if in fight hee take,
The greateſt Prince in yonder Army knowne,
Without controule ſhall him his priſoner make,
And haue his ranſome freely as his owne:
Now, Engliſh, lyes our honour at the ſtake,
And now or neuer be our valour ſhowne:
God & our cauſe, Saint George for England ſta
〈…〉
Now charge them Engliſh, fortune guide yo
•
ha
•
When hearing one wiſh all the valiant men,The high
〈…〉
of the King of England.
At home in England, with them preſent were,
The King makes anſwere inſtantly againe,
I would not haue one man more then is here:
••
e ſubdue, leſſe ſhould our praiſe be then:
•
euer come, leſſe loſſe ſhall England beare:
And to our numbers we ſhould giue that deed,
Which muſt from Gods own powerfull hand proceed.
The dreadful charge the drums & trumpets ſound
With hearts exalted, though with humbled eyes,
When as the Engliſh kneeling on the ground,
Extend the
•
r hands vp to the glorious skies,
Then from the earth as though they did rebound:
•
iue as fire immediatly they riſe:
And ſuch a ſhrill ſhoute from their thr
•
ats they ſent,
As made the French to ſtagger as they went.
Wherwith they ſtopt, when Erpingham which ledSir Thomas Erpingham gaue the ſignall to the Engliſh.
〈…〉
e Army, ſaw, the ſhout had made them ſtand,
〈…〉
ting his warder thrice about his head,
•
e caſt it vp with his auſpitious hand,
•
hich was the ſignall through the Engliſh ſpread,
•
hat they ſhould charge: which as a dread cōmand,
Made them ruſh on, yet with a ſecond rore,
Frighting the French worſe then they did before,
But when they ſaw the enemy ſo ſlowe,
•
hich they expected faſter to come on,
〈…〉
e ſcattering ſhot they ſent out as to ſhowe,
〈…〉
their approach they onely ſtood vpon,
•
hich with more feruour made their rage
•
o glow,
•
much diſgrace that they had vnder-gone,
Which to amend with Enſignes let at large,
Vpon the Engliſh furiouſly they charge,
At the full Moone looke how th'vnweldy Tyde▪
A Simily of the French charging the Engliſh.
Shou'd by ſome Tempeſt that from Sea doth riſe,
At the full height, againſt the ragged ſide,
Of ſome rough Cliffe (of a Giganticke ſiſe)
Foming with rage impetuouſly doth ride,
The angry French (in no leſſe furious wiſe)
Of men at Armes vpon their ready Horſe,
Aſſayle the Engliſh to diſperſe their force.
When as thoſe Archers there in ambuſh layd,
Hauing their broad ſide as they came along,
With their barb'd Arrows the French Horſes pay▪
And in their
•
lankes like cruell Hornets ſtong:The three hundred Ar
•
h
•
rs lay a in ambuſh, diſorder the French men
••
Armes at the firſt encounter.
They kick and cry, of late that proudly nay de:
And from their ſeates their Armed riders flong,
They ranne together flying from the Dike,
And make their riders one another ſtrike.
And whilſt the front of the French vanguard ma
〈…〉
Vpon the Engliſh thinking them to Route,
Their Horſes runne vpon the Armed ſtakes,
And being wounded turne themſelues about,
The bit into his teeth the Courſer takes,
And from his Ranke flyes with his Maſter out,
Who either hurts or is hurt of his owne,
If in the throng not both together throwne.
Tumbling on heapes, ſome of their Horſes caſt▪
With their foure feete all vp into the ayre,
Vnder whoſe backs their Maſters breath their laſt▪
Soe breake their rains, and thence their riders b
〈…〉
•
ome with their feete ſticke in the ſtirrups faſt,
•
y their fierce Iades and trayled here and there,
Entangled in their bridles, one backe drawes,
And pluckes the bit out of anothers iawes,
With ſhowers of ſhafts yet ſtill the Engliſh ply,
•
he French ſo faſt vpon the poynt of flight,
•
ith the mayne Battell yet ſtood Henry by,
•
or all this while had medled in the fight,
•
pon the Horſes as in chaſe they fly,
•
rowes ſo thicke, in ſuch abundance light,
•
hat their broad buttocks men like buts might ſee,
Whereat for paſtime bow-men ſhooting bee.
When ſoone De Lannies and Sureres haſt,
•
ayde their friends put to this ſhamefull foyle,Two wings of French horſe defeated.
•
ith two light wings of Horſe which had beene plac't,
•
ill to ſupply where any ſhould recoyle,
•
t yet their forces they but vainely waſte,
•
r being light into the generall ſpoyle,
Great loſſe De Linnies ſhortly doth ſuſtaine,
Yet ſcapes himſelfe; but braue Surreres ſlaine.
The King who ſees how well his Vanguard ſped,
•
ds his command that inſtantly it ſtay,
•
eſiring Yorke ſo brauely that had led,
〈…〉
hold his ſouldiours in their firſt array,
•
r it the Conflict very much might ſted,
〈…〉
mewhat to fall aſide, and giue him way,
Till full vp to him he might bring his power,
And make the Conqueſt compleat in an hower.
Which Yorke obayes, and vp King Henry comes,
When for his guidance he had got him roome,
The dreadful bellowing of whoſe ſtraitbracd dru
〈…〉
The Engliſh Va
••
ard and
〈…〉
Bas
••••
e charge
•
he French
〈…〉
at
〈…〉
.
To the French ſounded like the dreadfull doome,
And them with ſuch ſtupidity benummes,
As though the earth had groaned from her wombe,
For the grand ſlaughter ne'r began till then,
Couering the earth with multitudes of men.
Vpon the French what Engliſhman not falls,
(By the ſtrong Bow-men beaten from their ſtee
•
With Battle-axes, Halbers, Bils, and Maules.
Where, in the ſlaughter euery one exceeds,
Where euery man his fellow forward calls,
And ſhowes him where ſome great born French
〈…〉
bleed
•
Whilſt Scalps about like broken pot-ſherds fly,
And kill, kill, kill, the Conquering Engliſh cry.
Now wexed horror to the very height,
And ſcarſe a man but wet-ſhod went in gore,
As two together are in deadly fight,
And to death wounded, as one tumbleth ore,
This Frenchman falling, with his very weight,
Doth kill another ſtrucken downe before,
As he againe ſo falling, likewiſe feeles,
His laſt breath haſtned by anothers heeles,
And whilſt the Engliſh eagerly purſue,
The fearefull French before them ſtill that fly,
The points of Bils and Halberts they imbrue
In their ſicke bowels, beaten downe that lye,
〈…〉
o man reſpects how, or what blood he drew,
〈…〉
or can heare thoſe that for their mercy cry,
〈…〉
ares are damn'd vp with howles & helliſh ſounds,
One fearefull noyſe, a fearefuller confounds,
When the couragious Conſtable of France,
Charles de
〈…〉
Conſtable of F
〈…〉
〈…〉
h'vnluckly Vanguard valiantly that led,
〈…〉
we the day turn'd by this diſaſtrous chance,
〈…〉
nd how the French before the Engliſh fled;
〈…〉
ſtay (quoth he) your Enſignes yet aduance,
〈…〉
nce more vpon the enemy make head:
Neuer let France ſay, we were vanquiſht ſo,
With our backs baſely turn'd vpon our Foe,
Whom the Chattillyon hapned to accoſt,The A
〈…〉
〈…〉
d ſeeing thus the Conſtable diſmayd:
〈…〉
ift Noble Lord (quoth he) the day is loſt,
〈…〉
the whole world vpon the match were layd,
〈…〉
cannot thinke but that Blacke Edwards Ghoſt,
〈…〉
iſts the Engliſh, and our Horſe hath frayde,
If not, ſome Deuils they haue with them then,
That fight againſt vs in the ſhapes of men.
Not I my Lord, the Conſtable replies:
〈…〉
my beſt ſoule, the field I will not quit:
〈…〉
hilſt two braue Battailes are to bring ſupplies,
〈…〉
ither of which one ſtroke haue ſtrucken yet,
〈…〉
y (quoth Dampier) I doe not this aduiſe,
〈…〉
re then your ſelfe, that I doe feare a whit:
Spurre vp my Lord, then ſide to ſide with mee,
And that I feare not you ſhall quickly ſee.
They ſtrucke their Rowels to the bleeding ſid
•
Of their fierce▪ Steeds into the ayre that ſprong▪
And as their fury at that inſtant guides:
They thruſt themſelues into th
•
murth'ring thro
•
Where ſuch bad fortune theſe braue Lords betide
•
The Admirall from off his Horſe was ſtong,Th
•
A
•
mi
•
all fl
••••
For the ſterne Engliſh downe before them beere
All that withſtand, the Peaſant and the Peere.
Which when the Noble Conſtable with griefe
Doth this great Lord vpon the ground behold,
In his account ſo abſolute a Chiefe▪
Whoſe death through France he knew would bee condo
•
Like a braue Knight to yeeld his friend reliefe,
Doing as much as poſsibly hee could,
Both Horſe and man is borne into the mayne▪
And from his friend not halfe a furlong flaine.The Conſtable flaine.
Now Wil
•
ough by vpon his well-Arm'd Horſe,
Into the midſt of this Battalion brought,
And valiant Fanhope no whitleſſe in force,
Himſelfe hath thither through the ſquadrons ra
••
Whereas the Engliſh without all remorce,
(Looking like men that deepely are diſtraught)
Smoking with ſweat, beſmear'd with duſt & b
〈…〉
Cut into Cantles all that them withſtood.
Yet whilſt thus hotely they hold vp the Cha
••
Vpon the French, and had ſo high a hand▪
The Duke of Burbon to make good his place▪
Inforc'd his troupes (with much adoe) to ſtand▪
To whom the Earle of Suffolke makes apace,
Bringing a freſh and yet vnfought-with band:
Of valiant Bill-men, Oxford with ſucceſſe,
Vp with his Troupes doth with the other preſſe.
When in comes Orleance; quite thruſt off before,
By thoſe rude crowdes that from the Engliſh ran,
Encouraging ſtout Burbons Troupes the more,
•
'affront the Foe that inſtantly began:
•
aine would the Duke (if poſsible) reſtore,
〈…〉
Doing as much as could bee done by man)
Their Honour loſt, by this their laſt defeate,
And cauſed onely by their baſe Retreat,
Their men at Armes their Lances cloſely locke,
One in another, and come vp ſo round,
That by the ſtrength and horrour of the ſhocke,
They forc't the Engliſh to forſake their ground,
•
hrinking no more then they had bene a Rocke,
Though by the ſhafts receiuing many a wound,
As they would ſhow, that they were none of thoſe
That turn'd their backs ſo baſely to their Foes.
Panting for breath his Murrian in his hand,
•
oodhouſe comes in as backe the Engliſh beare,The
••••
ag
•
of Woodhouſe remark
•
able.
My Lords (quoth he) what now inforc't to ſtand,
When ſmiling Fortune offereth vs ſo faire,
•
he Frenchly yonder like to wreakes of ſand,
•
nd you by this our glory but impaire:
Or now, or neuer, your firſt fight maintaine,
Chattillion and the Conſtable are flaine.
Hand ouer head pell mell vpon them ronne,
If you will prooue the Maſters of the day,
Ferrers and Greyſtocke haue ſo brauely done,
That I enuy their glory, and dare ſay,
From all the Engliſh they the Gole haue wonne,
Either let's ſhare, or they'll beare all away,
This ſpoke, his Axe about his head he flings,
And haſts away, as though his heeles had win
•
The Incitation of this youthfull Knight,
Beſides amends for their retrayte to make,
Doth re-enforce their courage, with their might,
A ſecond charge with ſpeed to vndertake;
Neuer before were they ſo mad to fight,
When valiant Fanhope thus the Lords be ſpake,
Suffolke, and Oxford as braue Earles you be,
Once more beare vp with Willoughby and me.
Why now, me think's I heare braue Fanhope ſp
•
Quoth noble Oxford, thou haſt thy deſire,
Theſe words of thine ſhall yan battalion breake,
And for my ſelfe I neuer will retire,
Vntill our Teene vpon the French we wreake,
Or in this our laſt enterpriſe expire:
This ſpoke, their Gauntlets each doth other g
•
And to the charge as faſt as they can driue,
That ſlaughter ſeem'd to haue but ſtayd for
〈…〉
de
•
To make the horrour to inſue the more,
With hands be ſmear'd with blood when meager
Looketh more griſly then he did before,
•
o that each body ſeem'd but as a ſheath,
•
o put their ſwords in to the Hilts in gore:
As though that inſtant were the end of all,
To fell the French or by the French to fall.
Looke how you ſee a field of ſtanding Corne,A Simily
〈…〉
the appearance of the Battell.
When ſome ſtrong wind in Summer haps to blow,
•
t the full height, and ready to be ſhorne,
Riſing in waues, how it doth come and goe,
Forward and backward ſo the crowds are borne,
Or as the Edie turneth in the flow,
And aboue all the Bils and Axes play,
As doe the Attom's in the Sunny ray.
Now with mayne blowes their Armours ore vnbraſ'd,
And as the French before the Engliſh fled,
With their brown Bils their recreāt backs they baſt
And from their ſhoulders their faint armes do ſhred,
One with a gleaue neere cut off by the waſte,
Another runnes to ground with halfe a head:
Another ſtumbling falleth in his flight,
Wanting a legge, and on his face doth light.
The Duks who found their force thus ouerthrown,
And thoſe few left them ready ſtill to route,
Hauing great skill, and no leſ
•
e courage ſhowne;
Yet of their ſafeties much began to doubt,
For hauing few about them of their owne,
And by the Engliſh ſo impal'd about,
Saw that to ſome one they themſelues muſt yeeld,
Or elſe abide the fury of the field
They put themſelues on thoſe victorious LordThe Duke of Burben and
•
ri
•
ance to
•••
priſoners.
Who led the Vanguard with ſo good ſucceſſe,
Beſpeaking them with honourable wordes,
Themſelues their priſoners freely and confeſſe,
Who by the ſtrength of their commanding ſword
•
Could hardly ſaue them from the ſlaught'ring pre
•
By Suffolkes ayde till they away were ſent,
Who with a Guard conuayd them to his Tent.
When as their Souldiers to eſchew the ſacke,
Gainſt their owne Battell beating in their flight,
By their owne French are ſtrongly beaten backe:
Leſt they their Ranks, ſhould haue diſord'red quig
•
So that thoſe men at Armes goe all to wracke.
Twixt their own friends & thoſe with whom the
•
fig
•
Wherein diſorder and deſtruction ſeem'd,
To ſtriue, which ſhould the powerfulleſt be d
•
em'
•
And whilſt the Daulphine of Auerney cryes,
〈…〉
of ſome Guiſ
•
ard the Daulphine of A
•
ag
•
n.
Stay men at Armes, let Fortune doe her worſt,
And let that Villane from the field that flies,
By Babes yet to be borne, be euer curſt:
All vnder Heauen that we can hope for, lyes
On this dayes battell, let me be the firſt,
That turn'dye backe vpon your deſperate Foe
•
To ſaue our Honours, though our liues we loſe.
To whom comes in the Earle of Ewe, which long
Had in the Battaile ranged here and there,
A thouſand Bills, a thouſand Bowes among,
And had ſeene many ſpectacles of feare,
And finding yet the Daulphins ſpirit ſo ſtrong,
By that which he had chancd from him to heare,
Vpon the ſhoulder claps him▪ Prince quoth he,
Since I muſt fall, Oh let me fall with thee.
Scarſe had he ſpoke, but th'Engliſh them incloſe,
And like to Maſtiues fiercely on them flew,
Who with like courage ſtrongly them oppoſe,
When the Lord Beamont, who their Armings knew,
Their preſent perill to braue Suffolke ſhewes,
Quoth he, lo where Dauerney are and Ewe,
In this ſmall time, who ſince the Field begun,
Haue done as much, as can by men be done.
Now ſlaughter ceaze me, if I doe not grieue,
Two ſo braue Spirits ſhould be vntimely ſlaine,
Lies there no way (my Lord) them to releeue,
And for their Ranſomes two ſuch to retaine:
Quoth Suffolke, come, weele hazzard their repreeue,
And ſhare our Fortunes, in they goe amaine,
And with ſuch dāger through the preſſe they wade
As of their liues but ſmall account they made.
Yet ere they through the cluſtred clouds could get
Oft downe on thoſe, there trod to death that lay,
The valiant Daulphine had diſcharg'd his debt,The Daulphine of Auerney ſlaine. The Earle
〈…〉
Ewe taken priſoner.
Then whom no man had brauelier ſeru'd that day,
The Earle of Ewe, and wondrous hard beſet:
Had left all hope of life to ſcape away:
Till Noble Beamont and braue Suffolke came,
And as their priſoner ſeas'd him by his name.
Now the maine Battaile of the French came on▪
The Vauward vanquiſht, quite the field doth fly,
And other helpes beſides this, haue they none,
But that their hopes doth on their mayne rely,
And therefore now it ſtandeth them vpon,
To fight it brauely, or elſe yeeld, or dye:
For the fierce Engliſh Charge ſo home and ſort▪
As in their hands Ioues thunderbolts they bore.
The Duke of Yorke who ſince their fight begunThe Duke of Yorke ſlaine.
Still in the top of all his troopes was ſeene,
And things well-neere beyond beleefe had done,
Which of his fortune, made him ouer weene,
Himſelfe ſo farre into the maine doth runne,
So that the French which quickly got betweene
Him and his ſuccours, that great Chieftaine ſlue
Who brauely fought whilſt any breath he drew.
The newes ſoone brought to this couragious King
Oreſpred his face with a diſtempred Fire,The King
〈…〉
of the Duk of Yorks
〈…〉
.
Though making little ſhew of any thing,
Yet to the full his eyes expreſt his Ire,
More then before the Frenchmen menacing,
And hee was heard thus ſoftly to reſpire:
Well, of thy blood reuenged will I bee,The Kings ſolution.
Or ere one houre be paſt Ile follow thee.
When as the frolike Caualry of France,
That in the Head of the maine Battaile cam
•
Perceiu'd the King of England to aduance,
To charge in perſon; it doth them inflame,
〈…〉
ch one well hoping it might be his chance,
〈…〉
ſeaſe vpon him, which was all their ayme,
Then with the braueſt of the Engliſh met,
Themſelues that there before the King had ſet,
When th'Earle of Cornewall with vnuſuall force,The bloody ſcuffle betweene the French and Engliſh, at the ioyning of the two maine Battailes in fiue S
•
anzaes.
•
counters Grandpre (next that came to hands)
〈…〉
ſtrength his equall, blow for blow they ſcorce,
•
eelding their Axes as they had bene wands,
•
ll the Earle tumbles Grandpre from his Horſe▪
〈…〉
er whom ſtrait the Count Salines ſtands,
And lendeth Cornewall ſuch a blow withall▪
Ouer the crupper that he makes him fall▪
Cornewall recouers, for his Armes were good,
〈…〉
d to Saline▪
maketh vp againe,
•
ho chang'd ſuch boy ſtrous buffers, that the blood
•
th through the ioints of their ſtrong Armor ſtrain
〈…〉
Count Salines ſunke downe where he ſtood▪
•
mount who ſees the Count Salines ſlaine,
•
traight copes with Cornewal beaten out of breath
〈…〉
Till Kent comes in, and reſcues him from death.
Kent vpon Blamount furiouſly doth fly,
〈…〉
at the Earle with no leſſe courage ſtrucke,
〈…〉
d one the other with ſuch knocks they ply,
〈…〉
at eithers Axe in th'others Helmets ſtucke,
•
hilſt they are wraſtling, croſsing thigh with thigh
〈…〉
eir Axes pikes, which ſooneſt out ſhould plucke:
They fal to ground like in their Casks to ſmother,
With their clutcht Gantlets
•
uffing one another.
Couragious
•
l
•
e
•
grieued at the ſight,Called Cl
•
e
•
of Brabant.
Of his friend Blamounts vnexpected fall,
Makes in to lend him all the ayde he might;
Whoſe cōming ſeem'd the ſtout Lord Soales to cal
〈…〉
Betwixt whom then began a mortall fight,
When inſtantly fell in Sir Phillip Hall,
Gainſt him goes Rouſſy, in then Louell ran,
Whom next Count Morveyle chuſeth as his m
〈…〉
Their Curates are vnreuited with blowes,
With Horrid wounds their breaſts and faces ſlaſ
〈…〉
There drops a cheeke, and there falls off a noſe,
And in ones face his fellowes braines are daſht;
Yet ſtill the better with the Engliſh goes.
The earth of France with her owne blood is waſh
〈…〉
They fall ſo faſt, ſhe ſcarce affords them roome
〈…〉
That one mans trunke becomes anothers tom
〈…〉
When Suffolke chargeth Huntingdon with ſlo
〈…〉
The Earle of Suffolke chargeth the Earle of Huntington with brea
•
h of promiſe.
Ouer himſelfe too wary to haue bin,
And had neglected his faſt plighted troth,
Vpon the Field, the Battaile to begin,
That where the one was, there they would be both
•
When the ſtout Earle of Huntingdon, to win,
Truſt with his friends; doth this himſelfe inlar
〈…〉
To this great Earle who dares him thus to charg
•
My Lord (quoth he) it is not that I feare,
More then your ſelfe, that ſo I haue not gone;
But that I haue beene forced to bee neare,
The King, whoſe perſon I attend vpon,
〈…〉
d that I doubt not but to make appeare,
•
ow, if occaſion ſhall but call me on;
Looke round about my Lord, if you can ſee,
Some braue aduenture worthy you and me.
See yan proud Banner of the Duke of Barres,
A desp
〈…〉
attempt by the Earle of Huntingdon.
〈…〉
think'ſt it waſts vs, and I heare it ſay,
〈…〉
her's that couragious Engliſhman that dares,
〈…〉
enture, but to carry me away,
•
is were a t
•
ing now worthy of our warres;
〈…〉
true, quoth Suffolke, by this bleſſed day,
On, and weele haue it, ſayſt thou ſo indeed,
Quoth Huntingdon, then Fortune be our ſpeed,
•
nd through the rancks then ruſhing in their pride
•
ey make a Lan
•
; about them ſo they lay,
•
ote goes with foote, and ſide is ioynde to ſide,
•
ey ſtrike downe all that ſtand within their way,
〈…〉
d to direct them, haue no other guide,
〈…〉
as they ſee the multitude to ſway;
And as they paſſe, the French as to defie,
Saint George for England and the King they cry,
By their examples, each braue Engliſh blood,One braue
••
pl
•
ie
•
begerteth another?
〈…〉
the Frenchmen for their Enſignes runne,
〈…〉
e there as trees within a well-growne wood;
•
ere great Atchieuements inſtantly were done,
〈…〉
inſt them roughly whilſt that Nation ſtood,
〈…〉
ô what man his deſtinie can ſhunne,
That Noble Suffolke there is ouerthrowne,The Earle of Suffolk
〈…〉
•
hen
•
e much vallour ſundry wayes had ſhowne.
Which the proud Engliſh further doth pro
••
Who to deſtruction bodily were bent,
That the maine battaile inſtantly they broke,
Vpon the French ſo furiouſly they went,
And not an Engliſh but doth ſcorne a ſtroake,The Engliſh kill she French with their owne Weapons.
If to the ground it not a Frenchman ſent,
Who weak with wounds, their weapons frō th
•
thr
•
With which the Engliſh fearefully them ſlew.
Alanzon backe vpon the Reareward borne,
By thoſe vnarm'd that from the Engliſh fled,
All further hopes them vtterly forlorne,
His Noble heart in his full boſome bled,
VVhat fate, quoth he, our ouerthrow hath ſworne
Muſt France a priſoner be to England led,
VVell, if ſhe be ſo, yet Ile let her ſee,
Shee beares my carkaſſe with her, and not me.
And puts his Horſe vpon his full Careere,
When with the courage of a valiant Knight,
(As one that knew not, or forgot to feare,)
He tow'rds King Henry maketh in the fight,
And all before him as he downe doth beare,
Vpon the Duke of Gloceſter doth light:
Which on the youthfull Chiualry doth brin
•
Scarſe two piks length that came before the
〈…〉
Their Staues both ſtrongly reuetted with ſ
••
The Duke of Gloceſter
••
〈…〉
by the Duke of Alanzon.
At the firſt ſtroke each other they aſtound,
That as they ſtaggering from each other reele▪
The Duke of Gloceſter falleth to the ground,
•
hen as Alanzon round about doth wheele,
•
hinking to lend him his laſt deadly wound,
In comes the King, his brother
•
life to ſaue,
And to this braue Duke a freſh on▪ ſet gaue.
When as themſelues like thunderbolts they ſhot,
One at the other, and the lightning brake
Out of their Helmets, and againe was not,
•
'r of their ſtroake the eare a ſound could take,
•
etwixt them two, the conflict grew ſo hot,
•
hich thoſe about them ſo amaz'd doth make,
That they ſtood ſtill as wondring at the
•
ight,
And quite forgot that they themſelues muſt fight
Vpon the King Alanzon preſt ſo ſore,
•
hat with a ſtroke (as he was wondrous ſtrong)The King of England in dan
•
e
•
to be ſlan
•
by the Duke of Alanzon.
•
e c
•
eft the Crowne which on his Helme he wore,
•
nd tore his Plume that to his heeles it hong:
•
hen with a ſecond bruſ'd his Helme before,
•
hat it his forehead pitifully wrung:
As ſome that ſaw it certainely had thought,
•
he King therewith had to the ground bin brought
But Henry ſoone Alanzons Ire to quit,
•
s now his valour lay vpon the Racke)Alanzon betten downe by the King of England.
•
on'th face the Duke ſo ſtrongly hit,
〈…〉
in his Saddle layd him on his backe,
〈…〉
d once perceluing that be had him ſplit,
〈…〉
llow'd his blowes redoubling thwack on thwack
〈…〉
Till
•
e had loſt his ſtirrups, and his head
Hung where his Horſe was like thereon to tread.
When ſoone two other ſeconding their Lord,The King kil le
•
o two Gentlemen that aduenture to
•
reſene the Duke.
His kind companions in this glorious prize,
Hoping againe the Duke to haue reſtor'd
If to his feet his Armes would let him riſe:
On the Kings Helme their height of fury ſcor'd;
Who like a Dragon fiercely on them flies,
And on his body ſlew them both, whilſt he,
Recouering was their ayde againe to be.
The King thus made the maſter of the fight:
The Duke calls to him as he there doth lye,
Henry I'le pay my ranſowe, doe me right:
I am the Duke Alanzon, It is I,
The King to ſaue him putting all his might,
Yet the rude ſouldiers with their ſhout and cry,
Quite drownd his voyce, his Helmet being ſhut,The Duke Alanzon ſlaine.
And that braue Duke into ſmall pieces cut.
Report once ſpred, through the diſtracted Hoſt,
Of their prime Hope, the Duke Alanzon ſlaine,
That flower of France, on whom they truſted moſt,
They found their valour was but then in vaine,
Like men their hearts that vtterly had loſt,
Who ſlowly fled before, now runne amaine,
Nor could a man be found, but that diſpaires,
Seeing the Fate both of themſelues and theirs.
The Duke Neuers, now in this ſad retreat,The Duke Neuers taken priſoner.
By Dauid Gam and Morrisby purſude,
(Who throughly chaſ'd, neere melted into ſweat,
And with French blood their Pollaxes imbrud)
They ſeaſe vpon him following the defeat,
Amongſt the faint and fearefull multitude,Morrisby and Gam a
•
contention for the Duke of Neueres.
When a contention fell betweene them twaine.
To whom the Duke ſhould right
•
u
•
ly pertaine,
I muſt confeſſe thou hadſt him firſt in chaſe,
Quoth Morrisby; but lefts him in the throng,
•
hen put I on, quoth Gam haſt thou the face,
•
nſulting Knight to offer me this wrong;
Quoth Morrisby, who ſhall decide the caſe,
••
t him confeſſe to whom it doth belong,
Let him (quoth Gam) but if't be not to mee,
For any right you haue, he may goe free,
With that couragious Morrisby grew hot,Morrisby
••
b
•
auey
••
Knigh
•
ere not ſayd he his ranſome worth a pin,
•
ow by theſe Armes I were, thou gett'ſt him not,
•
r if thou doſt thou ſhalt him hardly win:Dauid Ga
•
oft mentioned in this P
〈…〉
•
am whoſe Welch blood could hardly brooke this blot,
•
o bend his Axe vpon hi
•
doth begin,
He his at him, till the Lord Beamont came,
Their raſh attempt, and wiſely thus doth blame.
Are not the French twice trebl'd to our power,
•
nd fighting ſtill, nay, doubtfull yet the day:
•
i
•
ke you not th
•
ſe vs faſt enough deuoure:
•
t that your braues the Army muſt diſmay:
•
ought but good befall vs in this houre:
•
is be you ſure your liues for it muſt pay:
Then firſt the end of this dayes Battaile ſee,
And then decide whoſe priſoner he ſhall be,
Now Exceſter with his vntaynted Reare,The Duke of Exceſter commeth in with the Reare.
Came on, which long had labour'd to come in,
And with the Kings mayne battell vp doth beare,
Who ſtill kept off, till the laſt houre had bin:
He cryes and clamours eu'ry way doth heare:
But yet he knew not which the day ſhould win:
Nor askes of any what were fit to doe,
But where the French were thick'ſt he falleth to.
The Earle of Vandom certainely that thought,
The Engliſh fury ſome what had beene ſtayd:
Weary with ſlaughter as men ouer-wrought,
Nor had beene ſpur'd on by a ſecond ayd:
For his owne ſafety, then more fiercely fought,
Hoping the tempeſt had bin ſomewhat layd:
And he thereby (though ſuff'ring the defeate)
Might keepe his reareward whole in his retreat
•
On whom the Duke of Exceſter then fell,
Reare with the Reare now for their valoursvy,
Ours finde the French their liues will dearely ſell,
And th'Engliſh meane as dearely them to buy:
The Engliſh follow, ſhould they run through hell,
And through the ſame the French muſt, if they fly,
When too't they goe, deciding it with blowes,
With th'one ſide now, then with th'other't g
〈…〉
But the ſterne Engliſh with ſuch lucke and mig
〈…〉
(As though the fates had ſworn to take their part
Vpon the French preuailing in the Fight,
With doubled hands, and with re-doubled heart
•
The more in perill ſtill the more in plight,
Gainſt them whom fortune miſerably thwarts:
Diſabled quite before the foe to ſtand,
But fall like graſſe before the Mowers hand.
That this French Earle is beaten on the field,The Earle of Vandome ſlaine.
His fighting ſouldiers round about him ſlaine,
And when himſelfe a Priſoner he would yeeld,
And beg'd for life, it was but all in vaine:
Their Bils the Engliſh doe ſo eaſily weeld,
To kill the French as though it were no paine:
For this to them was their auſpicious day,
The more the Engliſh fight, the more they may,
When now the Marſhall Boucequalt, which long
Had through the Battell waded euery way,
Oft hazzarded the murthered troupes among,
Encouraging them to abide the day:
Finding the Army which he thought ſo ſtrong,
Before the Engliſh faintly to diſmay,
Brings on the wings which of the reſt remain'd,
With which the battaile ſtoutly he maintain'd.
Till old Sir Thomas Erpingham at laſt,Sir Thomas Erpingham getteth in with his three hundred A
•
•
hers.
•
ith thoſe three hundred Archers commeth in,
•
hich layd in ambuſh not three houres yet paſt,
•
ad the Defeat of the French Army bin,
•
ith theſe that noble ſouldier maketh haſt,
〈…〉
t other from him ſhould the honour win:
Who as before now ſtretch their wel-waxt ſtrings,
At the French Horſe then comming in the wings.
The ſoyle with ſlaughter euery where they lo
•
Whilſt the French ſtoutely to the Engliſh ſtood,
The drops from eithers emptied veynes that flow
Where it was lately firme had made a flood,
But Heau'n that day to the braue Engliſh ow'd;
The Sunne that roſe in water, ſet in blood:
Nothing but horror to be look'd for there,
And the ſlought Marſhall vainely doth but fe
•
His Horſe ſore wounded whilſt he went aſide,The Marſhal of France ſlaine.
To take another ſtill that doth attend,
A ſhaft that ſome too-lucky hand doth guide,
Piercing his Gorget brought him to his end,
Which when the proud Lord Falkonbridge eſpide,
Thinking from thence to beare away his friend,
Strucke frō his Horſe with many a mortal wou
•
Is by the Engliſh nayled to the ground.
The Marſhals death ſo much doeth them affrig
That downe their weapons inſtantly they lay,
And better ye
•
to fit them for their flight,
Their weightier Armes they wholly caſt away,
Their hearts ſo heauy makes their heeles ſo light,
That there was no intreating them to ſtay,
Ore hedge and ditch diſtractedly they take,
〈…〉
And happieſt he the greateſt haſt could make,
When
Ʋadamount now in the conflict met,Co
〈…〉
Vadamount.
With valiant Brabant, whoſe high valour ſhow
•
That day did many a blunted courage whet,
Ere long before that from the field had flowne,
Q
•
oth Vadamount, ſee how wee are beſet,The Duke of Brabant a moſt couragious Prince
To death like to be troden by our owne,
My Lord of Brabant, what is to be done?
See how the French before the Engliſh runne.
Why let them runne, and neuer turne the Head,A bitter exclamation of the Duke of Brabant againſt the French.
Quoth the braue Duke, vntill their hatefull breath,
Forſake their bodies, and ſo farre haue fled,
That France be not diſparag'd by their death,
Who truſts to Cowards ne'r is better ſped,
Be he accurſt, with ſuch that holdeth faith,
Slaughter conſume the Recreants as they fly,
Branded with ſhame, ſo baſely may they dye.
Ignoble French, your fainting cowardize craues
The dreadfull curſe of your owne mother earth,
Hardning her breaſt, not to allow you graues,
Bee ſhe ſo much aſhamed of your birth;
May he be curſt that one of you but ſaues,
And be in France hereafter ſuch a dearth,
Of courage, that men from their wits it feare,
A Drum or Trumpet when they hap to heare.
From Burgundy brought I the force I had,Anthony Duke of Brabant ſonne to the Duke of Burgundy.
To fight for them, that ten for one did fly,
It ſplits my breaſt, O that I could be mad;
To vexe theſe Slaues who would not dare to dye:
In all this Army is there not a Lad,
Th'ignoble French for cowards that dare cry:
If ſcarſe one found, then let me be that one,
The Engliſh Army that oppoſ'd alone.
This
••
Spand
••
pu
••
his Horſe vpon his ſpeed,
And in like
〈…〉
ing on the Engliſh flew:
〈…〉
ſonne he made to bleed,
W
••
ſt
•••
with much aſtoniſhment they view:
Where hauing
•
cted many a Knight-like deed,
H
••
and his Horſe they all too peeces hewe:
Yet he that day more laſting glory wan,
Except Al
•
nzon then did any man.The valiant Duke of Brabant ſlaine.
When as
〈…〉
great King Henry came,
Of a vaſt ro
•••
which
•
om the Battaile
••
ed,
(Amongſt the French men of moſt ſpeciall name)
But the ſtoute Engliſh fiercely followed;
Ha
•
for
•
h
•
i
•
ſafety, (much though to their ſha
••
e)Many of the French in
•
hotr flight get
••
to an old Fort.
Got in their flight into ſo ſtrong a ſted,
So fortifi'd by nature (as 'twas though
•
)
They might no
•
thence, but with much blood be brought
An aged Rāpire, with huge Ruines heapt▪
Which ſeru'd for Shot, gainſt thoſe that ſhould
〈…〉
Whoſe narrow entrance they with crosbowes kept
Whoſe ſharpned quarres came in ſhow
•
's like haileThe Kings ſlight anſwere.
Quoth the braue King firſt let the field be ſwept,
And with the reſt we well enough ſhall deale;
Which though ſome heard & ſo ſhut vp their
•
are
Yet reliſh't not with many ſouldiers there,
Some that themſelues by Ranſomes would in r
•••
(To make their pray of Peſants yet deſpiſe)
Felt as they thought their bloody palmes to 'tch,
To be in action for their wealthy prize,
Others whom onely glory doth bewitch,
Rather then life would to this enterprize:
Moſt men ſeem'd willing, yet not any one,
Would put himſelfe this great exployt vpon.
Which Woodhouſe hearing merrily thus ſpake,Woodhou
••
•
eereth at the attempt.
One that right wel knew, both his worth and wit)
A d
•
ng
•
ous thing it is to vndertake,
A fort, where Souldiers be defending it,
••••
path
••
ſleepe, and if they ſhould awake,
With
••
ones, or with their ſhafts they may vs hitt,
And in our Conqueſt whilſt ſo well we fare,
It were meere folly, but I ſee none dare.
Which Gam or'hearing (being neere at hand,)Braues paſſe between Gam and Woodhouſe.
Not dare quoth he, and angerly doth frowne,
I tell thee Woodhouſe, ſome in preſence ſtand,
Dare propp the Sunne if it were falling downe,
Dare graſpe the bolt from Thunder in his hand,
And through a Canon leape into a Towne,
I tell thee, a reſolued man may doe,
Things that thy thoughts yet neuer mounted to.
I know that reſolution may doe much,
Woodhouſe replyes, but who could act my thought,
With his proud Head the pole might eaſily tuch,
And Gam quoth he, though brauely thou haſt fought
Yet not the Fame thou haſt attain'd to, ſuch,
But that behind as great is to be bought,
And yonder tis, then Gam come vp with mee,
Where ſoone the King our Courages ſhall ſee
•
Agreed quoth Gam, and vp their troups they
••
Hand ouer head, and on the French they ranne,
And to the fight couragiouſly they fall,
When on both ſides the ſlaughter ſoone began;
Fortune a while indifferent is to all,
Theſe what they may, and thoſe doe what they ca
•
Woodhouſe and
•
am, vpon each other vye,
By Armes their manhood deſperatly to try.
To clime the Fort, the Light-arm'd Engliſh ſtrin
•
And ſome by Trees there growing to aſcend;
The French with flints let at the Engliſh driue,
Themſelues with ſhields the Engliſhmen defend,
And faine the fort down with their hands would r
••
Thus either ſide their vtmoſt power extend,
Till valiant Gam ſore wounded, drawne aſide,Ca
•
tain
•
Gam
••
ai
•
e.
By his owne ſouldiers, ſhortly after dy'de,
Then take they vp the bodyes of the ſlayne,For this ſeruice done by Woodhouſe▪ there was an addition of honour giuen him which was a hand holding
•
club: with the word, Frappe Fort, which is borne by the Family of the Woodhouſe of Norfolke to t
•••
day.
Which for their Targets ours before them beare,
And with a freſh aſſault came on againe,
Scarſe in the Field yet ſuch a fight as there,
Cros-bowes, and Long-bowes, at it are amaine,
Vntill the French their maſſacre that feare,
Of the fierce Engliſh▪
a ceſſation craue,
Offring to yeeld, ſo they their liues would ſaue▪
Lewis of Burbon in the furious heat,
Of this great Battaile, hauing made ſome ſtay
Who with the left Wing ſuffred a
•
d feate,
In the beginning of this luckleſſe day,
Finding the Engliſh forcing their retreat,
And that much hope vpon his valour lay,
Fearing leſt he might vndergoe ſome ſhame,
That were vnworthy of the Burbon name.
Hath gathered vp ſome ſcattered troops of horſe,
That in the Field ſtood doubtfull what to doe,
Though with much toyle, which he doth reinforce,
With ſome ſmall power that he doth adde thereto,
Proclaiming ſtill the Engliſh had the worſe,
And now at laſt, with him if they would goe,
He dares aſſure them Victory, if not,
The greareſt fame that euer Souldiers got.
And being wiſe, ſo Burbon to beguile,
The French, (preparing inſtantly to fly)A deuiſ
•
••
Burbons to giue incouragement to the French.
Procures a Souldier by a ſecret wile,
To come in ſwiftly and to craue ſupply,
That if with courage they would fight a while,
It certaine was the Engliſh all ſhould dye,
For that the King had offered them to yeeld,
Finding his troupes to leaue him on the field,
When Arthur Earle of Richmount comming in,
With the right wing that long ſtaid out of ſight,
Hauing too lately with the Engliſh bin,
But finding Burbon bent againe to fight,
His former credit hoping yet to winne,
(Which at that inſtant caſily he might)
Comes cloſe vp with him, and puts on as faſt,
Brauely reſolu'd to fight it to the laſt.
And both encourag'd by the newes was braug
•
Of the ariuing of the Daulphine: power;
Whoſe ſpeedy Van, their Reare had almoſt raug
•
(From Agin Court diſcouered from a Tower)
Which with the Norman Gallantry was fraught,
And on the ſuddaine comming like a ſhower;
Would bring a deluge on the Engliſh Hoaſt,
Whilſt yet they ſtood their victory to boaſt.
And on they come, as doth a rowling tide,
Forc'd by a wind, that ſhoues it foorth ſo faſt,A Simily of the, French.
Till it choke vp ſome channell, ſide to ſide,
And the crab'd banks doth downe before it caſt,
Hoping the Engliſh would them not abide,
Or would be ſo amaz
•
d at their haſt,
That ſhould they faile to route them at their w
〈…〉
Yet of their blood, the fields ſhould drinke their f
〈…〉
When as the Engliſh whoſe o'r-wearied Armes,
Were with long ſlaughter lately waxed ſore,
Theſe inexpected, and ſo fierce Alarmes,
To their firſt ſtrength doe inſtantly reſtore,
And like a Stone their ſt
•
ff
•
ned ſinewes warmes,
To act as brauely as th
••
did before;
And the proud French as ſtoutly to oppoſe,
Scorning to y
•
e
•
d one foote deſpight of blowes,
The figh
•
is fearefull, for ſtout Burbon brings,
His f
•
eſh
〈…〉
forces on with ſuch a ſhocke,
That they were like to cut the Archers ſtrings,
E're they their Arrowes handſomely could nock,
〈…〉
e French like Engins that were made with ſprings:
〈…〉
emſelues ſo faſt into the Engliſh locke,
That th'one was like the other downe to beare,
In wanting roomth to ſtrike, they ſtood ſo neare.
Till ſtaggering long they from each other reel'd,
•
lad that themſelues they ſo could diſingage:
••
d falling backe vpon the ſpacious field,
•
or this laſt Sceane, that is the bloody Stage)
•
here they their weapons liberally could weeld,
•
hey with ſuch madneſſe execute their rage,
As though the former fury of the day,
To this encounter had bene but a play.
Slaughter is now deſected to the full,
•
ere from their backs their batter'd Armorsfall,
•
er
•
a
•
left ſhoulder, there a clouen ſcull,
•
here hang his eyes ou
•
beat
•
n with a
•
mall,
•
ntill the edges of their Bill
•
grow dull,
p
•
n each other they ſo ſpend their gall,
Wilde ſh
••
t
•
s and clamors all the ayre doe fill,
The French cry
•
tue, and the Engliſh kill.
The Duke of Barre in this vaſt ſpoyle by chance;
•
ith the Lord Saint-Iohn on the field doth meete,
•
ow'rds whom that braue Duke doth himſelfe aduāce
•
ho with the like encoūter him doth greet,
•
his Engliſh Barron, and this Peere of France,
•
rapling together, falling from their feet,
With the rude crowds had both to death beene cruſht,
•
n for their ſafety, had their friends not ruſht.
Both againe raiſ'd, and both their ſouldiers ſhift
To ſaue their liues if any way they could:
But as the French the Duke away wouldlift,
Vpon his Armes the Engliſh taking hold,
(Men of that ſort, that thought vpon their thrift)
Knowing his Ranſome dearely would be ſould:
Dragge him away in ſpight of their defence,
Which to their quarter would haue borne him thence,
Meane while braue Burbon from his ſtirring horſ
•
Gall'd with an Arrow to the earth is throwne,
By a meane ſouldier ſeaſed on by force,Lewis of Burbon taken priſon
•
by a meane ſouldiour.
Hoping to haue him certainely his owne,
Which this Lord holdeth better ſo then worſe:
Since the French fortune to that ebbe is growne,
And he perceiues the ſouldier doth him deeme,
To be a perſon of no meane eſteeme.
Berkely and Burnell, two braue Engliſh Lords,
Fleſht with French blood & in their Valours pride▪
Aboue their Arm'd heads brandiſhing their ſwords,
As they tryumphing through the Army ride,
Finding what prizes fortune her affords,
To eu'ry Souldier, and more wiſtly eyde,
This gallant priſoner, by this Arming ſee,
Of the great Burbon family to be.
And from the Souldier they his priſoner take,
Of which the French Lord ſeemeth wondrous faine▪
Thereby his ſafety more ſecure to make,
Which when the ſouldier finds his hopes in vaine,
〈…〉
rich a booty forced to forſake,Lewis of Burbon ſt
•
bd by a Souldier that tooke him priſoner,
〈…〉
put himſelfe and priſoner out of paine,
He on the ſuddaine ſtabs him, and doth ſweare,
Would th'aue his Ranſome, they ſhould take it there▪
When Roſſe and Morley making in amaine,
•
ing the Lord Darcy vp with them along,
•
hoſe Horſe had lately vnder him beene ſlaine,
〈…〉
d they on foote found fighting in the throng,
〈…〉
oſe Lords his friends remounting him againe,
•
ing a man that valiant was and ſtrong:
They altogether with a generall hand,
Charge on the French that they could find to ſtand.
And yet but vainely as the French ſuppoſ'd,
〈…〉
th'Earle of Richmount forth ſuch earth had foūd,
〈…〉
at on two ſides with quick-
•
et was inclos'd,
〈…〉
d the way to it by a riſing ground,
which a while the Engliſh were oppoſ'd,
euery Charge which elſe came vp ſo round,
As that except the paſſage put them by,
The French as wel might leaue their Armes and fly.
Vpon both parts it furiouſly is fought,
〈…〉
d with ſuch quickn
•
ſſe riſeth to that height,
〈…〉
t horror needs no further to be ſought:
〈…〉
nely that might ſatisfie the ſight,
〈…〉
o would haue fame full d
•
er
•
ly here i
•
bought,
〈…〉
it was ſold by meaſure and by weight,
And at one rate the price ſtill certaine ſtood,
An ounce of honour coſt a pound of blood,
When ſo it hapt that Dampier in the Van,The Lords Dampier an
•
Saueſſes tataken priſoners.
Meetes with ſtoute Darcy, but whilſt he him pr
〈…〉
Ouer and ouer commeth Horſe and man,
Of whom the other ſoone himſelfe poſſeſt:
When as Saueſſes vpon Darcy ran,
To ayde Dampier, but as he him adreſt;
A Halbert taking hold vpon his Greaues,
Him from his Saddle violently heaues,
VVhen ſoone fiue hundred Engliſhmen at Arme
That to the French had giuen many a Chaſe,
And when they couered all the field with ſwarmes
Yet oft
•
hat day had brauely bid them baſe:
Now at the laſt by raiſing freſh alarmes;
And comming vp with an vnuſuall pace,
Made them to know that they muſt run or yee
•
Neuer till now the Engliſh had the Field.
Where Arthur Earle of Richmount beaten dow
•
Arthur Earle of Richmount taken priſoner.
Is left (ſuppoſ'd of euery one for dead)
But afterwards awaking from his ſwoone,
By ſome that found him, was recouered:
So Count Du Marle was likewiſe ouerthrowne,The Count du Marle ſlaine.
As he was turning meaning to haue fled,
VVho fights the cold blade in his boſme feele
•
,
VVho flyes, ſtill heares it whisking at his heel
•
Till all diſrank'd, like ſiely ſheepe they runne,
By threats nor prayers, to be conſtrain'd to ſtay▪
For that their hearts were ſo extreamely done,
That fainting oft they fall vpon the way,
Or when they might a preſent perill ſhunne,
They ruſh vpon it by their much diſmay;
That from the Engliſh ſhould they ſafely flye,
Of their owne very feare, yet they ſhould dye.
Some they take priſoners, other ſome they kill,
•
s they affect thoſe vpon whom they fall:
For they as Victors may doe what they will:
For who this Conquerour to account dare call,
•
n gore the Engliſh ſeeme their ſoules to ſwill,
And the deiected French muſt ſuffer all;
Flight, cords, and ſlaughter, are the onely three,
To which themſelues ſubiected they doe ſee.
A ſhooleſle Souldier there a man might meete,The miſery of the French.
Leading his Mounſier by the Armes faſt bound:
Another, his had ſhackled by the feete;
Who like a Cripple ſhu
•
fled on the ground;
Another three or foure before him beete,
Like harmefull Cattell driuen to a pound,
They muſt abide it, ſo the Victor will,
Who at his pleaſure may, or ſaue, or kill.
That braue French Gallant when the fight began,
Whoſe leaſe of Lackies ambled by his ſide,
Himſelfe a Lacky now moſt baſely ran,
Whilſt a rag'd ſouldier on his Horſe doth ride,
That Raſcall is no leſſe then at his man,
Who was but lately to his Luggadge tide;
And the French Lord now courtſies to that ſlaue,
Who the laſt day his Almes was like to craue.
And thoſe few Engliſh wounded in the fight,The French forced to beare the wounded Engliſh on their backs.
The force the French to bring with them away,
Who when they w
•
re depreſſed with the weight▪
Yet dar'd not once their burden downe to lay,
Thoſe in the morne, whoſ
•
hopes wer at their h
•
ig
•
Are fallne thus lowe
•
re the departing day,
With picks of Halberts pric
•
t in ſtead of goa
〈…〉
Like tyred Horſes labouring with their Loads▪
But as the Engliſh from the field returne,
Some of thoſe French who when the fight b
•
gan,
Forſooke their friends, and hoping yet to earne,
Pardon, for that ſo covvardly they ran,
Aſſ
〈…〉
h Engliſh C
•
rri'ges to burne.
Which to defend them ſcarcely had a man;
For that their keepers to the field were got,
To picke ſuch ſp
•
yles, as chance ſhould then▪ al
•
The Captaines of this Raſcall cowardly Ro
•
t
•
Were Iſa
••
ret of Agincourt at hand,A
〈…〉
of raſ
•
al French
〈…〉
the King Englands
〈…〉
Riflant of
•
lunaſſe a Dorpe there about,
And for the chiefe in this their baſe command.
Was Robin
••
t of Burn
•••
le; throughout,
The country knowne, all order to withſtand,
Theſe with fiue hundred Peaſants they had ra
〈…〉
The Engliſh Tents vpon an inſtant ſeaſ'd.
For ſetting on thoſe with the Luggadge left,
A few poore Sutlers with the Campe that went,
They baſely fell to pillage and to theft,
And hauing
•
ifled euery Booth and Tent,
•
ome of the ſillyeſt they of life bereft,
•
he feare of which, ſome of the other ſent,
Into the Army, with their ſuddaine cryes,
Which put the King in feare of freſh ſupplies.
For that his Souldiers tyred in the fight,The
〈…〉
.
•
heir priſoners more in number then they were,
•
e thought it for a thing of too much weight,
•
oppoſe freſh fo
•
c
•
s, and to guard them there,
•
he Daulphines Powers, yet ſtan
•
ing in their ſight,
•
nd Burbons Fo
•
ces of the fi
•
ld n
•
t cleere,
Theſe yearning cr
•
es that
•
rom the caridge came
His blood yet hot, more highly doth i
•
flame,
And in his rage he inſtantly commands,The Engliſh kill
〈…〉
p
••
ſoners.
•
hat euery Engliſh ſhould his priſoner
•
ill,
••
cept ſome few in ſome g
••
at Captaines hands,
•
hoſe Ranſomes might his emptied C
•
fers fill,
•
lls one whoſe looſe, or who is now in bonds,
•
oth muſt one way it is the Cōqu
•
rours wil,
Thoſe who late thought, ſmal ranſoms them might free
Saw onely death their Ranſoms now muſt be.
Accu
•
ſed French, and could it not ſuffize,Ex
〈…〉
ion.
•
hat ye but now bath'd in your natiue gore;
•
ut ye muſt now infortunately riſe,
•
o draw more plagues vpon ye then before,
•
nd gainſt your ſelfe more miſchiefe to deuiſe,
•
hen th'Engliſh could haue, and ſet wide the doore,
To vtter ruine, and to make an end,
Of that your ſelues, which others would▪ not ſpend.
Their vtmoſt rage the Engliſh now hath breath'
•
And their proud hearts gan ſomewhat to relent,
Their bloody ſwords they quietly had ſheath'd,
And their ſtrong bowes already were vnbent,
To eaſefull reſt their bodies they bequeath'd,
Nor farther harme at all to you they ment,
And to that paynes muſt ye then needſly put,The French
•
auſe of their owne maſſa
•
hre. A diſcripti
•
n of the Maſſacre in the foure following Stanzaes.
To draw their
•
niues once more your throats
〈…〉
cut
That French who lately by the Engliſh ſtood,
And freely ask'd what ranſome he ſhould pay,
Who ſomewhat coold, and in a calmer moode,
Agreed with him both of the ſumme and day,
Now findes his fleſh muſt be the preſent foode,
For wolues and rauens, for the ſame that ſtay,
And ſees his blood on th'others ſword to flow,
E'r his quicke ſenſe could apprehend the blow▪
Whilſt one is asking what the bus'neſſe is,
Hearing (in French) his country-man to cry:
He who detaines him priſoner, anſweres this:
Mounſier, the King commands that you muſt die▪
This is plaine Engliſh, whilſt he's killing his:
He ſees another on a French man flye,
And with a Poleax paſheth out his braines,
Whilſt he's demanding what the garboile mea
〈…〉
That tender heart whoſe chance it was to haue▪
Some one, that day who did much valour ſhowe,
Who might perhaps haue had him for his Slaue:
But
〈…〉
all Lots had fate pleas'd to beſtow:
Hee who his priſoner willingly would ſaue,
Laſtly conſtrain'd to giue the deadly blowe,
That ſends him downe to euerlaſting ſleepe:
Turning his face, full bitterly doth weepe.
Ten thouſand French that inwardly were well,
Saue ſome light hurts that any man might heale,
Euen at an inſtant, in a minute fell,
And their owne friends their deaths to them to deale,
Yet of ſo many, very few could tell,
Nor could the Engliſh perfectly reueale,
The deſperate cauſe of this diſaſtrous hap.
But euen as Thunder kil'd them with a clap,
How happy were thoſe in the very height,
Of this great Battaile, that had brauely dyde,
When as their boyling boſomes in the fight,
Felt not the ſharpe ſteele thorow them to ſlide;
But theſe now in a miſerable plight,
Muſt in cold blood this maſſacre abide,
Cauſ▪d by thoſe Villanes (curſt aliue and dead,)
That from the field the paſſed morning fled.
When as the King to Crowne his glorious day,
Now bids his ſouldiers after all this toyle,
No forces found that more might them diſmay)
Of the dead French to take the gen'rall ſpoyle,
Whoſe heapes had well neere ſtopt vp eu'ry way,
For eu'n as Clods they cou'red all the ſoyle,
Commanding none ſhould any one controule,
Catch that catch might, but each man to his dole.
They fall to groping buſily for gold,
Of which abou
•
them
〈…〉
ſt
•
re,
They find as much as w
•
ll their hands can hold,
Wh
•
•
ad but ſiluer, him they counted po
•
re,
Sc
••
fes, Chaines▪ an
•
Bracel
••
s, were not to be told
So rich as th
•
ſe
••
ſouldiers were before;
Who got a Ring, would ſcarcely put it on,
Except therein there were ſome Radiant ſtone.
Out of rich ſates the Nobleſt French they ſtrip,
An
•
leaue their bodies naked on the ground,
And each one fill his Knapſack, or his Scrip,
W
〈…〉
ſome rare th
•
ng that on the Field i
•
found:
About his bus'n
•
ſſ
••
t he
•••
bly Skip,
T
〈…〉
vpon him m
•
ny a c
•
u
•
ll wound:
And where they found a French not out-right ſlain
•
They
〈…〉
im a priſoner con
••
antly retaine.
Who ſcarſ
•
a Shirt had but the day before,
No
•
a whole S
••
cking to keepe out the cold,
Hath a whole Wardrop at commend in ſtore)
In th
•
French faſh
•
on flanting it in gold,
And in the
•
auerne, in his C
•
ps doth rore,
Chocking his Crowns and growes thereby ſo bo
〈…〉
That proudly he a Captaines name aſiumes,
In his gilt Gorget with his toſsing Plumes.
Wagons and Carts are laden till they cracke▪
With Armes and Tents there taken in the field;
For want of
•
arridge on whoſe tops are pac
••
,
Enſignes, Coat-Armours, Targets, Speares, & Shields
Nor need they conuoy f
•
a
•
ing to be ſack
•
;
For all the country to King Henry yeelds,
And the poore peaſant helpes along to beare,
What late the goods of his proud Landlords were.
A Horſe well furniſht for a preſent Warre:
For a French Crowne might any where be bought,
But if ſo be that he had any ſcarre,
Though n
•
'r ſo ſmall he valew'd was at naught;
With ſpoyles ſo ſated the proud Engliſh are;
Amongſt the ſlaine, that who for pillage ſought,
Except ſome rich Capariſon he found,
For a ſteele Saddle would not ſtoope to ground.
And many a hundred beaten downe that were,
Whoſe wounds were mortal, others wondrous deep
When as our Engliſh ouer▪paſt t
•
ey heare▪
And no man left a Watch on them to keepe,
〈…〉
to the Buſhes, and the Ditches neare,
•
pon their weake hands and their knees doe creepes
But for their hurts tooke a
•
re▪ and were vndreſt,
They were found dead and buried with the reſt▪
Thus when the King ſaw that the coaſt was clear'd▪
And of the French who were not flaine were fled,
Nor in the field not any then appear'd,
That had the power againe to make a head:
This Conquerour exceedingly is cheer'd,
Thanking his God that he ſo well had ſped,
And ſo towr'ds Callice brauely marching on,
Leaueth ſad France her loſſes to bemoane,
FINIS. The Battaile of Agin-Court.
THE MISERIES OF QVEENE MARGARITE.
I Sing a woman, and a powerfull Queene,
Henry the Sixt, the King of Englands Wife,
The beautious Margarite, whoſe
miſgouern'd ſpleene
So many ſorrowes brought vpon her life▪
As vpon womans neuer yet were ſeene,
In the beginning of that fatall ſtrife,The family of Yorke ſough
•
under hand to promoue their title about that time.
(Th'
•
nlucky ſeaſon) when the Yorkiſts ſaught,
To bring the Line of Lancaſter to naught.
It was the time of thoſe great ſtirres in France,
Their ancient Right that th'Engliſh had regain'd,
By the proud French attributing to chance,
What by meere Manhood ſtoutly ours obtain'd,After the ſecond conque
••
of France by Henry the
•
ift.
Their late-falne Enſignes labour'd to aduance,
The Streets with blood of either Nation ſtain'd:
Theſe ſtriue to hold, thoſe to caſt off the yoake,
Whilſt forts, & towns flew vp to heauen in ſmoke
The neighboring Princes greatly pittying the
•
The Chriſtian Princes ſeeke to
〈…〉
a peace between
〈…〉
and France.
The Chriſtian blood in that long quarrel ſhed,
Which had d
•••
ur'd ſuch multitudes of m
•
n.
〈…〉
the full a
•
th could ſcarſely keepe he
•
dead;
Yet for
•
ach Engliſh of her Nat
••••
ten:
In zeale to
〈…〉
theſe neighbouring Princes l
•
d▪
At Tours in Tourayne ſet them downe a Dyet,
(Could it
••
don
•
▪ theſe clamorous fi
•
uds to quiet▪
From th'Emperour there Am
〈…〉
e,
The Kings of Denmarke, Hungary, and Spayne,
And that each thing the
•
p
•
ly might cont
•
iue,
And both the King there largely might complaine,
The Duke of O
•
l
•
ance for the French doth ſtriue,
To ſhow his grie
•
a
•
ce; William Poole againe,
The Earle of Suffolke do
•
h
•
o
•
England ſt
••
d,
Who ſt
•
er'd the ſtate then
•
i
••
a powerful hand
For eighteene moneths they ratifie a peace,A
〈…〉
18 moneths.
Tw
•
xt theſe proud Real
•
s▪ which Suffolk doth purſue
With al his powers, with hope ſtil to encreaſe,
The ſame expir'd, that it ſhould ſoone renew,
For by his meanes if ſo th
•
wars might ceaſe,Poo
•
e in this time of
•
eac
•
•••
our
•
th
••
•
onclud
•
a Mar
••
age be
••
ixt th
•
Lady Margarire and the King his Maſter.
•
e had a plot of which they neuer knew,
To his intent, if all things went aright,
Heele make the dull world to admire his might,
For hauing ſeene faire Margarite in France,
(that tim's brightſt beauty) being then but yong,
Her piercing eyes with many a ſubtill glance,
His mighty heart ſo for
•
ibly had ſtung,
As made him thinke if that he could aduarce,Poole taken with the ex
•••
ding
〈…〉
•
y of the Princeſſe.
This nortall wonder, onely that among,
His riſing Fortunes ſhould the greateſt proue,
If to his Queene, he could aduance his loue,
Her eyes at all points Arm'd with thoſe deceits,
That to her ſexe are naturall euery way,
Which vvith more Art, ſhe as inticing baits,
For this great Lord doth with aduantage lay,
As he againe that on her boſome waits,
Had found that there, which could he come to ſway
He would put faire as euer man did yet,
Vpon the height of Fortunes wh
•
ele to ſit.
Loue and Ambition ſpurre h
••
in ſuch ſort,
As that (alone t'accompliſh h
••
deſire,
To fall with Phaeton he would thinke it ſport,
Though he ſhould ſet the Vnl
•••
ſ
•
on
•
ire,
Nor recks he what the world of him report,
He muſt ſcorne that, who will dare to aſpier,
For through the aire his wings him way ſhal make
Though in his fall the frame of heauen he ſhake.
Reyner deſcended from the Royall ſtemHe had only the title of theſe Kingdomes without any l
•••
lyhoo
•
Of France, the Duke of An
•
o
•
, ſtiled King
Of Naples, Cicil, and Ieruſalem,
Although in them he had not any thing,
But the poore title of a Diadem;
Seing by Suffolke greater hopes to ſpring;
Puts on his Daughter that great Lord to pleaſe,Margarite Duk Reyners Daughter.
Of Englands Counſailes who kept all the keyes.
But ſtrange encounters ſtrongly him oppoſe,
In his firſt entrance to this great Deſigne,
Thoſe men were mighty that againſt him roſe,
And came vpon him with a Countermine,
That he muſt now play cunningly, or loſe▪
Cunning they were againſt him that combine,
Plot aboue plot, doth ſtraine aloft to tower▪
The conflict great, twixt pollicy and power,
For Humfrey Duke of Gloſter, ſtil'd the good,A
〈…〉
of a
〈…〉
Amba
〈…〉
our with
••
e
••••
of
〈…〉
onely daughter.
Englands Protector ſought a match to make,
••
th a faire Princeſſe, of as Royal blood,
The Daughter of the Earle of Arminake,
And h
••
crown'd Nephew▪ but ſtout Suffolke ſtood▪
Still for his Miſtreſſe, nor will her forſake,
But make her Henryes Queene in ſpight of all:
Or ſhe ſhall riſe, or Suffolke ſweares to fall.
By the French faction when ſhe vp is cryde;The high praiſes of the Princeſſe Margarites beauty.
Of all Angellique excellence the Prime,
Who was ſo dull that her not Deifide,
To be the onely Maſter-piece of time:
The prayſe of her extended is ſo wide,
As that thereon a man to heauen might clime:
All tongues and eares inchanted with delite,
When they doe talke, or heare of Margarite.
And thoſe whom Poole about his Prince had plac'dPoole
•
followers placed about the King to work
••
owne ends.
And for his purpoſe taught the tricks of Court,
To this great King, and many a time had grac'd,
To make his eares more apt for their report,
•
auing the time moſt diligently trac'd,
•
nd ſaw theſe things ſuccesſiuely to ſort:
Strike in a hand and vp together beare,
To make faire Margarite Muſicke in his eare.
Aniou a Dutchy, Mayne a Countrey great,The prouinces of France giuen to Duke Reyner for
〈…〉
Daughter.
Of which the Engliſh long had beene poſſeſt▪
•
nd Mauns a city of no ſmall receite,
•
o which the Duke pretended intereſt:
•
or the concluſion▪ when they came to treate,
•
nd things by Poole were to the vtmoſt preſt,
Are to Duke Reyner reudred vp to hold,
To buy a Hellen, thus a Troy was ſold.
When of an Earle, a Marqueſſe Poole is made,Poole created firſt from an Earle, Marque
〈…〉
and afte
•
Duke of Suffolke.
•
hen of a Marqueſſe is a Duke created,
•
or he at eaſt in Fortunes lap was layd,
•
o glorious actions wholly conſecrated:
Hard was the thing that he could not perſwade,
•
n the Kings fauour he was ſo inſtated;
Without his Suffolke who could not ſubſiſt,
So that he ruled all things as he liſt.
This with a ſtrong aſtoniſhment doth ſtrike,The people exceedingly r
•
pin
•
for the giuing a
•
ay of the Prouinces.
•
h'amazed world which knew not what to ſay,
What liuing man but did the act miſlike,
•
f him it did not vtterly diſmay,
•
hat what with blood was bought at puſh of pike,
Got in an age, giu'n in an houre away:
Some largely ſpeake, and ſome againe are dumbe,
Wōdring what would of this ſtrāge world become
As when ſome dreadfull Comet doth appeare,
Athwart th
•
h
•
a
•
ē tha
•
throws his threatning light
The peaceful people that at quiet were,
Stand with wild g
•
z
•
s wond'ring at the ſight,
Some War, ſome Pl
•
gues, ſo
〈…〉
fa
••
in greatly feare▪
A Simily.
Some falls of Kingdomes, or of
〈…〉
of mig
•
t:
The grieued people thus their iudgements ſpend
Of theſe ſtrange Actions what ſhould be the end▪
When Suffolke Procurator for the King,S
•
ffolke Procurator for the King.
Is ſ
••
p'd for France, t'
•
ſpouſe the beautious Bride▪
And fitted to the full of euery thing▪
Followed with Englands Gallant
•
y and pride,
(As freſh as is the brauery of the Spring)The marriage ſolem
••
zed
•••
the city of Towers.
Comming to Towers, there ſumpt
•
o
•
ſl▪ affide:
This one, whoſe like no age had ſeene before,
Whoſe eyes out-ſhone the Iewels that ſhe wore
Her reucrent Parents ready in the place,
As one
•
ioy'd this happy day to ſ
•
e,
The King and Queene the Nuptials there to grace▪
The great concourſe to honour the Sol
••
nization.
On them three Dukes as then attend
•
nts be,
Seuen Earles
〈…〉
Barrons in their
•
qu
•
pace,
And twenty Biſhops▪ wh
••••
that onely ſhe,
Like to the Ro
••
morning towards the riſe,
Cheeres all the Church, as it doth cheere the ski
••
T
••
umpha
•
l A
•
ches the glad Towne doth raiſe,
And ſ
•
lts and Tur
••
ys are
〈…〉
at Court,
Conceited Masks,
〈…〉
Banq
•
e
•
s, witty playes,
〈…〉
them many a pretty ſport,
•
o
•
ts write Prothalamions in their praiſe,
•
ntill mens eares were cloyd with the report,
Of either ſexe, and who doth not delight,Margaret in French ſignif
••
th a Dayſ
•
e
To weare the Dayſie for Queene Margarite.
The Tryumphs ended, he to England goes
With this rich Gem allotted him to keepe,
〈…〉
ill entertained with moſt ſumptuous ſhowes,The Queene brauely ente
•
tained in paſſing through Normandy.
•
n paſsing thorough Normandy to Di
•
pe▪
Where like the Sea the concourſe dayly flowes,
•
or her departure whilſt ſad France doth weepe:
And that the ſhips their crooked Anchors waide,
By which to England ſhe muſt be conuayd.
And being fitted both for Winde and Tide,The King ſtayeth for the
〈…〉
at Port
•
mouth.
Out of the Harbour flyes this goodly Fleet,
•
nd for faire Portsmouth their ſtraight courſe they plyd,
Where the King ſtayd his louely Bride to meete;
•
onder ſhe comes when as the people cryd,
Buſie with Ruſh
•
s ſtrev
•
ing euery ſtreete,
The braineleſſe Vulgar little vnderſtand,
The Horrid plagues that ready were to La
•
d.
Which but to ſoone all-ſeeing heauen foretold,Great and fearefull Tempeſts at the comming in of the Que
•
ne.
For ſhee was ſcarſely ſafely put a Shore,
••
t that the skies (ô wondrous to behold)
Oreſpred with lightning hideouſly doth rore,
The furious winds with one another ſcold,
Neuer ſuch Tempeſts had beene ſeene before,
With ſudden floods whoſe villages were drown'd
Steeples with earthquaks tumbled to the ground.
VVHē to their purpoſe thīgs to paſs wer broght
And theſe two braueābitious ſpirits wer me
The Queene and Duke now frame their working though
Into their hād
•
the Soueraignty to get:
For ſoon they found the King could not be wrought
Vp to their ends, nature ſo low had ſet,
His humble heart; that what they would obtaine
Tis they muſt do'
•
, by collour of his Raigne.
And for they found the grieued commons grutc
•
A
•
this which Suffolke deſperately had done,
Who for the Queene had parted with ſo much,
Thereby yet nothing to the Realme had wonne,
And thoſe that ſpur'd the people on, were ſuch,
As to oppoſe them openly begunne;
Therefore by them ſome great ones down muſt go
Which if they miſt of, they themſelues muſt ſo▪
Yorke then which had the Regency in France,
The Duke of Yor
〈…〉
diſcharged of hi
•
Regency in France, and the Duke of Sommerſet in h
••
place.
They force the King, ignobly to diſplace,
Thereto the Duke of Summerſet t'aduance,
Their friend, and one of the Lancaſtrian Race;
For they betwixt them turnd the wheele of Chan
••
Tis they cry vp tis they that doe abaſe,
He's the firſt man they purpoſ'd to remoue,
The onely Minion of the peoples loue.
This opened wide the publike way whereby,
Ruine ruſht in vpon the troubled Land,
Vnder whoſe weight it hapned long to lye,
Quite ouerthrowne with their il-guiding hand;
For their Ambition looking ouer-hie,
Could in no meaſure aptly vnderſtand,
Vpon their heads the danger that they drew,
Whoſe force too ſoone, they, and their faction knew
For whilſt this braue Prince was imploid abroad,
Th'affaires of France his minde vp wholly tooke,
But being thus disburthen'd of that load,
Which gaue him leave into himſelfe to looke,
The courſe he ranne in, euidently ſhow'd,
His late Allegeance that he off had ſhooke,
And vnder hand his Title ſet on foote,
To plucke their Red-Roſe quite vp by the roote,
Thus hauing made a Regent of their owne,
By whom they meane great matters to effect,
For by degrees, they will aſcend the throane,
And but their owne all ayde they elſe neglect,
As with a tempeſt he to ground is blowne,
On whom their rage doth any way reflect;
Which good Duke Humfrey firſt of all muſt taſte
Whoſe timeleſſe death intemperately they haſte.
This Henryes Vncle, and his next of blood,A Charract
••
of the Duke of Gloceſter▪
Was both Protector of the Realme, and King,
Whoſe meekeneſſe had inſtiled him the Good,
Of moſt eſpeciall truſt in euery thing;
One to his Country conſtantly that ſtood,
As Time ſhould ſay, I foorth a man will bring,
So plaine and honeſt, as on him Ile reſt,
The age he liu'd in, as the onely beſt▪
This graue Protector who both Realms had ſway
Whilſt the Kings nonage his ſound counſels crau'
•
In his great wiſedome when he throughly way'd,
How this French Lady here her ſelfe behau'd,
To make her Game againe, how Suffolke play'd,
The Realmes from ruine, hoping to haue ſau'd,
Loſt his deare life within a little ſpace.
Which ouerthrew the whole Lancaſtrian race▪
This Prince▪ who ſtill dar'd ſtoutly to oppoſe,
Thoſe whom be ſawe▪ all but their owne to hate,
Then found the league o his inueterate ſoes,
To come vpon him wi
•
h the power of Fate,
And things to that extremitie ſtill roſe,
The certaine ſigne of the declining State,
As that their Faction euery day grew ſtrong,
Perceiu'd his vertues like to ſuffer wrong.
Fierce Margarits malice propt with mighty meThe greateſt perſons of the Queenes Fa
•••••
.
Her darling Suffolke, who her forward drew,
Proud Sommerſet of France the Regent then,
And Buckingham his power too well that knew,
The Cardinall Bewfort, and with him agen,
Yorks great Arch-Prelate, to make vp the crue,
By accuſations doing all their beſt,
From the good Duke all Gouernment to wreſt▪
Who then compell the peacefull King to call,
Parliament their grieuances to heare,
〈…〉
the Duke that to inforce his fall,
〈…〉
y might haue ſomething that might Collour be
••
•
ut then they doubt his anſwere, and withall,
•
he murmuring people they farre more doe feare,
As their owne liues, who lou'd him, therefore they,
Muſt caſt to make him ſecretly away,
And therefore with the Parliament proceed,A Parliamentat Saint Edmunds-Bury.
•
aint▪ Edmunds-bury the appointed place,
Whereas they ment to doe the fatall deed,
Which with much quickneſſe ſhould decide the caſe
The cruell manner ſoone they had de
•
reed,
And to the Act they haſten them apace,
On this good Prince their purpoſe ro effect,
Then, when the people nothing ſhould ſuſpect.
No ſooner was this great aſſembly met,The Duke of Gloſter areſ
•
ed by the high Marſhall of England.
•
ut the high Marſhall doth the Duke arreſt,
And on his perſon ſuch a guard they ſet,
That they of him were certainely poſſeſt,
His ſeruants were from their attendance lett,
And either ſent to priſon or ſuppreſt;The Duke murthered.
So that their Lord lef
•
in this piteous plight,
Lay'd in his bed, was ſtrangled in the night.
Then giue they out, that of meere griefe he dyde,
To couer what they cruell, had done,
But this blacke deede, when once the day diſcride,
The frantique people to his Lodging runne,
•
ome rayle, ſome curſe, yea little children chide,The p
••
p
••
mutiny.
Which forc'd that faction the faire ſtreets to ſhun,
Some wiſh proud Suffolke ſunke into the ground,
Somebid a plague the cruell Queene confound.
Thus their Ambition would not let them ſee,
How by his death they haſtened their decay▪
Nor let them know that this was only he,
Who kept the Yorkiſts euermore at bay,
But of this man they muſt the murtherers be,The death o
•
the Duk was the vtter
〈…〉
row of the houſe of L
••
caſter.
Vpon whoſe life their ſafety onely lay,
But his deare blood, them nothing could ſuffice,
When now began Queene Margarites Miſerie
•
▪
In either Kingdome all things went to wracke▪
Which they had thought they could haue made to thi
〈…〉
The affaires of England fall t
•
ruin
•
•
pon the death of the Duke.
His noble Coūſells when they came to lacke,
Which could them with facility contriue,
Nor could they ſtay them in their going backe,
One miſchieſe ſtill another doth reuiue;
As heauen had ſent an hoſt of horrors out:
Which all at once incompaſt them about.
Out flie the Iriſh, and with ſword and fire,The Iriſh rebell▪
Vnmercied hauocke of the Engliſh made,
They diſcontented here at home conſpire,
To ſtirre the Scot the borders to inuade:
The faithleſſe French then hauing their deſire,
To ſee vs thus in Seas of troubles wade,
In euery place outragiouſly rebell,The French
•
re vp in A
〈…〉
s.
As out of France the Engliſh to expell.
The ſturdy Normans with high pride in flamd,
Shake off the yoke of thei
•
ſubi
•
ction quite.
Nor will with patience heare the Engliſh nam'd,
Except of thoſe that ſpeake of them in ſpight,
But as their foes them publikely proclaim'd,The Norman r
•
uolt.
And their Alyes to open Armes excite;
In euery place thus Englands right goes downe,
Nor will they leaue the Engliſh men a Towne.
New-caſtle, Conſtance, Maleon, and Saint lo,
Town
••
in Normandy y
•
elded to th
〈…〉
enemy. There had been a form
•
▪ contract betwene the King and th
〈…〉
Earle of Arminacks only Daughter but being by▪ the Duke o
〈…〉
Suffolke annulled, cauſe
〈…〉
•
he Earle
•••
after to be
•
vowed ene
〈…〉
••
the Engliſ
〈…〉
With Caſtel-Galliard, Argenton, and Roane,
P
•
nteu-de-mer with Forts and Cities moe,
Then which that Country ſtronger holds had none,
Set ope their gates and bad the Engliſh goe,
For that the French ſhould then p
•
ſ
••
ſſe their owne,
And to the Armies vp the Forts they yeeld,
And turne the Engliſh out into the Field.
And that great Earle of Arminacke againe,
A puiſtant peere, and mighty in eſtate,
Vpon iuſt cauſe, who tooke in high diſdaine,
To haue his Daughter ſo repudiate,
(His countreys bordering vpon Aquitane,)
Purſues the Engliſh nation with ſuch hate,
As that he entred with his Armed powers,
And from that Dutchy, draue all that was o
•
rs,The commons charg
•
•
he Duke of Sommerſet▪ with th
•
▪ loſſ
•
of Normand▪
Th'inraged commons ready are to riſe,
Vpon the Regent, to his charge and layd,
That from his ſlackneſſe and baſe cowardize,
Theſe Townes were loſt, by his neglect of ayde,
Then follow Suffolke with confuſed cryes,
With Maine, and Aniou, and doe him
•
pbrayd,
And vow his life ſhall for their loſſes pay,
Or at the ſtake their goods and liues to lay.
In th'open Seſsion and Articulate,Articles of Treaſon put into the Parliament againſt the Dukes o
•
Sommerſet
•
nd Suffolke.
S
•
uen
••
uerall Treaſons vrg'd againſt them both,
As moſt p
〈…〉
tious members of the State,
Which was confirmed by the commons oath,
So that the King who ſa
〈…〉
the peoples hate,
(In his owneſelfe though he were very loath)
•
o both the houſes la
••
ly doth aſſent,
To
•
et on Suffolke fiue yeares baniſhment.The Duke of Suf
•
olke
•
an
•
••
ea for ſine y
••
res.
His Soueraigne Lady Suffolke thus muſt leaue,
And ſhe her ſeruant to her ſoule ſo deare,
Yet muſt they both conceale what they conceiue,
Which they would
•
ot if any h
•
lpe there were,
Yet of all comfort they c
•
nnot bereaue,
Her, but his hope her penſiue h
•
art doth cheere,
That he in France ſhall haue his moſt reſort,
And liue ſecurely in her Fathers Court.
His mighty minde nor can this doome moleſt,
But kicks the earth in a diſda
•
n
•
full ſcorne,
If any thing do corroſiue his breſt
I
•
was, that he was in baſe England borne,
He curſt the King and Kingdome, but he bleſt,
The Queene, but if in any thing forlorne,
Twas that he ſhould her happ
•
preſence miſſe,
The endleſſe Summe of all his earthly bl
•
ſſe▪
His Sentence ſcarſe in Parliament had paſt,
But that the raſcall multitude ariſe,The extreame hate the people had to the Duke.
Plucke downe his houſes, lay his Lordſhips waſt,
And ſearch how they his perſon may ſurprize,
That he from England inſtantly muſt haſt,
Coue
•
'd by night, or by ſome ſtrange diſguiſe,
And to ſome ſmall Port ſecretly retyre,
And there ſome poore Boate for his paſſage hire,
From Harwitch Hauen, and embarqu'd for France,
This ſhip was (as our hyſtories report) called the Nicholas o
•
th
•
tower, a ſhip that belongd to the Duke of Exceſt
•
r, of whom
•
n
•
Water was the Captaine.
As he for Callice his ſtraight courſe doth ſteere,
•
O here behold a moſt disaſtrous chance,)
A man of Warre the Seas that ſcoured there,
One at his actions that ſtill look't aſc
•
nce,
And to this Duke did deadly hatred beare,
After a long chaſe tooke this little Cra
•
e,
Which he ſuppoſ'd him ſafely ſhould conuay.
And from the fiſher taking him by force,
He vnder Hatches ſtraightly him beſtow'd,
And towards his country ſteering on his courſe,
He runnes his veſſell into Douer roade,
Where rayling on him without all remorſe,
Him from the ſhip to all the people ſhow
••
,
And when no more they could the Duke de
•••
e,
They cut his head off on the Cock-boat-ſide.
SVffolke thus dead and Summerſet diſgrac'd,
His title Yorke more freely might preferre,
The Commons loue, when cunningly to taſte,
Leſt ouerweening he perhaps might erre,)
He firſt ſubbornes a villane that imbrac'd,
The Nobler name of March borne Mortimer,
The ſub
••
ll policie of the Duke of Yorke.
Which in the title of the houſe of Yorke,
Might ſet the monſtrous multitude a worke,
His name was Cade, his natiue country Kent,
Who, though of birth, and in eſtate but poore,
Yet for his courage he was eminent,The character of Iacke Cads.
(Which the wiſe Duke well vnderſtood before,)
He had a minde was of a large extent,
The ſigne whereof on his bould brow he bore,
Sterne of behauiour, and of body ſtrong,
Witty, well ſpoken, cautilous, though yong.
But for th
•
Duke his title muſt deriue,Deriuing his title from Phillip the onely Daughter and heire of Lyonel Duke of Clarence the third ſonne of Ed the 3 wedded to Edmund Mortimur Earle of March.
Out of the blood which beare that honored name,
Therefore muſt caſt and cunningly contriue,
To ſee how people reliſhed the ſame,
And if he found it fortuned to thriue,
Then at the marke he had a further ayme,
To ſhow himſelfe his title good to make,
And raiſe him friends and power, his part to take
All oppoſition likewiſe to preuent,
The crafty Duke his meaning doth conceale,
And Cade doth riſe t'informe the gouernment,
And baſe abuſes of the Publique Weale,
To which he knew the commons would conſent,
Which otherwiſe his Treaſon might reueale:
Which rightly tooke, for by this collour hee,
Drew twenty thouſand on his part to be.
From Suſſex, Surry, and from Kent that roſe,
Whom hope of ſpoyle doth to this Act perſwade,
Which ſtill increaſe his Army as it goes,
And on Blacke Heath his Rendauous he made,
Where in ſhort time it to that vaſtneſſe growes,
•
s it at once the Kingdome would inuade,
And he himſelfe the Conqueſt could aſſure,
Of any power King Henry could procure.
And did in fight that generall force defeate,
Sent by the King that Rebell to purſue,
When vnder collour of a fram'd retreat,
He made as though he from the Army flew,The Stafford
•
ſlaine by th
•
Rebels▪
The ſlaughter of the ſouldiers muſt be great,
When he thoſe Staffords miſerably ſlew,
Captaines ſelect and choſen by the Queene,
To lead the powers that ſhould haue wreakt her teene.
When for a Siege he to the city came,
Aſſaults the Bridge with his emboldned power,
And after oft repulſed takes the ſame,
Makes himſelfe Maſter of the towne and Tower,Iacke Cade takes London▪
Doing ſuch things as might the Deuill ſhame,
Deſtroyes Records, and Virgines doth deflower,
Robs, ranſacks, ſpoyles, and after all this ſtirre,
Laſtly beheaded the Lord Treaſurer,
Theſe things by Yorke being plotted vnderhand,
Wiſe as he was, as one that had not knowne,
Ought of theſe Treaſons, haſts to Ireland,
To tame thoſeThe Vulgar▪
Kerne, rebellious that were growne,
He knew it was not in the barren Sand,
That he this ſubtill poyſonous ſeed had ſowne,
Which came it on (as very well it might)
It would make way for his pretended right.
Whilſt theſe rebellions are in England broac
•
d,
As though the Fa
•
es ſhould enujo
•
ſly conſpire,
Our vtter Ruine; which too faſt approacht,
About our eares, was Aquitaine a fire,
Their Conqueſt ſo vpon our Townes incroach't,
That Charles the French King then had his deſire.
To ſee theſe troubles tyre vs here within,
That he the whilſt in France from vs might winn
•
To add to Margarites miſeries againe,The Valiant Talbot ſlaine.
Talbot in France ſo brauely that had done:
Who many a yeere had aw'd proud Aquitaine,
And many a Fort, and famous Battaile wonne,
At Shatiloon (O endleſſe griefe) was ſlaine,
With the Lord Lyle his ouer valiant Sonne,
When all the Townes that he had got before,
Yeelded, nor would for England be no more,
Yorke in the nike from Ireland comming in,
Finding the Kingdome cumbred in this wiſe,
Thinks with himſelfe twere time he did begin,
But by no meanes he gainſt the King muſt riſe,
O ſuch a thought in any man were ſinne,
But that he would proud Summerſet ſurpriſe,
Yet wāting ſtrēgth gainſt the whole ſtate to ſtand
He beares his buſineſſe with a moderate hand,
And firſt to mighty Salsbury doth ſue,
And his ſonne Warwicke, and doth them intreate,Richard Neuill the Father, and Richard Neuill the ſonne.
With equall eyes they would be pleaſ'd to view,
His rightfull Title: theſe two Neuils great,
••
power, and with the people, whom he knew,
Deadly the Duke of Somerſet to hate,
By his large offers he doth winne at laſt,
In his iuſt quarrell to cleaue to him faſt.
Thus his Ambition hauing ſtrongly back't,
With theſe two fatall firebrands of Warre;
To his deſires, there very little lackt,
He and the Earles all three ſo popular,
To aduance himſelfe he no occaſion ſlackt,
•
or nought he ſees him from his ends to barre,
Tis no ſmall tempeſt that he needs to feare,
Whom two ſuch Collumnes vp betwixt thē beare.
And by their ſtrengths encourag'd doth not ſticke
The others actions boldly to o'relooke,
And for the ſeaſon that the King was ſicke,
Vpon himſelfe the Regency he tooke,
•
or now his hopes vpon him came ſo thicke,
His entrance doores from off the hinges ſhooke,
•
e with a nodde the Realme ſeem'd to direct,
Who's he but bow'd, if this great Prince but beckt
And in the Queenes great chamber doth areſt,The Duke of Sommerſet areſted.
Great Summerſet, and ſendeth him to ward,
And all his followers ſuddenly ſuppreſt,
Such was the number of his powerfull guard,
With the proud Queene, this Prince as proud conteſts
•
or for her frowne one friend of hers he ſpar'd,
Lucks on his ſide, while ſuch ſtand by to bett,
Heel'e throw at all that any one dares ſet,
THe Queen who ſaw, which way the factiō we
And that theſe wrongs muſt ſtil reflect on he
The Duke of Yorke to her deſtruction bent,
Thought with her ſelfe it was full time to ſtirre,
And if his plots ſhe euer would preuent,
Muſt with the wiſeſt of her friends conferre,
Their buſie braynes and muſt together beate,
To leſſen him▪ like elſe to grow too great.
His pride a while yet patiently endure,
The Kings▪ recouery only to attend,
Of which themſelues they hardly could aſſure,
Who once they thought had haſtned to his end,The King re
••
uired of a dangerous ſickneſſe.
But when they found his Phyſicke to procure,
His former health, then doth the Queene extend,
Her vtmoſt ſtrength, to let the world to know,
Queene Margarite yet muſt not be maſtred ſo,
With ſmiles and kiſſes when ſhe woes the King
That of his place the Duke he would diſcharge,
Which being done, the next eſpeciall thing,
She doth the Duke of Summerſet inlarge,The Queene preuailing againſt the Duke of York.
And him of Callice giues the gouerning,
Whither his friends ſhe cauſ'd him to imba
•
dge,
Doubting the loue and ſafeguard of the Towne,
Thus doth the Queen turne al things vpſide dow
•
Which ſo incenſt the angry Duke to ire,
With thoſe two Earles vpon his part that take,
Kindling in all that fierce reuenge full fire,
Which the deare blood of Summerſet muſt ſlake,
〈…〉
at into Wales they inſtantly retire:The Duke of Yorke
〈…〉
ſeth an army in the Marches of Wales.
〈…〉
nd in the Marches vp an Army make,
And there by Oath were to each other tyde,
By dint of ſword the quarrell to decide.
And whilſt theſe Lords be buſied in the Weſt,
Of March-men muſtring a rebelling Band,
•
enry againe his Southerne people preſt:
•
nd ſettles there their forces to withſtand:
Then Bowes and Bills were only in requeſt:
•
uch rage and madneſſe doth poſſeſſe the Land,
Set vpon ſpoyle, on either part they were,
Whilſt the Weale▪ publique they in pieces teare.
On either part when for this Warre prepard,
•
pon their March they at Saint Albans met,
Where drums and Enſignes one the other dar'd,The firſt Battaile at Sa
•••
Albans.
Whilſt they in order their Battalions ſet,
•
nd with his fellow euery ſouldier ſhar'd,
Brauely reſolu'd to death to pay his debts:
When if that euer horrour did appeare,
On th' Engliſh earth, it certainely was there,
That day the Queenes-lou'd Sommerſet was ſlaine
There tooke the ſtout Northumberland his end:
There Staffords bloud the pauement did diſtaine:Humfrey Earle of Stafford, eldeſt ſonne to the Duke of Buckingham.
There Clifford fell, King Henryes conſtant friend,
The Earle of Warwicke who brought on the Mayne:
All downe before him to pale Death doth ſend,
Antweſſell, Bapthorpt, Zouch, and Curwen, all,
King Henryes friends before the Yorkiſts fall,
Whilſt this diſtreſſed miſerable King,
Amazed with ſuch fury of the fight,
And perill ſtill his perſon menacing:
His liuing friends inforc't to take their flight,
He as a needleſſe and neglected thing▪
In a poore Cottage hides him out of ſight:The King crept into a poore Cottage
Who found by Yorke was as a priſoner led,
Though with milde words the Duke him coforted
And of his perſon being thus poſſeſt
They in his name a Parliament procure,
For with his Regall power they will inueſt
Themſelues, ſuppoſing to make all things ſure,
That if their violent actions ſhould be preſt,
In after time they better might endure,
The cenſuring, the worſt, and ſo preuent,
To ſhow them done by Act of Parliament,
And cauſe the King to take into his hands,The lawleſſe
•
ſurpation of the York
•
ſt
•
▪
What to the Crowne did anciently pertaine,
Beſides all Honors▪ Offices and Lands,
Granted ſince the beginning of his Raigne;
And not a Fee, though
•
e'r ſo little ſtands;
And are call'd in, and let who will complaine,
And all his friends from counſaile are remou'd,
None muſt ſit there, but thoſe of them belou'd,
The ſilly King a ſipher ſet aſide▪
What was in him, that in great Yorke was not▪
Amongſt themſelues all places they diuide,Salsbury made Ch
〈…〉
And to be Chancellor Salsbury hath got,
Hee is the man muſt take the Law to guide,Warwicke Captaiue of Ca
•••
ce.
And Callice falls to warlike Warwickes lot,
And not a man at theſe muſt looke awry.
They make an Act their acts to iuſtifie.
This done the Duke had more to doe then this,
Something it ſeem'd more ſecretly to lurke,
In which ſuch power (though from appearance) is,
As yet once more would fret the Duke of Yorke,
And let him know, he of his ends might miſſe;
For now the Queene doth ſet her wits to worke.
To play the Game that muſt renowne her skill,
And ſhew the Law that reſted in her will.
And from the roote of Summerſet late ſlaine,
Another ſtem to ſtand for her aroſe,
Henry for Edmond▪
of his Fathers ſtraine,Henry Beufo
••
Duke of Summerſet, after the deceaſe of his▪ father Edmond.
(One of whoſe life ſhe knew ſhe could diſpoſe)
Of a ſtrong iudgement, and a working braine,
Great Buckingham and Exceſter are thoſe,
She meanes to worke by, and by theſe reſtore,
Her to that height from whence ſhe fell before.
Theſe were the men to whom ſhee truſted moſt,
To whom that faction much deſpight had done,
For at Saint Albans Summerſet had loſt,
His loued Sire, and Buckingham his Sonne:
And Exceſter purſude from Coaſt to Coaſt;
From them enforc'd to Sanct'ary to runne:The Duke of Exceſter taken out of the Sanctuary a
•
Weſtminſter.
Fetcht thence by them▪ and to cold Pumfret ſent,
And in a dungeon miſerably pent.
Equall in enuie, as in pride and power,
With eu'ry ayde to their diſignement fraught,
Taking their turnes at eu'ry fitting houre;
They on the Kings much eaſineſſe ſo wrought,
As that they ſeem'd him wholly to deuoure,
Vntill to paſſe their purpoſes they brought,
Lifting vp ſtill his ſpirit that was ſo poore,
Once more to doe as he had done before.
For which at Greenewich he a Councell held,The Duke of Yorke, the Earles of Salsbury and Warwicke put out of office.
Where with th'opinion of thoſe friends ſupplide,
Thoſe three which late with glorious titles ſweld,
Are from their ſeu'rall places put aſide;
Yet more to ſeeke their ſafety are compeld,
At this prodigious turning of the tide:
For now the wind was ſtrangely come about,
And brings them in who lately were ſhut out.
The cruell Queene and cunningly had caſt,The Queene had plotted to haue the Duke murthered at Couentry,
At Couentry to cauſe them to appeare,
With ſhew to pardon all that had beene paſt,
If they (but then) would their Allegiance ſweare▪
Which had they done, that day had beene their laſt
For ſhe had plotted to deſtroy them there:
Of which forewarnd, immediatly they fled,
Which then their ſafety only promiſed.
Yet whilſt one wrong, thus from another roſe,
Twixt them at laſt a meeting was ordain'd,
All former ſtrife and quarrels to compoſe,
Which but too long betwixt them had remain'd,
Which to the world though handſomely it ſhowes,
Yet in plaine truth, all was but meerely fain'd,
To outward ſeeming, yet are perfect friends,
"But diueliſh folke, haue ſtill their diueliſh ends.
And in proceſsion ſolemnly they goe,
In generall ioy one ſmiling on the other,
A Yorkiſt and Lancaſtrian make vp two,A ſolemne proceſsion in Pauls by both the faction
•
.
Enuie and mallice, brother, like to brother,
•
n mind farre ſundred, although coupled ſo,
Bloody reuenge, and in their breſts they ſmother;
Ill's the proceſsion (and fore runs much loſſe,)
"Wherein men ſay, the Deuill beares the Croſſe.
Theſe Rites of peace religiouſly perform'd,
To all mens thinking the enraged Queene,
At Warwicks greatneſſe inwardly yet ſtorm'd,The Queene inwardly g
•
uching at Warwickes greatneſſe▪
▪Which euery day ſtill more and more was ſeene,)
Againſt the King, who Callice ſo had Arm'd,
As it his owne inheritance had beene,
Which towne ſhe ſaw that if he ſtill ſhould hold▪
That ſhe by him muſt hourely be controul'd.
For which his murther ſhee purſu'd ſo faſt,
As that ſhe ſoone and ſecretly had layd,
〈…〉
h to aſſault him as the ſtreets he paſt,Warwick in perill to hau
•
bin ſlaine▪ paſsing th
•
ſtreet.
As if his braue name had not brought him ayd,
He of her vengeance had beene ſure to taſt,
The Tragique Sceane ſo furiouſly was playd,
That he from London was inforc't to fly,
Like a rough
•
e
•
her malice grew ſo hye,
And towards the Duke his ſpeedy iour
•
y takes▪
Who then at Middleham made his moſt aboad,
Which Salsbury his habitation makes,
Whereas their time together they beſtew'd,
Whoſe courages the Earle of Warwicke wakes,
When he to them his ſuddaine danger ſhow'd,
With a pale v
•
ſage, and doth there diſcloſe,
Her brands ſet on him both in wounds & blowe
This wrong in counſell when they had diſcuſt,
And way'd the danger wherein ſtill they were,
Continuall Treaſons ſhrouded in their truſt,
Nor other hopes elſe likely to appeare,
They find that this might make a war ſeeme iuſt,
And giue their cauſe vp to the world ſo cleare,
To riſe in Armes when they reſolue at laſt,
To raiſe them force, and wiſely thus forecaſt,
To muſter vp their Tenants and their friends,
Not as a War vpon the land to bring,
Nor to aduance their owne ſiniſter ends,
Nor wrong a Subiect in the ſmalleſt thing,
Onely to guard them (as their caſe then ſtands)
Till they had ſhow'd their grieuance to the King,
And giue their power to Salsbury to guide,
That wi
•
h the King the bus'neſſe ſhould decide
With this diſtinction Salsbury is ſent▪
Warwi
•
ke to Callice (with what ha
••
he may,)
By his much ſpeed a miſchiefe to preuent,
Fearing the Towne might elſe be giuen away,
The Duke of Yorke by generall conſent,
•
t Middleham Caſtell they allot to ſtay;
To raiſe a ſecond power (if need ſhould be)
To reinforce them, or to ſet them free.
The Queene who heard by ſuch as were her own)
With that falſe Earle how thoſe of Cheſhire ſided,
•
s in ſhort time how powerfull he was growne,
Thinks with her ſelfe the ſhire might be diuided,
•
f that her loue to ſome of them were knowne,
Which eas'ly might be, were her pleaſure guided,
By ſome ſuch perſon, of whoſe valour they,
Had an opinion, which ſhe thus doth lay.
Cauſing the King to giue a large command,
To Iames Lord Awdley, powerfull in thoſe parts,
To Raiſe him force thoſe Rebels to withſtand;
•
uch to their Soueraigne as had loyall hearts,
And to make Captaines ouer eu'ry band▪
Men of the beſt blood, as of beſt deſarts,
Which he ſo laboured till that he had brought,
That th'halfe of one houſe gainſt the other fought
So that two men ariſing from one bed,The men of Cheſhire
•
pan
•
•
n the quarre
••
.
Falling to talke, from one another flye:
This weares a white Roſe, and that weares a Red;
And this a Yorke, that Lancaſter doth cry:
He wiſht to ſee that Awdley well had ſped:
He prayes againe to proſper Salsbury:
And for their farewel when their leaues they take
They their ſharpe ſwords at one another ſhake.
This fire in euery family thus ſet,
Ou
•
go the Brown bills with the well ſtrung bow
•
Till a
•
▪
Blore heath theſe boy ſtrous ſouldiers met,The
〈…〉
For there
••
chanc'd the Armies then to cloſe,
This
〈…〉
not liue if that hee ſtroue to let;
Neuer ſuch friends yet ere became ſuch ſoes,
With down-right ſtrokes they at each other
••
No word for Cheſhire was, but kill and ſlay,
The Sonne (as ſome report) the Father flue,A great
〈…〉
In oppoſition as they ſtoutly ſtood,
The Nephew ſeene the Vnckle to purſue,
Bathing his ſword in his owne naturall blood,
The Brother in his brothers gore imbrue
His guilty hands, and at this deadly food:
Kinsman kills Kinsman, and together fall,
As helliſh fury had poſſeſt them all.
There noble Tutch
•
t the Lord Audl
•
y dyde,The Lord A
〈…〉
(Whoſe Father wan him ſuch renowne in Franc
•
And many a Cheſhire Gentleman beſide,
Fell at this field by warres vncertaine chance:
Theſe miſeries Queene Margarite muſt abide,
Whilſt the proud Yorkiſts doe themſelues aduance
And poore King Henry on a pallet lay,
And ſcarcely ask'd which ſide had got the day
Thus valiant Audl
•
y at this Battaile ſlaine,
And all thoſe friends to the Lancaſtrians loſt:
Cheſhire by her ſuch d
•
mage to ſuſtaine:
So much deere blood had this late Conflict coſt:
Wherfore the grieued Queene with might & main
Labours for life to raiſe a ſecond Hoſt:
No
•
time therein ſhe meaneth to fo
••
ſlow,
Either ſhee'll get all, or will all forgoe.
And whilſt their friends them forces gathering were▪
The neighbouring Realmes of this great bus'neſſe ring,
The Duke & thoſe, that to his part adhere,
•
roclaimed Traytors; pardon promiſing,
To thoſe at Blore that Armes did lately beare:
•
o they would yet cleaue to their lawfull King,
Which driue in many to their part againe,
To make their full, they York
•
ſts in their wane.
Yorke who perceiu'd the puiſſant Hoſt prepar'd,
With his deare Neuils, Counſels what to doe,
•
or it behou'd him to make good his guard,
With both their ſtrengths and all too little too,
•
nd in the Marches he no labour ſpar'd
•
o winne his friends along with him to goe:
With expedition which he could not g
•
t,
On the Kings ſide the Commons were ſo ſet.
And being to meete ſo abſolute a power,
〈…〉
t wanting much his party good to make;
〈…〉
d Henryes proclamations euery houre:
〈…〉
s Souldiers win their Generall to forſake,
〈…〉
ſides the ſtorme which rais'd this ſudden ſhower:
〈…〉
m all in ſunder likely was to ſhake:
He ſaw his ſafety to conſiſt in flight,
Thus e'r he wiſt, o'rmaſtred in his might,
All on the ſpurre for li
••
away they poſt,
Their homes too
•••
nor there they might abide▪
E
•••
rd Earl of March, eldeſt ſonne to
•••
Duke t
••
Ea
〈…〉
and Warwicke.
The thre
•
••
aue Earls ſoon reacht the weſtern coa
〈…〉
〈…〉
whēce to Callice their
••
raight courſe they pli
〈…〉
The Duke to Wales being there befriended moſt:
Yet for more ſafety, he
•
o Ireland hyde:
So others ſhip themſelues from eu'ry bay,
And happieſt he that
•
oon'ſt could get away,
As when a Route of raue'nous wolues are met▪
T'aſſey
••
ſome Heard the deſart p
•
ſturing neare,A Simily.
T
••
watchfull Clownes which ouer them are ſet,
Of
•
taught before their
•
iranny to feare.
With dogges, with ſt
•
u
•
s, and ſhouts together g
〈…〉
No
•
neuer leaue till they their Cattell cleare:
So the Kings power the Yorkiſts ſtill purſue,
Which like▪ thoſe wolues before thoſe Heardſ m
•
fl
〈…〉
They gone the King at Couentry begun,A Parli
•
•
ent at
〈…〉
A Parliament, by good aduice, wherein,
The Duke of Yorke, with th'Earle of March his ſo
〈…〉
With Sal
•
bury and Warwicke who had bin
Conſpirators, much miſchiefe and had done,
And by whoſe helpe
•
e hapt ſo much to win:
He there attaints▪ of Treaſon, and beſtowes,
All that was theirs, vpon his friends, their foes,
When now thoſe Earles in Callice ſtill that
〈…〉
The charge whereof proud Warwicke on him too
〈…〉
In their intended bus'neſſe neuer ſlept:
Nor yet their former enterpriſe forſooke,
In t'Henryes Counſailes who had thoſe that crept,
And did each day his actions ouerlooke,
From whom as their aduertiſements ſtill are,
So they their ſtrengths accordingly prepare.
And in meane time the Kingdome to embroyle,
That with leſſe noiſe their friēds might raiſe an hoſt,
They pl
•
gue the ſeas with Piracy and ſpoyle:
And rob the Hauens all along the Coaſt:
They ne'r take pitty of their Natiue ſoyle:
For that they knew this would auayle them moſt,
That whilſt the State was buſied there about▪
Armes might be rais'd within, by thoſe without.
And ſlaughtring many that were ſet toward,
Th'eſpeciall Ports; th'vnweldy Anchors wayde,
Of the Kings ſhips, whoſe fraught as prize they ſharde
And them to Callice carefully conuayd,
With their ſto
•
n
•
Fleet, and his great Nauy darde,
As late by land, ſo now by Sea they ſway'd:
All in Combuſtion, and their bloody rage,
Nor Sea, nor Land, can poſſibly aſſwage.
Then haue they Forces rais'd for them in Kent,
Their next and moſt conuenien place to land,
(Where ſhould the aduerſe power their hopes preuēt
In Douer Road yet were their ſhips at hand)
And by their Poſts ſtill too and fro that went,
They certainly were let to vnderſtand,
That Kent was ſurely theirs, and onely ſtayd▪
To riſe in Armes the Yorkiſts▪
power to ayde,
When Falconbridge, who ſecond Brother was
To Salsbury, they ſend away before,
To ſee no ſhips ſhould out of Sandwich paſſe,
To hinder them from comming to the ſhore,
There of Munition tooke a wondrous Maſſe,
Heapt in that Towne, that with abundant ſtore,
He Armed many at their comming in,
Which on their ſide would ſcarcely elſe haue bin▪
That they no ſooner ſetled were on land,The men of Kent riſe with the Torkiſts.
But that in Armes th'rebellious Kentiſh roſe,
And the Lord Cobham with a mighty band,
With their Calicians preſently doth cloſe,
That now they ſway'd all with a powerfull hand,
And in ſmall time ſo great their Armie growes,
From Suſſex, Surry, and thoſe parts about,
That of her ſafety, London well might doubt,
But yet at laſt the Earies ſhee in doth let,
To whom the Clergy comming day by day,
From further ſheers them greater forces get,
Whē towards Northampton making forth their way
Where the ſad King his Army downe had ſet,
And for their comming onely made his ſtay,
With all the force his friends could him afford,
And for a fight with all things fitly ſtor'd
Who in his march the Earle doth oft moleſt,
(By their Vauntcurrers hearing how he came)
In many a ſtraight, and often him diſtreſt,
By ſtakes and trenches that his Horſe might lame,
But the ſtout Yorkiſts ſtill vpon them preſt:The name of Warwicke fearefull to hu enemies.
And ſtill ſo fearefull was great Warwicks name,
That being once cryde on, put them oft to flight
On the Kings Army till at length they light.
When th'Earle of March thē in the pride of blood
His Virgin valour on that day beſtowes,
And furious Warwicke like a raging flood,
Beares downe before him all that dare oppoſe,
Old Salsbury ſo to his tackling ſtood,
And Fauconbridge ſo ſayes amongſt his foes,
That euen like leaues, the poore Lancaſtrians fall,
And the proud Yorkiſts beare away the Ball.
There Humphrey Duke of Buckingham expir'd,A great pa
••
of the Nobility ſlaine at Nerthampton
King Henrys comfort and his cauſes friend,
There Shrewsbury (euen of his foes admir'd,
For his high courage) his laſt breath doth ſpend,
Braue Beamout there, and Egremount lay tyr'd
To death, there▪
Lucy had his luckleſſe end,
And many a noble Gentleman that day,
Weltring in gore, on the wild Champion lay,
The wretched King, as Fortunes onely ſonne,
His ſouldiers ſlaine, and he of all forſaken,
Left in his Tent; of men the moſt forlorne;
(The ſecond time) a priſoner there is taken;
The wofull Queene out of the Battaile borne,
In a deepe ſwound; and when ſhe doth awaken,
Nothing about her heares, but howles, and cryes,
Was euer Queenes like Margarites miſeries?
YOrke comming in from Ireland
•
n the end,
And to his hands thus finds the Battaile won
•
By the high Proweſſe of his faithfull friend,
Great Warwicke, and that valiant March his ſon,
H
•
s preſent hopes the former ſo tranſcend,
That the proud Duke immediatly begun,
By his bold Actions to expreſſe his thought,
Through ſo muc
•
blood, which he ſo long had ſought▪
The Kings Command'ment daring to deny,
His Soueraigne Lord being cal'd to waite vpon,The Duke of Yorke
•
inſolence.
And on his Fortune beares himſelfe ſo hi
•
,
That he in State preſumes t'aſcond his Throane;
From the Kings lodgings puts his
•••
u
•
n
•
s by,
And placeth in them ſuch as were his owne:
So infinitely inſolent the growes,
As he the Crowne at pleaſure would diſpoſe,
When he procures a Parliament with ſpeed,
In which himſelfe Protector he doth make,
And only Heire apparent to ſucce
•
d,
The King▪ when death him from the world doth take
And what had bene at Couentry decreed,
He there Annulls, from him and his to ſhake
The ſeruile yoke of all ſubiection quite,
Downe goes the red Roſe, and vp goes the white▪
And he with Fortune that this while doth ſport,
Seeing the Southern▪ to him ſtill were ſure;
Thinks to the North, if he ſhould but reſort,
He to his part the Northerne ſhould procure,
Seeking all wayes his greatneſſe to ſupport;
Nor would an equall willingly endure:
Downe into Yorkſhire doth to Sandall ride,
Whoſe lofty ſcyte well ſuted with his plide.
The vexed Queene whoſe very ſoule forgot,The Quee
••
impatient
•
the Dukes pride.
That ſuch a thing as patience it had knowne,
And but ſhee found her friends forſooke her not,
As madde as euer Hecuba had grovvne,
Whilſt both her wrongs, and her reuenge were hot,
Her mighty mind ſo downe could not be throvvne,
But that once more the bloody ſet ſheele play,
With Yorke, ere ſo he beare the Crovvne away.
And dovvne to Sandall doth the Duke purſue,
With all the povver her friends could her prouide,
Led by thoſe Lords that euer had been true,
And had ſtood faſt vpon King Henryes ſide,
With that moſt valiant and ſelected crue,
This brau'ſt of Queenes, ſo vvell her buſineſſe plide,
That comming ſoone to Sandals lofty ſight,
Into the Field ſhe dares him foorth to fight▪
And for this Conflict there came on with her,
Her hope Prince Henry, her deare only Sonne,
Stout Somerſet, and noble Exceſter,
Dukes that for Margarite mighty things had done,
Devon and Wilt▪
Earles vſing to conferre,
With this vviſe Queene, when danger ſhe vvould ſhun,
Vndaunted Clifford, Roſſe in vvar vp brought,
Barrons as braue as ere in battaile fought▪
When this ſtout Duke who in his Caſtle ſtood,The Dukes oft
〈…〉
ruine.
With Salsbury (who beat them all at Blore,)
Both which were fleſht abundantly with blood,
In thoſe three But a
•
les they had wonne before,
Thought in their pride, it would be euer Flood,
No
•
gainſt Queen Margarite that they needed more
For they
•
d▪ Fortune chain'd with them about,
Th
•
t of the
••
conqueſt none but fooles could doubt.
And for the Field ſoone Marſhalling their force,
All poore delayes they ſcornefully defie,
Nor will the Duke ſtay for thoſe troupes of Horſe,
With which his Sonne him promiſt to ſupply,
Inſpight of Fate they'll giue their foe the worſe,
On their owne valour they ſo much rely,
And with fiue thouſand marſhald well they come,
Meaning to charge the Queenes maine Battaile home.
But in her Hoſt ſhe hauing thoſe that were▪
Expert in all the Stratagems of Warre,
To fight with him doe cauſe her to forbeare,
Till from his Caſtle ſhe had got him farre,
Whilſt in an ambuſh ſhee had placed there,
Wiltſhire and Clifford with their ſtrengths to barre,
Him from his home, in off'ring to retire,
Or wound his backe euen as they would deſire,
When too't they fell vpon an eaſie plaine,
At the hill foote, where furiouſly they fought,
Vpon both ſides where there were many ſlaine:
But for the Queene, foure to his one had brought:
The Duke of Yorke for all his pride was faine.
Backe to recoyle were hee was finely caught,
For Wilt and Clifford that in Ambuſh were,
The Van thus rowted, ouerthrew the Reare.
Where Yorke himſelfe, who proudly but of late,
With no leſſe hope then of a kingdome fed,
Vpon this field before his Caſtle gate,
Mangled with wounds on his owne earth lay dead,
Vpon whoſe body Clifford downe him ſate,
Stabbing the corpes, and cutting off his head,
Crown'd it with paper, (and to wreake his teene)
Preſents it ſo to his victorious Queene,
His Baſtard Vnckles both couragious Knights,
Sir Iohn and Sir Hugh Mortimer ſo ſped,
Hall, Haſtings▪ Neuill▪
who in ſundry Eights,
Had ſhow'd their valour, on the field found dead:
And Salsbury amongſt theſe Tragicke ſights,
Who at Blore-heath ſo much deere blood had ſhed,The E
•
rle
••
Salsbury b
••
heade
•
▪
Taken aliue, to Pomfret ſent with ſpeed,
And for their bloods, himſelfe there made to bleed
Some climbe vp Rocks, through hedges other run
Their foes ſo roughly execute their rage,
Where th'Earle of Rutland the Dukes yongeſt ſon,The end of young Rutland.
Then in his childhood and of tender age,
Comming in hope to ſee the Battaile wonne,
Clifford whoſe wrath no rigour could aſſwage.
Takes, and whilſt there he doth for mercy kneele,
In his ſoft boſome ſheathes his ſharpned ſteele.
Edward of March, the Duke his Father ſlaine,
Succeeding him▪ whilſt things thus badly ſort,
Gathering an Army, but yet all in vaine,
To ayde his Father, for he came too ſhort,
Hearing that Penbrooke with a Warlike trayne,
Was comming tow'
•
ds him, touch'd with the report,
His valiant Marchers for the field prepares,
To meet the Earle, if to approach he dares.
Iaeſper by birth halfe Brother to the King,
On bright Queene Katherine got by Owen Tether▪
Whom Henrys loue did to this Earledome bring,
And as from Wales deſcended ſent him thither,
And of South-wales gaue him the gouerning,
Where in ſhort time he got an Hoſt together,
Cleauing to Henry who did him preferre,
As an Alye to th'Houſe of Lancaſter.
Vpon their March when as they laſtly mer,
Neere to the Croſſe that Mortimer is nam'd,The Battaile
••
Morti
•••
s Croſſe.
Where they in order their Battalions ſet,
The Duke and Earle with equall rage enflam'd,
With angry eyes they one the other threat▪
Their deadly Arrowes at each other aym'd:
And there a fierce and deadly fight begin,
A bloodier Battell yet there had not bin▪
The Earle of Ormond, an Aſſociate then,
With this young Tudor, for the King that ſtood▪
Came in the Vanguard with his Iriſh men▪
With Darts, and Skaines▪ thoſe of the Brittiſh blood
With Shaftes and Gleaues them ſeconding againe,
And as they fall, ſtill make their places good,
That it amaz'd the marchers to behold,
Men ſo ill arm'd vpon their Bowes ſo bold.
Now th'Welch and Iriſh ſo their weapons weeld,
As though themſelues they conquerors meant to c
•
l
Then are the Marchers maſters of the field,
With their browne Bills the Welchmen ſo they mall,
Now th▪one▪ now th'other likely were to yeeld,
Theſe like to fly, then thoſe were like to fall,
Vntill at length (as fortune pleas'd to guide)
The Conqueſt turn'd vpon the Yorkiſts ſide.
Three Suns were ſeem that inſtant to appeare,Three ſ
•
n
•
ey ſeene▪ at one time.
Which ſoone againe ſhut vp themſelues in one,
Ready to buckle as the Armies were,
Which this braue Duke tooke to himſelfe alone,
His drooping hop
•
s which ſomwhat ſeemd to cheere
By his miſhaps▪ neere lately ouerthrowne.
So that thereby encouraging his men,
Once more he ſets the white Roſe vp agen.
Penbrooke, and Ormond, ſaue themſelues by ſlight,
Foure thouſand ſouldiers of both Armies dead,
But the great loſſe on the Lancaſtrians light,
So
•
ll the
•
riends of poore King Henry ſped;
Where Owen Tudor taken in the flight,
This yong Earles father by Queene Katherines bedOwen Tudor
•
end.
At Hereford not farre away from thence,
Where others with him dyde for their offence.
THis while the Queen, the gole at Sandal gain
Leades on tow'rds London her victorious H
•
Whoſe blades ſhe ſhowes, with blood of Yorkiſts ſtain'
•
Nor of her Cōqueſt can ſhe leaue to boaſt,
But to her ſide, whilſt lucky fortune lean'd,
Come, what can come, ſhe means to cleare the co
••
Of thoſe ſhe knew in Yorks reuenge would riſe▪
Found ſhe not meanes, their Forces to ſurpriſe.
And at Saint Albans finding on her way,
Iohn Duke of Norfolke, and her diueliſh foe:
Fierce Warwicke who there with an Army lay,
Which two, deceaſed Yorke when he ſhould goeKing Henry left before to the keeping of the Duke of Norfolke, and the Earle of Warwicke.
To Sandall, left them as his onely kay,
To keepe King Henry (which they not foreſlow)
Leſt by the Queene & hers he might be wroug▪
T'annull their late paſt Parliament for nought▪
For which to Counſell, calling vp her Lords,
Well to conſider what was to be done,
Who cheere her vp with comfortable words,
And would in no wiſe ſhe her▪ way ſhould ſhunne:
For they would make her entrāce with their ſwo
•
Here what was loſt, might here againe be wunn
•
,
Aſſuring her their minds them ſtrongly gaue▪
That of this Field the glory ſhe ſhould haue.
And ſoone their Army ordering for the grou
〈…〉
Whereof a view they e
•
'ry way doe take:
When for Aſſault they bid their Trumpets ſound,
And ſo their entry on the Towne they make:
•
ut comming to the market place they found,
•
ſhower of ſhafts, as from a cloud it brake,
Which backe againe made them ſo faſt to beare,
As that their Van, was like to route their Reare,
But thus repulſ'd, another way they prooue,
How in vpon their enemy to get,
Which maks their foes, that they their force remoue
To ſtop that paſſage wherein they were ſet,
•
hat whilſt, they▪ ſhafts into each other ſhoue,
•
or a long while it was an euen bet,
Death being thus dealt, and both ſo deepely in,
Whether proud Warwicke, or the Queene ſhould winne
But by the Queene conſtrained to recoyle,
•
heir ground from them they abſolutely wonne,
When they the Yorkiſts miſerably ſpoyle,
•
nd in with them on their mayne Battaile runne:
Which being greatly ſtraitned by the ſoyle,
•
hey could not doe what elſe they might haue done:The Queene getteth the day at Saint Albans.
Through thick & thin, o'r hedge & ditch that take,
And happieſt he the greateſt haſt could make.
Whilſt Warwicke cryes, ye Southerne cowards ſtay,
•
nd once more turne your faces to your foes,
•
is feare, not danger doth yee thus diſmay:
•
proue the former fortune of your Bowes,
•
hinke but vpon the late-wonne glorious day,
•
ot in this place; the fame whereof you loſe,
By your baſe flight; but he his breath might ſpare
He might as well haue call'd vpon the Ayre▪
Scatter'd like ſheep by wolues that had bin ſcar'
•
The Yorkiſts Army diſ
•
omfited at this ſecond Batt
•
ll at Saint Albans
So runne the Yorkiſts; which, when Norfolke ſaw,
He calls to Warwicke ſcarcely then prepar'd,
Himſelfe out of this danger to withdraw:
My Lord (quoth he) you ſee that all is mard:
Fortune hath ſworne to keepe vs in her awe:
Our liues are gone if longer here wee ſtay,
Looſe not your ſelfe, though we haue loſt the d
•
And for they found the Foe came on ſo faſt,
The King by them to this loſt battell brought,
And vnder guard in his pauillion plac't,
Th'are forc'd to leaue (which late they little thoug
•
For ther were thoſe which made thē make ſuch haſ
•
They could not ſtay to haue their Soueraign ſough
•
King Henry of no account
But ſince the Battell had ſuch ill ſucceſſe,
That loſt, they thought their loſſe of him the leſſ
•
The foe thus fled, they quickly found the King,
From whom a ſpeedy meſſenger is ſent,
His Wife and Sonne, away to him to bring,
Who with their Lords arriuing at his Tent,The King
••
et
•
with the Queene and her
•••••
Where after many a fall, and many aſpring,
Of teares of ioy vpon each other ſpent,
With ſtrict embraces they each other ſtraine,
No one had need a gladneſſe there to faine.
Like as you ſee when Partriges are flowne,
(In Falconers termes which we the Couy call)
〈…〉
By the ſharpe Hawke, and into thickets throwne,
There drops downe one, there doth another fall,
•
et when they heare the queſting Spaniels gone,
They in the euening get together all▪
With pretty iugging and each other greet.
Glad as it were they once againe ſhould meete.
But the fierce Queene, her full reuenge to take,
Of thoſe ſhe thought the Yorkiſts well that meant.
•
he ſtout Lord Bonvile for King Henry, ſake,The cruelty of the Queen
•
nd Thomas Kerrill, a braue Knight of Kent,
Who the Kings Guard ſtroue euer long to make,
•
ll threatning perill thereby to preuent,
And for their ſafety had his Soueraigne word,
That cruell woman putteth to the ſword.
This wel might warne great Warwick not to truſt
•
oo much to Fortune, which ſo ſoone reueales,
•
er whoriſh lightneſſe, like an Auerſe guſt,
•
nd on the ſuddaine makes him ſtrike his Sayles,
Which when he moſt beleeued her to be iuſt,
•
is forward hopes then moſt of all ſhe fayles
All his accounts, and teach him thus to ſumme,
▪None ouercomes, but may be ouercome,
Some thinke that Warwicke had not loſt the day,
•
ut that the King into the Field he brought,
•
or with the worſe, that ſide ſtill went away,King Henry moſt
〈…〉
Which had King Henry with thē when they fought
•
pon his birth ſo ſad a curſe they lay,
•
s that he neuer proſpered in ought,
The Queene wan two, amongſt the loſſe of many▪
Her husband abſent, preſent, neuer any▪
But whilſt her ſelfe with further hopes ſhee fed,
The Queene ſtill watchfull, wiſely vnderſtands,
That Warwicke late, vvho at Saint Albans fled▪
(Whereas his heeles ſeru'd better then his hands)
Had met the Duke of Yorke, and made a head,
Of many freſh, and yet vnfought-with bands,
At Chipping-norton for more forces ſtay'd,
From whence towards London they their mar
•
had lay
•
The Londoners deny the Queene victuaile for her Army.
And for ſhee ſaw the Southerne to adhere,
Still to the Yorkiſts, who againe relyde,
Much on their ayde, as London ſhe doth feare,
A ſmall reliefe which lately her denyde,
She can (at all conceiue) no comfort there,
With any ſuccours, nor to be ſupply'd,
But to the North her ſpeedy courſe directs,
From whence freſh aydes ſhe euery day expect
•
Not foure dayes march yet fully on her way,The Duke of Yorke entreth London with applauſe of the people.
But Yorke to London with his Army comes,
And neere the walles his Enſignes doth diſplay,
Deaffing the city with his clamoorus Drummes,
His Title ſo the multitude doth ſway,
That for his ſouldiers they prouide him Summes,
And thoſe prouiſiōs they Queene Margarite o
•
Taken from hers, they on the Duke beſtow'de.
The Gates ſet open to receiue him in,
They with applauſe his gracious entrance greet,
His preſence ſo the Peoples hearts doth vvinne,
That they come flocking in from euery ſtreet,
Kneeling before him, as he Crownd had bin,
And as he rode along they kiſt his feete,
Whilſt good King Henry towards the North is gone,
The poore Lancaſtrians damn'd by euery one.
Whither (at once) doe preſently repaire,
The ſpirituall Lords, & Temporal, who would haue,
Him take the Crowne, who farre more ready are,
•
o giue, then he their ſuffrages to craue:
The Commons take him ſo into their care,
Vpon his name that dotingly they raue,
And being ask'd who ſhould their Soueraigne be,
They cry King Edward and no man but hee.
Thus to his height this puiſſant Prince they heaue,
The ſeate Imperiall; where then ſitting downe,
Their fealty they force him to receaue,
Which on his head might firmely fixe his Crowne,
And in his hand the Regall Scepter leaue:
Edward the fourth proclaim'd in eu'ry Towne,Edward m
••
King by the ſuffrage of the Commons▪
With all the pompe that they could thinke vpon,
They then adorne his Coronation.
THis newes too quickly in Queene Margarites eare,
What by the Lords at London had beene done,
Euen at the point to fall into deſpaire,
Ready ſhe was on her owne death to runne;
With her faire fingers
•
ents her golden haire,
Curſing that houre when firſt ſhe ſaw the Sunne.
With rage ſhe faints; reuiuing and doth call,
Vpon high heauen for vengeance on them all,
To ayde her right yet ſtill excites her friends,
By her faire ſpeech inchanted (as by charmes)
Scarce any man on any Lord depends,
That followes her, that riſeth not in Armes:
The ſpacious North ſuch plenteous ſuccour ſends,
That to her ſide the ſouldiers come in ſwarmes:
Thus day by day ſhe addeth more and more,
To that full Army, which ſhe had before.
Not long it was but Edward vnderſtood,
Of this great power prepared in the North,
When he to make his Coronation good,
Calls to his ayde his friends of greateſt worth,
With whom then riſing like a raging flood:King Edward
〈…〉
from
〈…〉
to
〈…〉
This forward King breakes violently foorth,
That with the helpe of Tributary flowes,
Extends his breadth ſtill onward as he goes.
Nor Henryes Army needed to be ſought,
For euery man could tell him where it lay,
In twelue dayes march which Edward eas'ly rough
Without reſiſtance keeping on his way,
Neere fifty thouſand in his Hoſt he brought,
Whoſe brandiſh'd Enſignes ſeem'd to braue the day
And vnder Pomfret his proud Tents he pight▪
Prouiding hourely for a deadly fight.
Of Henrys Hoſt, when they who had command,
On whom the Queene impoſed had the care,
Great Sommerſet, and ſtout Northumberland,
And Clifford, whom no danger yet could dare:
The walles of Yorke firſt hauing throughly man'd,
There plac'd the King, when quickly they prepare,
To range their Battell which conſiſted then,
Of threeſcore thouſand valiant Northerne men.
From Edwards Hoſt the Lord Fitzwater went,The Lord Fitzwater and Baſtard Neuill ſlam
•
And valiant Neuill, Warwickes Baſtard brother,
At Ferry-bridge the paſſage to preuent,
From comming ouer Eyre, to keepe the other;
Gainſt whom the aduerſe, the Lord Clifford ſent,
Who taking night his enterpriſe to ſmother:
The dawne yet dusky, paſsing through a Ford,
Puts them, and all their ſouldiers to the ſword▪
At the ſhrill noyſe, when Warwicke comming in,
And finds his Brother and Fitzwater dead,
Euen as a man diſtracted that had bin:
Out of his face the liuely colour fled,Warwicke
••
w
••
to re
•
snge his brothers death.
•
oth cruell Clifford thus (quoth he) begin,
For eu'ry drop of blood that he hath ſhed,
This day I'le make an enemy to bleed,
Or neuer more in Battaile let me ſpeed.
And to the King returning in this mood,
〈…〉
Liege (quoth he) all mercy now defie,
•
elay no longer to reuenge their blood;
Whoſe mangled bodies breathleſſe yonder lye:
•
nd let the man that meanes King Edwards good,
〈…〉
and faſt to Warwicke, who no more ſhall flie:
Reſolu'd to winne, or bid the world a due,Warwickes de
••
era
•
e
•••
ſ
•
luti
••
Which ſpoke, the Earle his ſprightly courſer ſ
••
e▪
This reſolution ſo extremely wrought,
Vpon King Edward that he gaue command,No quarter
•
e
•
t at Towton.
That on his ſide who willingly not fought,
Should haue his leaue, to quit him out of hand;
That eu'
•
y one ſhould kill the man he cought,
To keepe no Quarter, and who meant to ſtand,
In his iuſt cauſe, rewarded he would ſee,
This day hee'll riſe, or this day ruin'd be.
When neere to Towton on the ſpacious playne▪
Towton field.
Theſe puiſſant Armies on Palme-Sunday me▪
Wher down right ſlaughter angry heauē doth rain
•
With clouds of rage the Element is ſet:
The wind
•
s breath fury, and the earth againe,
With the hot gore of her owne Natiues wet,
Sends vp a ſmoke▪ which makes the mall ſo mad,
Of neither part that mercy could be had.
One horrid ſight another doth appall:
One fearefull cry another doth confound,
Murthers ſo thicke vpon each other fall,
That in one ſhreeke anothers ſhreeke is drownd,
Whilſt blood for blood
•
nceſſantly doth call,
From the wide mouth of many a gaping wound;
Slaughter ſo ſoone grows big, that cōmn to birt
•
The monſtrous burthen ouer-loads the earth▪
This bloody Tempeſt ten long houres doth laſt▪
Whilſt neither ſide could to it ſelfe aſſure
The victory; but as their lot was caſt,
With wounds and death they ſtoutly it indure,
Vntill the valiant Yorkiſts at the laſt,
Although in number neere ten thouſand fewer:
In their long fight their forces manage ſo,
That they before them lay their conquer'd foe.
Couragious Clifford firſt here fell to ground,
Into the throat with a blunt Arrow ſtrucke:A miſerable defect of the Queenes friends.
Here Weſtmerland receiu'd his deadly wound:
Here dy'd the ſtout Northumberland that ſtuck
Still to his Soneraigne; Wells, and Dacres found,
That they had lighted on King Henrys luck:
Trowluph & Horne, two braue commanders dead
Whilſt Summerſet and Exceſter were fled.
Thirty two thouſand in this battaile flaine,The greate
••
ſlaughter in all that ciui
••
Warre.
Many in ſtrayts lye heap'd vp like a wall
〈…〉
The reſtlye ſcatter'd round about the playne,
And Cocke a Riuer, though but very ſmall,
Fill'd with thoſe flying doth ſo deepely ſtaine,
The Riuer Wharfe, int'which this Cocke doth fall,
As that the fountaine which this flood doth feed,
Beſides their blood, had ſeem'd for them to bleed.
King Henrys hopes thus vtterly forlorne,
By the late loſſe of this vnlucky day:
He feeles the Crown (euen) from his temples torn,
On his ſword point, which Edward beares away:
And ſince his fall the angry Fates had ſworne,
He findes no comfort longer here to ſtay:
But leauing Yorke, he poſt to Barwicke goes,
With's Queene & Son, true partners in his woes▪
The King for Scotland, and for France the Queene,The King and Queen forced to forſake the Land
Diuided hence, ſince them thus Fortune thwarts,
Before this time there ſeldome had beene ſeene,
Two to be ſeuer'd with ſo heauy hearts,
The Prince their ſon then ſtanding them betweene,
Their ſong is ſorrow▪ and they beare their parts:
He to the King of Scots, to get ſupplies▪
She to the French King, and her Father flies.
Which well might ſhew a Princes ſlippery ſtate,
For when ſhe hither at the firſt came in,
England and France did her congratulate,
Then in two battailes ſhe had Conqueror bin,
Seeming to tread vpon the Yorkiſts hate,
As from that day ſhe had beene borne to winne:
Now to ſayle backe with miſeries farre more,
Then were her Tryumphs landing here before.
This cruell blow to the Lancaſtrians lent,
At fatall Towton that Palme-Sunday fight,
Where ſo much blood they prodigally ſpent,
To France and Scotland as inforc'd their flight,
Lifts vp the Yorkiſts to their large extent,
And Edward now to ſee his Crowne ſet right,
Pro
•
d in his ſpoyles, to London doth repaire,
And re-annoynted mounts th'Imperiall Chaire,
Where he a ſpeedy Parliament doth paſſe,
T'annull thoſe Lawes which had beene made before▪
Gainſt his ſucceſsion, and diſſolue the Maſſe,
Of Treaſons heapt on his, them to reſtore:
Whereby King Henry ſo much leſned was,
As after that he ſhould ſubſiſt no more,
Little then thinking Lancaſter againe,
Now but an exile ouer him ſhould raigne.
Where he attaints as Traitors to his Crowne,The Earle of Oxford and
••
Sonne attainted.
Iohn Earle of Oxford and h
•
s valiant ſonne,
A
•
brey De Ʋere, with whom likewiſe went downe
Mountgomery, Terrill, Tudenham who were done,
To death; ſo Heau'n on Henry ſeemes to frowne,
And Summerſet King Edwards wrath to ſhunne,
Himſelfe ſubmitting is receiu'd to grace,
Such is Queene Margarites miſerable caſe.
Henry in Scotland▪
the ſad Queene the while,
Is left to France, to Lewis there to ſue,
To lend her ſuccour; ſcorning her exile,
In ſpight of Fate ſhe will the warre renew,Queene Margarit a womā of an
•
ndainted spirit.
She will tempt Fortune till againe ſhe ſmile▪
In ſuch a pitch her mighty ſpirit ſtill flew;
That ſhould the world oppoſe her, yet that ſtrengh,
She hopes ſhall worke vp her deſires at length.
And with fiue thouſand valiant Volunteers,
Of natiue French, put vnder her command,
With Armes well ſitted ſhe towards Scotland ſteeres
With which before ſhe poſſibly could land,
The wrath of Heauen vpon this Queene appeares,The Queene in euery enterpriſe moſt vnfor
••
nate.
And with fierce Tempeſts ſtriue her to withſtand,
The winds make warre againſt her with her Foe,
Which Ioin'd together worke her ouerthrowe.
Her Forces thus infortunatly loſt,
Which ſhe in Scotland hop'd to haue encreaſt,
And in this tempeſt ſhe herſelfe ſo toſt,
As neuer Lady; yet ſhe here not coaſt,
But ſince ſhe found her enterpriſe thus croſt,
She to the Scottiſh her faire courſe adreſt,
Nor would deſiſt till ſhe had raiſ'd agen,
Ten thouſand valiant well-appointed men.
And in vpon Northumberland doth breake,
Rowzing the Siuggiſh villages from fleepe,
Bringing in Henry though a helpe but weake,
But leaues her Son in Barwicke ſafe to keepe;
Her ratling Drums ſo rough a language ſpeakes,Queene Margarite raiſeth
•
new Army.
The ruffling Scots, and all the Country ſweepe;
Which rumour run ſo faſt with through the ayre,
That Edward thought it ſhooke his very Chaire.
And Somerſet receiu'd to grace before,
With Sir Raulph Percy from that fatall day,S
•
me that
•
ad ſubmitted themſelues to King Edward
•
e
•
olt at king Henrys comming.
At Towton; found each minute more and more,
How ſad
•
fate on the Lancaſtrians lay,
Y
••
hoping now King Henry to reſtore,
Who they ſuppoſ'd had new found out the way,
Reuolt from Edward, and in Henrys name,
Call in their friends, to ayde him as he came.
THis noyſe of Warre ariſing from the North,
In Edwards eares re-ecchoing bidds him ſtirre,
And rumour
•
ells him if he made not foorth,
Queene Margarite comm'n he muſt reſigne to her,
For they were Captaines of eſpeciall worth,
On whom ſhe did this mighty charge conferre,
For that her Enſignes ſhe at large diſplai'd,
And as ſhe came, ſo ſtill came
•
n her ayd,
For which his much lou'd Mountacute he ſends,
With Englands valiant Infantry his Pheres:
To whoſe wiſe guidance, he this Warre commends,
His ſouldiers expert pickt in ſundry ſheeres,
His vtmoſt ſtrength King Edward now extends,
Which he muſt doe, or drag'd downe by the eares,
From his late-gotten, ſcarſely-ſetled Thro
•
e,
And on his ſhoulders ſhe remount thereon.
And Mountacute had ſcarſely march'd away,
But he himſelfe ſets forward with an Hoſt,
And a ſtrong Nauy likewiſe doth puruay,Kin Edward prouideth to reſiſt Queen
•
Margarites comming in.
To ſcoure the Seas and keepe the Brittiſh coaſt,
Fearing from France freſh ſuccours euery day,
To ayd Queene Margarit which perplext him moſt
For he perceiu'd his Crowne ſate not ſo ſure,
But might be ſhak'd ſhould ſhe her Powers procure▪
Now is the Northfild with refulgent Armes,
Edwards and Engliſh Scots Queene Margarit brings,
The Norths co
〈…〉
this
•
reat con
•
ourſe warms
Their Quarrell
〈…〉
f two great Kings,
Which oft b
〈…〉
wrought each others harms,
And from that R
〈…〉
horrour dayly ſprings,
And though
〈…〉
od
••
ey both had ſpēt before
Yet not ſo much, but that there muſt be more.
At Hegly-heath their skirmiſhes begin,The Conflict at Hegly-More.
Where two bold Barrons Hungerford and Reſſe,
With Sir Ralph Percy, he who had lately bin▪
Leagu'd with King Edward, but then gotten loſe,
(Striues by all meanes to expiate that ſinne)
To the Lancaſtrian faction cleaues ſo cloſe,
That when thoſe Barrons from that conflict fly,
In Henrys right, he brauely dares to dye.
Which leades along as Tragicall an Act,
As ſince the Warres had euer yet beene playd,
For Mountacute b'ing fortunately backt,
By braue King Edwards comming to his ayde:
As of their force King Henry little lackt,
The plaine call'd Liuells where the ſceane was layd:The Bot
•
aile▪ of Exh
••
.
Not farre from Exham neere to Dowills flood,
That day diſcolloured with Lancaſtrians blood,
There ſtruck they battell, Bowmen Bowmen plide▪
Northerne to Southerne, ſlaughter ceaſeth all;
Long the Fight laſted e'r that either ſide,
Could tell to which the Victory would fall:
But to the Yorkiſts fortune is ſo tide,
That ſhe muſt come when they ſhall pleaſe to call,
And in his Cradle Henry had the curſe,
That where he was, that ſide had ſtill the worſe.
This luckleſſe day by the Lancaſtrians loſt,
Was Summerſet ſurprized in his flight,
And in purſuing of this ſcattered Hoſt,
On Mullins, Roſſe, and Hungerford they light,
Which this dayes worke e'r long full dearely coſt▪
Queene Margarites
〈…〉
goes ſtill
••
•
wrack
•
.
•
nd with theſe Lords were taken many a Knight,
Nor from their hands could Henry hardly ſhift,
Had not his guide beene as his Horſe was ſwift.
Still muſt Queene Margarites miſeries endure,
This Maſſe of ſorrow markt out to ſuſtaine:
For all the aydes this time ſhe ſhould procure,
Are either taken, put to flight, or ſlaine;
Of nothing elſe ſhe can her ſelfe aſſure,
That ſhe will leaue her loſſes to complaine:
For ſince ſhe ſees that ſtill her friends goe downe,
She will curſe Fortune if ſhe doe not frowne.
Henry to flye to Scotland backe is faine,King Henry and the Queane
••••
•
o get to France, the wofull Queene is glad,
•
here with her Sonne inforced to remaine,
•
ill other aydes might thence againe be had;
•
o them that hard neceſsities conſtraine,
•
o ſet them downe that it doth make me ſad,
Neuer ſo thicke came miſeries I weene,
Vpon a poore King▪ and a woefull Queene.
This done King Edward▪
his ſtrong Army ſends
•
o take thoſe Caſtles which not long before,
•
ad beene deliuered to King Henrys friends,
Which he by ſieges makes them to reſtore,
•
nd on the borders watchfully attends,
•
o Henryes ayde that there ſhould come no more,
But ô behold as one ordain'd to ill,
The Fate that followes hapleſſe Henry ſtill▪
At Hegly-heath their skirmiſhes begin,The Conflict at Hegly-More.
Where two bold Barrons Hungerford and Roſſe,
With Sir Ralph Percy, he who had lately bin,
Leagu'd with King Edward, but then gotten loſe,
(Striues by all meanes to expiate that ſinne)
To the Lancaſtrian faction cleaues ſo cloſe,
That when thoſe Barrons from that conflict fly,
In Henrys right, he brauely dares to dye.
Which leades along as Tragicall an Act,
As ſince the Warres had euer yet beene playd,
For Mountacute b'ing fortunately backt,
By braue King Edwards comming to his ayde:
As of their force King Henry little lackt,
The plaine call'd Liuells where the ſceane was layd:The Bot
•
aile. of Exham.
Not farre from Exham neere to Dowills flood,
That day diſcolloured with Lancaſtrians blood,
There ſtruck they battell, Bowmen Bowmen plide
Northerne to Southerne, ſlaughter ceaſeth all;
Long the Fight laſted e'r that either ſide,
Could tell to which the Victory would fall:
But to the Yorkiſts fortune is ſo tide,
That ſhe muſt come when they ſhall pleaſe to call,
And in his Cradle Henry had the curſe,
That where he was, that ſide had ſtill the worſe.
This luckleſſe day by the Lancaſtrians loſt,
Was Summerſet ſurprized in his flight,
And in purſuing of this ſcattered Hoſt,
On Mullins, Roſſe, and Hungerford they light,
Which this dayes worke e'r long full dearely coſt;Queene Margarites perty goes ſtill to
•
wracke.
And with theſe Lords were taken many a Knight,
Nor from their hands could Henry hardly ſhift,
Had not his guide beene as his Horſe was ſwift.
Still muſt Queene Margarites miſeries endure,
This Maſſe of ſorrow markt out to ſuſtaine:
For all the aydes this time ſhe ſhould procure,
Are either taken, put to flight, or ſlaine;
Of nothing elſe ſhe can her ſelfe aſſure,
That ſhe will leaue her loſſes to complaine:
For ſince ſhe ſees that ſtill her friends goe downe,
She will curſe Fortune if ſhe doe not frowne.
Henry to flye to Scotland backe is faine,King Henry and the Queene par
•
.
To get to France, the wofull Queene is glad,
There with her Sonne inforced to remaine,
Till other aydes might thence againe be had;
So them that hard neceſsities conſtraine,
To ſet them downe that it doth make me ſad,
Neuer ſo thicke came miſeries I weene,
Vpon a poore King, and a woefull Queene.
This done King Edward, his ſtrong Army ſends
To take thoſe Caſtles which not long before,
Had beene deliuered to King Henrys friends,
Which he by ſieges makes them to reſtore,
And on the borders watchfully attends,
To Henryes ayde that there ſhould come no more,
But ô behold as one ordain'd to ill,
The Fate that followes hapleſſe Henry ſtill,
For out of ſome deepe melancholly fit,King Henry▪ comming diſ, guiſed into England, is diſcouered and taken priſoner.
Or otherwiſe, as falne into deſpaire,
Or that he was not rightly in his wit,
Being ſafe in Scotland and ſtill ſuccour'd there;
Vpon the ſuddaine he abandons it,
And into England Idly entring, where
He is ſurprizd, and (in his enemies power)
Is by King Edward ſhut vp in the Tower.
This hap had Henry, who when he was borne,King Henry was borne the greateſt of Chriſtian Kings.
Of Chriſtian Kings the greateſt then aliue,
Now he the Crowne full forty yeeres had worne,
Doth all his Regall Soueraignety ſuruiue;
Of all men liuing and the moſt forlorne,
So ſtrange a thing can deſtiny contriue:
So many ſundry miſeries as he,
No King before, had euer liu'd to ſee.
To heare all this Queene Margarite muſt end
•
Yet ſadly to her fathers Court confin'de,
And now King Edward held himſelfe ſecure,
When things fell out ſo fitly to his minde,
But when of reſt he did himſelfe aſſure,
Vpon a ſuddaine roſe ſo rough a wind,
In his ſtrong hand, which ſhooke his Scepter mo
〈…〉
Then all the ſtormes that ere had blowne before
For then in minde to league himſelfe with Fr
〈…〉
The pollicie of King Edward.
Which he perceiu'd would be the ſureſt way,
His queſtiond Tytle highly to aduance:
And at his need ſhould ſerue him for a kay,
•
o open him their policies; vvhoſe chance,
•
as then in caſting, and the next to play,
For Margarite ſtill the French King Lewis preſt,
For ſecond aydes, nor would ſhe let him reſt,
Wherefore he ſends a marri'ge to entreat,
•
ith beautious Bona (with whoſe rich report,
•
ame was oppreſt with, and a taske too great)
•
he French Queenes ſiſter, and with her in Court,Warwick ſent into France to intreat for a marriage betwixt King Edward and Bona the French Queens ſiſter. The Dutcheſſe of Bedford after Iohn her husbands deceaſ
•
was w
•
dded
••
▪ Sir Richard Wooquile. Knight, whoſ
•
daughter
•••
Lady was.
•
arwicke the man choſe foorth to worke the feat,
•••
is ſent thither in ſuch ſumptuous ſort,
And in ſhort time ſo well his buſineſſe plyes,
That ſhe was like to proue an Engliſh prize,
In the meane while this youthful King by chance
•
omming to Grafton where the Dutcheſſe lay,
•
hen ſtil'd of Bedford; his eye haps to glance,
〈…〉
her bright Daughter the faire Widdow Gray,
〈…〉
ſe beauties did his ſenſes ſo intrance,
〈…〉
ſtole his heart ſo ſuddainly away,
That muſt he loſe his Crowne, comeweale, come woe,
She muſt be his, though all the world ſay no,
Her lookes like Lethe make him to forget,
•
on what buſineſſe he had Warwicke ſent,
〈…〉
this Lady he his loue ſo ſet,
〈…〉
at ſhould his Crowne from off his head be rent,
•
his rebellious people riſe, to let,
•
s choyſe of his, they ſhould it not preuent,
For thoſe pure eyes his boſome that had pierc'd,
Had writ alaw there, not to be reuerſ'd,
What leſſe amends this Lady can I make,Her husband ſlain at Saint Albans on the
•••
g
•
part.
For her deere husband in my quarrell ſlaine;
Then lawfull marri'ge which for iuſtice ſake,
I muſt performe (quoth hee) leſt ſhe complaine,
For a iuſt Prince, ſo me the world ſhall take:
Soothing himſelfe vp in this amorous vaine,
With his affections in this ſort doth play,
Till he a Queene made the faire Lady Gray.
This Act of Edwards com'n to Warwicks eare,
And that the ſequell ſhow'd it to be true,
In his ſterne eyes, it eas'ly might appeare,
His heart too great for his ſtrait boſome grew,
He his Commiſsion doth in piece-meale
•
eare,
Breakes the broad Seale, and on the ground it th
•
And prayes bleſt heau'n may curſe him if that
•
For this diſgrace reuenged would not be,
Haue I (quoth hee) ſo lifted thee
〈…〉
〈…〉
King
〈…〉
That to thy greatueſſe I the ſcorne am growne,
Haue I for thee aduentur'd beene ſo oft▪
In this long Warre, as to the world is knowne,
And now by thee thus baſely am I ſcoft,
By this diſgrace vpon me thou haſt throwne:
If theſe thy wrongs vnpuniſh'd ſlightly paſſe,
Hold Warwicke baſe, and falne from what he was,
Know tw'as the Nevills forthy Title ſtood,
Elſe long e'r this, layd lower then the ground,
And in thy cauſe my Father ſhed his blood,
None of our houſe, for thee, but beares a wound,
And now at laſt to recompence this good,
〈…〉
for me this Guerdon haſt thou
•
ound;
〈…〉
proud head, this h
•
d ſhal pluck thy crown,
Or if thou ſtand then
〈…〉
Warwick down.
Yet he to England peaceably repaires,Warwicke deeply di
••••
bles his diſ
〈…〉
.
And with a ſmooth browe ſmother
•
his intent,
And to the King
〈…〉
the French affaires,
••
what in Court had paſt there ſince he went:
His ſpleene he for a fitter ſeaſon ſpares,
〈…〉
he the ſame more liberally might vent:
Calme was his countenance, and his language faire
But in his breſt a deepe revenge he bare.
MEane while Queene Margarit (a poore exile heares,)
How things in England (in her abſence) went,
〈…〉
halfe burſt heart, which but a little cheeres:
•••
from her head ſhe felt the Crowne was rent,
•
et though fare off a little glimpſe appeares,
•
ſeeming hope▪ and though it fain
•
ly lent,
It might hau
•
ſaid had not the F
••
es ſaid no,
Theſe ſtormes at home, might her ſome profit blow.
〈…〉
heares how Warwicke cunningly had wrought,
〈…〉
Duke of George ſecond brother to King Edward, and by him
〈…〉
Duke of Clarence.
Clarence from his brothers ſide,
•••
that braue Youth at Callice hauing caught,
•••
eldeſt daughter had to him affide,
How to rebell, the Warwicke by his Agents had ſtirred vp this rebellion in the North, he himſelfe being at Calli
••
, th
•
it might ſ
••••
not to be done by him, they had to their Captaines, Henry Fitz-Hugh Henry Neuil and Sir Iohn Coniers. Northerne men were brou
•
And who by Warwicke poynted was their guide▪
A
•
on the The Ear
•
e of Penbroke and h
••
brother Richard Herbert ouerthrowne at Banbury field
W
•
l
•
h he had a mighty hand,
By Edward rais'd thoſe rebels to withſtand,
Of new Theſe R
•
b
•
ls had to their Captain one whom they termed Robin of Ridſ dale. Rebellions at Northampton rais'd,
And to deſpight the King, what they had done,
How they at Grafton the Earle The Earle Riuers was Father to the Lady Gray, then Queene of England.
Riuers ſeas'd,
And Sir Iohn Wooduile his moſt hopefull Sonne,
Who with their heads could hardly be appeas▪d,
And of the fame by puiſſant Warwicke wonne:
Who hauing taken The Earle
•
aketh the King priſoner at
••
lney in Warwickeſhir
•
, entring open this campe
〈…〉
the
••
ght.
Edward in his Tent,
His King his priſoner into York
•
ſhir
•
ſent.
Then heares againe how Edward had eſcapt▪
And by his friends a greater power had got,
How he the men of They had to their Captaine Robert W
•
lls, ſonn
•
to the Lord W
•
lles, T
〈…〉
field.
Lincolneſhire intrapt,
Who neere to Stamford pay'd a bloody ſhot,
And when the Earle his courſe for Callice ſhapt,
When England laſtly grew for him to hot,
The Lord Vaucleere a Gaſcoyne borne.
Vaucleere who there his Deputy he put,
The Ports againſt his late grand Captaine ſhut.
Laſtly, ſhee heares that he at A knowne Port Towne of Normandy
Deepe ariues▪
And lately com'n to A Towne where the French King lay.
Amboyes to the Court,
••
ereas King Lewis to his vtmoſt ſtriues,
•
o entertaine him in moſt Princely ſort:
When the wiſe Queene her buſineſſe ſo contriues,
That ſhe comes thither, ſmall what though her port,
Yet brings along the ſweet yong Prince her ſon
•
e,
To proue what good with Warwick might be done
Wen both in
〈…〉
Court, and preſence of the King,
Their due reſpect to both of them that gaue,
••
will'd them in ſo pertinent a thing,
That they the like ſhould of each other haue▪
The teares began from both their eyes to ſpring,
That each from other Pitty ſee
•
'd to craue,
In gracefull manner when the grieued Queene,
Thus to that great Earle, gently breaths her ſpleene.
Warwicke, ſaith ſhee, how mercileſſe a Foe,The Queene
•
speech to the Earle in the ſoure following Stanzaes▪
••
ſt thou beene ſtill to my poore child and mee,
•
hat villaine Yorke which haſt aduanced ſo,
Which neuer could haue riſen but for thee,
•
hat Valour thou on Edward didſt beſtow,
•
hadſt thou ſhow'd for him, thou here doſt ſee,
Our Damaske Roſes had adorn'd thy Creſt,
And with their wreathes thy ragged Staues bene dreſt.
Firſt at Saine Albans, at Northampto
•
then,
〈…〉
fatall Towt
•
n that moſt fearefull fight,
〈…〉
many, nay, what multitudes of men,
〈…〉
fierce Warwicke ſlaine and put to flight;
O if thy Sword that euer ſtood for
•
en,
Had but beene drawne for Henry and his right,
He ſhould haue built thee Trophyes euery wh
••
Wrought with our Crowne▪ ſupported by th
•
Be
••
What glory had it wonne the Neuils name,
To haue vpheld the right ſucceeding race,
Of that fift Henry, hee that was of
•
ame,
The onely Mineon; whom thou now doſt trace,Barron
••
ulco
•
bringe was brother to Richard Ne
••
ll Earle of Salsbury, and Richard Earl of Warwicke, & Iohn Marqueſſe Moun
•
acute were Sonnes to the ſayd Earle.
But Salsbury the firſt againſt vs came▪
Then Falconbridge, and Mount
•
cute, ô baſe,
To aduance a
•
ra
•
tor to his
•
oueraigne thus,
But to our Cr
••
ne your name is ominous,
How many a braue Peere thy too-neere Allies▪
(Whoſe loſſe the Babe that's yet vnborne ſhall
••
e,
Haue▪made themſelues a willing Sacrifice;
In our iuſt quarrell who it rightly knevv,
Whoſe blood gainst Yorke and his adherents cr
•
es
(Whom many a ſad cu
•
ſe euer ſhall purſue:)
O Warwicke▪ Warwicke, expiat this gilt,
By ſhedding their
•
for whom our blood was
〈…〉
When in like language, this great Earle agai
•
Regreets the Queene, and vvoes her to forbeare,
Of former gree
•
e one thought to
•
ntertaine▪
Warwickes reply in the two following Stanzaes.
Things are not now quoth he, as once they were,
To talke of theſe paſt helpe, it is in vaine,
What though it eaſe your heart; & pleaſe your ea
••
This is not it▪ no▪
•
t muſt be our Swords,
Muſt right our vvrongs (deare Lady) not our w
〈…〉
Madam (quoth he) by this my vexed heart,
On Edwards head, which oft hath wiſh'd the Crown
•
t but Queene Margarit cleaue to VVarwicks part,
•
his hand that heau'd him vp ſhall hew him downe,
•
nd if from Henry, Richard Neuill ſtart,
Vpon my houſe let Heauen for euer frowne,
Of backe the Crown to this yong Prince ile bring,
Or not be VVarwicke if he be not King,
When they accord, Prince Edward ſhould affye,Prince Edward affyed to Anne the Earle of Warwicks daughter.
Anne the Earles Daughter, to confirme it more,
By Sacrament themſelues they ſtrictly tye,
By Armes againe King Henry to reſtore,
Or in the Quarrell they would liue and dye,
〈…〉
ptiſing likewiſe in the oath they ſwore,
That th'Earle and Clarence ſhould Protectors be,
When they King Henry and the Prince ſhould free.
When ſoone great VVarwicke into England ſends,Warwicke makes preparation for a
••
w Warre.
•
o warne his friends that they for Warre prepare,
••
g Henrys Title, and to them commends,
••
at they ſhould take his cauſe into their care,
•
ow is the time that he muſt try his friends,
•
hen he himſelfe gainſt Edward muſt declare;
And vvhen much ſtrife amongſt the cōmons roſe,
Whom they ſhould ayde, and whom they ſhould oppoſe.
Furniſh'd with all things well be fitting Warre,
•
great King Lewis to Queene Margarite lent,
•
arwicke (vvhoſe name Fame ſounded had ſo far,
〈…〉
t men with Wonder view'd him as he went,
Of all men liuing the moſt popular,)Warwicke ſo famous that he was ſeene with wonder.
Thought eu'ry houre to be but idely ſpent,
On Englands troubled earth vntill he were,
To view the troupes attending for him there.
And in his Army tooke with him along,
Oxford, and Penbrooke, who had beene deſtroy'd▪
By Edward, ſworne now to reuenge their wrong,
By Burgoyne the French Admirall conuoy'd,
At whoſe A
•
iue the ſhores with people throng:
At ſight of Warwicke, and ſo ouerioy'd,
That eu'ry one, a VVarwicke, VVarwicke cryes,
Well may the Red-Roſe by great VVarwicke ri
••
Like ſome black cloud, which houering lately hu
〈…〉
Thruſt on at laſt by th'windes impetuouspower,
The groues and fields, comes raging in among,
As though both foules and flockes it would deuoureA Simile.
That thoſe abroad make to the ſhelters ſtrong,
To ſaue themſelues from the outragious ſhower;
Sofly the Yorkiſts before VVarwicks Drummes,
Like a ſterne Tempeſt roaring as he comes,
When Edward late who wore the coſtly Crowne,
Himſelfe ſo high and on his Fortunes bore,
Then heard himſelfe in euery place cry'd downe,
And made much leſſe, then he was great before,
Nor dares he truſt himſelfe in any Towne,
For in the In-lands as along the ſhore,
Their Proclamations him a Traytor make,
And each man charg'd againſt him Armes to tak
•
For which the VVaſhes he is forc'd to wade,Warwick driueth King Edward out of the Kingdome.
And in much perill laſtly gets to Lin,
To ſaue himſelfe ſuch ſhift King Edward made,
For in more danger he had neuer bin,)
Where finding three Dutch Hulkes which lay for trade,
•
he great'ſt of them he hires to take him in;
Richard his brother, Haſtings his true friend,
Scarſe worth one ſword their perſon
•
to defend.
When VVarwicke now the only Prince of power,
Edward the fourth out of the Kingdome fled,
Commands himſelfe free entrance to the Tower,
And ſets th'Imperiall wreath on Henrys head,Warwicke takes Ki
•
Henry the T
〈…〉
Brings him through London to the Biſhops bower,
By the applanding people followed,
Whoſe ſh
•
ill re-ecchoing ſhouts reſounds from far,
A VVarwicke, VVarwicke, long liue Lancaſter,
And preſently a Parliament they call,King Edward and his adherents ai
•
ai
•
ted by act of Parliament.
In which they attaint King Edward in his blood,
The lands and goods made forf
•
itures of all,
That in this quarrell, with proud Yorke had▪ ſtood,
Their friends in their old honours they inſtall,
Which they had loſt now by an act made good,
Intayle the Crovvne, on Henry and his heyres,
The next on Clarence ſhould they fayle in theirs,
Whilſt VVarwicke thus King Henry doth aduance,
•
ee but the Fate ſtill following the ſad Queene,
•
uch Stormes and Tempeſts in that ſeaſon chance,
•
efore that time as ſeldome had bin ſeene,
That twice from Sea ſhe was forc'd back to France,
As angry Heauen had put it ſelfe betvvene
Her and her loyes, and would a witneſſe be,
That naugh
•
but ſorrow, this ſad Queene muſt ſee
This might haue lent her comfort yet at laſt,
So many troubles hauing vndergone,Queene Margarite neuer ſees any thing that might giue her comfort.
And hauing through ſo many perils paſt,
T'haue ſeene her husband ſetled on his Throne,
Yet ſtill the skies with clowds are ouercaſt,
Well might ſhee heare, but of this ſees ſhe none,
Which from far off, as flying newes doth greet her
Naught but miſchance, when ſhe comes in, muſt meet her,
But all this while King Edward not diſ
•
ay'd,
His brother Charles of Burgondy ſo plyes,The Duke of Burgondy brother in Law to King Edward, ſo was
•
he
〈…〉
King Henry by his Grand mother being the daughter of Iohn of Gaunt.
That though the ſubtill Duke on both ſide play'd,
Edward and Henry both his neere Allies;
Vpon the Duke King Edward yet ſo layd,
(Hauing his ſiſters furtherance, who was wiſe,)
That Vnderhand▪ his ſtrength he ſoreſtores,
As that he dar'd t'attempt the Engliſh ſhores.
With foureteene Ships from th'Eaſterlings being hir'd,
And foure Burgonians excellently man'd,
After ſome time with ſtormes and tempeſts tyr'd,
He neere the mouth of Humber haps to land,
Where though the Beacons at his ſight were fir'd,
Yet few or none his entrance doe withſtand,
For that his friends had giuen it out before,
He ſought the Dukedome, and he would no more.
Vpon his march when forward as he came,
Reſolu'd to trye the very worſt of Warre,Torke yeelded vp to King Edward.
He Summons Yorke (where of he bare the name)
To him her Duke, her Gates that doth vnbarre,
And comming next to Rocke-rear
•
Nottingham,
Mountgomery, Borough, Harrington and Par,
Succours
•
on
•
••
ing into Edward.
Bring him their power▪ at Leceſter againe,
Three thouſand came, to Haſtings that retaine.
To Couentry and keeping on his way,
(Sets downe his Army in the Cities ſight,)King Edward ſets downe h
•
Army beſo
•
Couentry, daring Warwicke to the field.
Whereas that time the Earle of Warwicke lay,
To whom he ſends to dare him out to fight,
Which ſtill the Earle deferrs from day to day,
Perceiuing well, that all things went not right,
For with his ſuccours Clarence came not in,
Whom to ſuſpect he greatly doth beginne,
And not in vaine, for that diſloyall Lord,
Taking thoſe forces, he had leuied, leaues
The Earle, and with his Brother doth accord,Clarence
〈…〉
his father in Law the Earle of Warwicke.
Which of all hope braue VVarwicke ſo bere
•
ue
••
•
hat now King Edward hopes to be reſtor'd,
Which then too late the credulous Earle perceiues,
Edward towards London with an Army ſped,
To take the Crown once more from Henrys head.
The Queene in France this woful newes that heard
How farre through England▪ Edward thus had paſt;
As how by Glarence (whom ſhe euer fear'd,)
VVarwicke behind-hand mightily was caſt▪
This moſt vndaunted Queene her hopes yet cheer'd,
By thoſe great perills ſhe had lately paſt▪
And from King Lewis doth three thouſand preſt▪
To ayde her friends in England in diſtreſſe,
Whilſt ſhe is buſie gathering vp thoſe aydes,
(In ſo ſhort time) as France could her afford,
Couragious VVarwicke baſely thus betray'd,
By Clarence lewdly falſifying his word,
The moſt couragious Earle no whit diſmayd,Warwicke followes the King towards London.
But truſting ſtill to his ſucceſſefull Svvord,
Follovves the King towards London march'
•
before,
Each day his Power increaſing more and more.
But Edward by the Londoners let in,
Who in their Gates his Army tooke to guard,
VVarwicke this while that trifling had not bin,
But with a povver ſufficiently prepar'd,
T'approach the City brauely doth begin,
To dare the King, vvho lately him had dar'd,
Who then from London his Arm'd forces leades,King Edward
••
ts
•••
of London
〈…〉
.
Towards where his march ambitious VVarwicke tread
•
From London this, that from Saint Albans ſet,
Theſe two grād ſouldiers ſhoul
•
ring for the Crown,
They in the mid-way are at Barnet met,The Armies meet at Bar
•
t.
Where then they ſet their puiſſant Armies downe,
VVarwicke as neere as euer hee could get,
But Edward onely taketh vp the Towne;
Betwixt whoſe
•
ents a Heath call'd Gladmore lyes,
Where they prepare to act this bloody prize.
With Drums and Trumpets they awake the day,
•
uffled in miſts her lowring ſelfe that ſhowes,
To ſtop their madneſſe doing all it may,
•
howing what blood her light was like to loſe:
But hope of ſlaughter beares ſo great aſway,
That with the Sunne their rage ſtill higher growes,
Full were their hands of death, ſo freely dealt,
That the moſt mortal wounds, the leaſt were felt.
The aduerſe Enſignes to each other waue,
(As t'were) to call them forward to the field,
The King the Earle, The Earle the King doth braue,
Nor cares he for the The Armes of England. Leopards in his ſhield,
And whilſt one friend another ſtriues to ſaue,
He's ſlaine himſelfe if not enforc'd to yeeld,
In either Army there is not one eye,
But is ſpectator of ſome Tragedy.
Thoſe wrongs the King had from the Earle receiu'd
••
pulſt the Kingdome onely by his power,
••
en to the height his powerfull hand vp heau'd,
•
or full'reuenge in this vnhappy houre,
And by the King the Earle his hopes bereau'd,
•
heltred by him from many a bloody ſhower,
Spurres vp reuenge, and with that violent rage,
That ſcarſely blood their fury could aſſwage.
VVarwicke who ſees his Souldiers had the worſe,Warwickes high
〈…〉
And at a neere point to be put to flight,
Throwing himſelfe from o
•
his Armed Horſe,
Thruſts in on foote into the deadlieſt fight,
Edward againe with an vnuſuall force,
In his owne perſon in the Armies ſight,
Puts for the Garland, which if now he loſe,
Warwicke his Crowne at pleaſure would diſpoſ
•
To Edwards ſide, but fortune doth encline,
Warwickes high valour then was but in vaine;
His noble ſoule there deſtin'd to reſigne,
Braue Mountacute his valiant Brother ſlaine;The Earle of Warwicke &
•
is brother Marqueſſe Mountacute
•
aine.
Here Sommerſet (with them that did combine)
Forced to flye, and Exceſte
•
is faine,
To ſaue himſelfe by Sanctuary; this day
Edward's victorious, and beares all away,
THis fatall field vnluckily thus loſt,
•
hat very day
•
hat Warwick
•
as ſlaine the Queene
•
ands.
That very day ſo Deſtiny contriues,
That the grieu'd Queene at Sea turmoyl'd and toſt,
Neere twenty dayes, in Weymouth Road ariues,
Where ſcarcely landed, but Poſt after Poſt,
Brings her this ill newes, vvhich ſo farre depriues▪
Her of all comfort, that ſhee curſt and band,
Thoſe plaguy winds that ſuffered her to land:
Wert thou (quoth ſhee) ſo fortunate in fight,
•
he Queenes
•
eech hea
•
ng of Warwicks defeat
〈…〉
the three
•
ollowing
•
anzaes.
O noble VVarwicke, when thou wert our foe,
And now thou ſtood'ſt in our indoubted right,
And ſhould'ſt for Henry thy high valour ſhow,
Thus to be ſlaine; what power in our deſpight,
Watcheth from heau'n vpon our ouerthrow?
Th'vnlucky Starres haue certainly made lawes▪
To marke for death the fauourers of our cauſe,
O vvhat infernall brought that Edward backe,
〈…〉
late expel'd by VVarwickes powerfull hand,
Was there no way his rotten Ship to wracke▪
Was there no Rock? was there no ſwallowing ſand?
And too, the wretched Subiects were ſo ſlacke,
To ſuffer him ſo traiterouſly to land;
Surely whole heau'n againſt vs haue conſpir'd,
Or in our troubles they had elſe beene tyr'd,
Was I for this ſo long detayn'd in France,
From ragefull Tempeſts, and reſeru'd till now,
That I ſhould land, to meete with this miſchance:
•
t muſt needes be the Powers haue made a vowe,
Vp to that height my ſorrowes to aduance,
That before mine all miſeries ſhall bowe:
That all the ſorrow mortalls can ſurmiſe,
Shall fall far ſhort o
•
Margarites miſeries.
Theſe vvords ſcarſe ſpoke, her halfe-ſlaine heart to eaſe
•
t the leaſt breath of comfort to preuent,
•
he next ill newes, in ruſhing after theſe,
•
as that King Henry to the Tower was ſent,Cauſe of new ſorrow to the Queene.
As though it ſelfe (euen) Deſtiny ſhould pleaſe,
〈…〉
wretched Margarites heauy diſcontent,)
Thrunging ſo thick as like themſelues to ſmother,
Or as one ranne to ouertake another,
Thoſe ſcattered Troopes from Barnet that eſcap'd,The remnant of the Army which eſcaped a
•
Barnet reſort to the Queene.
•
earing the Queene thus landed with her power,
•
ugh much diſmay'd with what had lately hapt,
〈…〉
Gore▪ drown'd Gladmore in that bloody ſhower
And fearing by the foe to be entrapt:
Through vntrod grounds▪ in many a tedious how
•
Flocke to her dayly, till that by her ayde,
Equall with Edwards they her Army made,
When Somerſet, and Devonſhire came in,The Queene encouraged by her friends
To the ſad Queene, and bad her not diſpaire,
Though they of late infortunate had bin,
Yet there vvas helpe that Ruine to repaire,
What they had loſt they hop'd againe to win,
And that the way lay open yet, and faire,
For that the Weſt would wholly with her riſe,
Beſides from VValles aſſur'd her of Supplyes,
And euery day ſtill adding to their Force,
As on their Hoſt tow'rds Gloceſter they guide,
When Edward finding their intended courſe,
Againe for Battell ſtrongly doth prouide,
Both Armies they ſupply vvith Foote and Horſe,
By both their friends, as they affect the ſide,
And in their march at T
•
wkesbury they met,The Armies meete at Tukesbury.
Where they in Order their Battalions ſet.
Ill was her choyſe of this vneuen ground,A place ill
••
oſen on the Queenes part
Luckleſſe the place, vnlucky vvas the howre,
The Heauens vpon her ſo extreamely frownd,
As on her head their plagues at once to powre;
As in a Deluge here her hopes were drown'd,
Here ſees ſhe death her faithfull friends deuoure,
The earth is fil'd with grones, the aire with cry
〈…〉
Horrour on each ſide doth encloſe her eyes,
Neuer did death ſo terribly appeare,
〈…〉
e firſt their Armes the Engliſh learnt to weeld,
•
ho would ſee ſlaughter, might behold it heere;
〈…〉
the true ſhape vpon this fatall field,
〈…〉
vaine was valour, and in vaine was feare,A bloody battell.
〈…〉
vaine to fight, in vaine it was to yeeld,
In vayne to flye; for deſtiny diſcuſt,
By their owne hands, or others, dye they muſt.
Here her deare Deuonſhire noble Courtney dyde,
•
er faithfull friend great Somerſet here fell,
••
lnes, Leukn
•
r, Hamden, Whittingham beſide,The Queene
•
Army ouerthrowne.
O Margarite, who thy miſeries can tell,
•
harp were thoſe ſwords which made their wounds ſo, wide
Whoſe blood the ſoy
•
e did with abundance ſwell,
Other her friends into the Towne that fled,
Taken, no better then the former ſped.
But the amazing miſery of all,
〈…〉
heauen the great'ſt vntill the laſt had kept.
〈…〉
it would ſay, that after this none ſhall
〈…〉
mortall eyes be worthy to be wept,
The Prince her ſonne who ſees his friends thus fall,
And on each ſide their
•
arkaſes lye heapt,
Making away in this moſt piteous plight,Prince Edward taken priſoner. Vpon the Kings Proclamation of a great reward to him that could bring him
〈…〉
〈…〉
s taken priſoner in his tardy flight,
And forth by Cr
•
fts▪
before the con
〈…〉
or brought
•
is Proclamation cleering euery doubt▪
〈…〉
he youths ſafety▪ liuing where he caught,
〈…〉
a reward to him ſhould bring him out,
But when they once had found him whō they ſoug
〈…〉
As alſo of the Princes ſafety, Sir Richard Croſts is won to diſcouer his priſoners. Prince Edward ſtabd to death.
Hearing his anſweres, Princely, wiſe, and ſtout,
Thoſe bloody brothers, Haſtings and the reſt,
Sheath'd their ſharpe ponyards in his many br
〈…〉
Queene Margarite thus of mortalls moſt forlo
〈…〉
Her ſonne now ſlaine, her army ouerthrowne,
Left to the world, as fortunes only ſcorne,
And not one friend to whom to make her moane,
(To ſo much wo was neuer woman borne)
This wretched Lady wandring all alone,
Gets to a homely Cell not farre away,
If poſsibly to hide her from the day.Queene Margarite gets into a poore Cell.
But wretched woman quickly there bewray'd,
She thence is taken and to Priſon ſent,
Meanely attended, miſerably array'd,
The people wondring at her as ſhe went,
Of whom the moſt malicious her vpbray'd,
With good Duke Humphries death, her heart to rent
Whilſt her milde lookes, and Gracefull geſture drue▪
Many a ſad eye, her miſeries to rue,
Till by Duke Rayner Ranſomed at laſt,
Her tender Father, who a Prince but poore,
Borrow'd great Summes of Lewis, with much waſtLewis of France.
Which for he was not able to reſtore,
Prouince and both the Cicils, to him paſt,Duke Rayner
••
d
••
th himſelfe to ranſ
〈…〉
his Daughter.
With fruitfull Naples which was all his ſtore;
To bring her backe from earthly ioyes exil'd,
The vndon Father helpes the vndone Child.
And though enlarg'd ere ſhe could leane the land.
〈…〉
king a long yeere of each ſhort-liu'd houre,
〈…〉
e heares that by Duke Richards murthering hand,The Earle of Gloſter after Richard the third.
•
he King her husband ſuffers in the Towre,
As though high heauen had layd a ſtrict command,
Vpon each ſtarre, ſome plague on her to powre:
And vntill now that nothing could ſuffice,
Nor giue a period to her miſeries.
FINIS.
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〈1 page duplicate〉
NIMPHIDIA THE COVRT OF FAYRIE.
OLde Chaucer doth of Topas tell,
Mad Rablais of Pantagruell,
A latter third of Dowſabell,
With ſuch poore trifles playing:
Others the like haue laboured at
Some of this thing, and ſome of that,
And many of they know not what,
But that they muſt be ſaying,
Another ſort there be that will,
Be talking of the Fayries ſtill,
Nor neuer can they haue their fill,
As they were wedded to them;
No tales of them their thirſt can ſlake,
So much delight in them they take,
And ſome ſtrange thing they faine would make,
Knew they the way to doe them,
Then ſince no Muſe hath bin ſo bold,
Or of the Latter, or the old,
Thoſe Eluiſh ſecrets to vnfold,
Which ly from others reeding,
•
y actiue Muſe to light ſhall bring,
The court of that proud Fayry King,
And tell there of the Reuelling
Ioue proſper my proceeding,
And thou Nimphidia gentle Fay,
Which meeting me vpon the way,
Theſe ſecrets didſt to me bewray,
Which now I am in teiling:
My pretty light fantaſticke mayde,
•
here inuoke thee to my ayde,
That I may ſpeake what thou haſt ſayd,
In numbers ſmoothly ſwelling,
This Pallace ſtandeth in the ayre,
By Negromancy placed there,
That it no Tempeſts needes to feare,
Which way ſo ere it bloweth,
And ſomewhat Southward tow'rd the Noone,
Whence lyes a way vp to the Moone,
And thence the Fayrie can as ſoone,
Paſſe to the earth below it.
The Walles of Spiders legges are made,
Well mortized and finely layd,
He was the maſter of his Trade,
It curiouſly that builded:
The Windowes of the eyes of Cats,
And for the roofe, inſtead of Slats,
Is couer'd with the skinnes of Bats,
With Mooneſhine that are guilded.
Hence Oberon him (port to make,
(Their reſt when weary mortalls take)
And none but onely Fayries wake,
Deſcendeth for his pleaſure.
And Mab his merry Queene by night,
Beſtrids young Folkes that lye vpright,
(In elder Times the Mare that height)
Which plagues them out of meaſure.
Hence Shaddowes, ſeeming Idle ſhapes,
Of little frisking Elues and Apes,
To Earth doe make their wanton skapes,
As hope of paſtime haſts them:
Which maydes thinkes on the Hearth they ſee,
When Fires well neere conſumed be,
Their dauncing Hayes by two and three,
Iuſt as their Fancy caſts them,
Theſe make our Girles their ſluttery rue,
By pinching them both blacke and blew,
And put a penny in their ſhue,
The houſe for cleanly ſweeping:
And in their courſes make that Round,
In Meadowes and in Marſhes found,
Of them ſo call'd the Fayrie ground,
Of which they haue the keeping.
Theſe when a Child haps to be got,
Which after proues an Ideot,
When Folkes perceiue it thriueth not,
The fault therein to ſmother,
•
ome ſilly doting braineleſſe Calfe,
•
hat vnderſtands things by the halfe,
•
ay that the Fayrie left this Aulfe,
And tooke away the other.
But liſten and I ſhall you tell,
•
chance in Fayrie that be fell,
Which certainely may pleaſe you well,
In Loue and Armes delighting:
Of Oberon that iealous grew,
Of one of his owne Fayrie crue,
Too well (he fear'd) his Queene that knew,
His loue but ill requiting.
Pigwiggen was this Fayrie Knight,
One wondrous gracious in the ſight
Of faire Queene Mab, which day and night,
He amorouſly obſerued;
Which made King Oberon ſuſpect,
His ſeruice tooke too good effect,
His ſaucineſſe and often checkt,
And could haue wiſht him ſtarued.
Pigwiggen gladly would commend,
•
ome token to Queene Mab to ſend,
•
f Sea, or Land, him ought could lend,
Were worthy of her wearing:
•
t length this Louer doth deuiſe,
•
bracelet made of Emmotts eyes,
•
thing he thought that ſhee would prize,
No whitt her ſtate impayring.
And to the Queene a letter Writes,
Which he moſt curiouſly end
•
es,
Con
••
ring her by all the rites,
Of loue, ſhe would be pleaſed,
To meete him her
••
ne Seruant, where
They might without ſuſpect or feare,
Themſelues to one another cleare,
And haue their poore hearts caſed.
At mid night the appointed hower,
And for the Queene a fiering Bower.
(Quoth he) is th
•
t faire Cowſlip flower,
On Hipcut hill that groweth,
In all your
•
raynether's not a Fay,
That euer went to gather May,
But ſhee hath made it in her way,
The talleſt tuere that groweth.
When by Tom Thum a Fayry Page,
He ſent it, and doth him engage,
By promiſe of a mighty wage,
It ſecretly to carry:
Which done the Queene her mayds doth call,
And bids them to be ready all,
Shee would goe ſee her Summer Hall,
She would no longer tarry,
Her Chariot ready ſtraight is made,
Each thing therein is ſitting layd,
That ſhe by nothing might be ſtayd,
For naught muſt her be letting,
Foure nimble Gnats the Horſes were,
Their Harnaſſes of Coſſamere,
Flye
••
n
•
ion her Chariottere,
Vp
•
n the Coatch-boxe getting,
Her Chariot of a Snayles fine ſhell,
Which for the colours did excel:
The faire Queene Mab becomming well,
So liuely was the limming:
The feare the ſoft wooll of a Bee;
The couer (gallantly to ſee)
The wing of a pyde butter-flee,
I trowe t'was ſimple trimming.
The wheeles compoſ'd of Crickets bones,
And daintily made for the nonce,
For feare of ratling on the ſtones,
With Thiſtle-downe they ſhod it;
For all her Maydens much did feare,
If Oberon had chanc'd to heare,
That Mab his Queene ſhould haue beene there,
He would not haue aboade it.
She mounts her Chariot with a trice,
Nor would ſhe ſtay for no aduice,
Vntill her Maydes that were ſo nice,
To waite on her were fitted,
But ranne her ſelfe away alone;
Which when they heard there was not one,
But haſted after to be gone,
As ſhe had beene diſwitted,
Hop, and Mop, and Dryp ſo cleare,
Pip, and Trip, and Skip that were,
To Mab their Soueraigne euer deare:
Her ſpeciall Maydes of Honour.
Fib, and Tib and Pinck and Pin,
Tick, and Quick and Iill, and lin,
Tit, and Nit, and Wap and Win,
The Trayne that wayte vp on her,
Vpon a Graſhopper they got,
And what with Amble and with Trot,
For hedge nor ditch they ſpared not,
But after her they hye them.
A Cobweb ouer them they throw,
To ſhield the wind if it ſhould blow,
Themſelues they wiſely could beſtow,
Leſt any ſhould eſpie them.
But let vs leaue Queene Mab a while,
Through many a gate, o'r many a ſtile,
That now had gotten by this wile,
Her deare Pigwiggin kiſsing,
And tell how Oberon doth fare,
Who grew as mad as any Hare,
When he had ſought each place with care,
And found his Queene was miſsing.
By grifly Pluto he doth ſweare,
He rent his clothes and tore his haire,
And as he runneth here and there,
An Acorne cup he greeteth;
Which ſoone he taketh by the ſtalke,
About his head he lets it walke,
Nor doth he any creature balke,
But layes on all he meeteth.
The Thuskan Poet doth aduance,
The franticke Paladine of France,
And thoſe more ancient doe inhance,
Alcides in his fury;
And others Aiax Telamon,
But to this time there hath bin non,
So Bedlam as our Oberon,
Of which I dare aſſure you,
And firſt encountring with a waſpe,
He in his armes the Flye doth claſpe,
As though his breath he foorth would graſpe,
Him for Pigwiggin taking:
Where is my wife thou Rogue, quoth he,
Pigwiggen ſhe is come to thee,
Reſtore her, or thou dy'ſt by me,
Whereat the poore Waſpe quaking,
Cryes, Oberon, great Fayrie King,
Content thee, I am no ſuch thing,
I am a Waſpe behold my ſting,
At which the Fayrie ſtarted:
When ſoone away the Waſpe doth goe▪
Poore wretch was neuer frighted ſo,
He though his wings were much too ſlow,
O'r ioyd, they ſo were parted,
Hee next vpon a Glow-worme light,
(You muſt ſuppoſe it now was night,)
Which for her hinder part was bright,
He tooke to be a Deuill.
And furiouſly doth her. aſſayle,
For carrying fier in her tayle,
He thraſht her rough coat with his flayle,
The mad King fear'd no euill.
O quoth the Glow-worme hold thy hand,
Thou puiſſant King of Fayrie land,
Thy mighty ſtroaks who may withſtand,
Hould, or of life deſpaire I:
Together then her ſelfe doth roule,
And tumbling downe into a hole,
She ſeem'd as blacke as any Cole,
Which vext away the Fayrie.
From thence he ran into a Hiue,
Amongſt the Bees he letteth driue,
And downe their Combes begins to riue,
All likely to haue ſpoyled:
Which with their Waxe his face beſmear'd,
And with their Hony daub'd his Beard,
It would haue made a man afeard,
To ſee how he was moyled,
A new aduenture him betides,
He met an Ant, which he beſtrides,
And poſt thereon away he rides,
Which with his haſt doth ſtumble;
And came full ouer on her ſnowte,
Her heeles ſo threw the durt about,
For ſhe by no meanes could get out,
But ouer him doth tumble,
And being in this pitteous caſe,
And all be▪ ſlurried head and face,
On runs he in his Wild, gooſe chaſe,
As here, and there he rambles,
Halfe blind, againſt a molehill hit,
And for a Mountaine taking it,
For all he was out of his wit,
Yet to the top he ſcrambles,
And being gotten to the top,
Yet there himſelfe he could not ſtop,
But downe on th'other ſide doth chop,
And to the foote came tumbling:
So that the Grubs the rein that bred,
Hearing ſuch turmoyle ouer head,
Thought ſurely they had al bene dead,
So fearefull was the Iumbling,
And falling downe into a Lake,
Which him vp to the necke doth take,
His fury ſomewhat it doth ſlake,
He calleth for a Ferry;
Where you may ſome recouery note,
What was his Club he made his Boate,
And in his Oake
•
Cup doth float,
As ſafe as in a Wherry.
Men talke of the aduentures ſtrange,
Of Don Quiſhot, and of their change,
Through which he Armed oft did range,
Of Sancha Panchas trauell:
But ſhould a man tell euery thing,
Done by this franticke Fayrie King,
And them in lofty Numbers ſing,
It well his wits might grauell.
Scarſe ſet on ſhore, but therewithall,
He meeteth Pucke, which moſt men call,
Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall,
With words from frenzy ſpoken;
Hoh, hoh, quoth Hob, God ſaue thy grace,
Who dreſt thee in this pitteous caſe,
He thus that ſpoyld my ſoueraignes face,
I would his necke were broken;
This Pucke ſeemes but a dreaming dolt,
Still walking like a ragged Colt,
And oft out of a buſh doth bolt,
Of purpoſe to deceiue vs,
And leading vs makes vs to ſtray,
Long Winters nights out of the way,
And when we ſticke in mire and clay,
Hob doth with laughter leaue vs.
Deare Pucke (quoth he) my Wife is gone,
As ere thou lou'ſt King Oberon,
Let euery thing but this alone,
With vengeance, and purſue her.
Bring her to me aliue or dead,
Or that vild thiefe, Pigwiggins head,
That villaine hath defil'd my bed,
He to this folly drew her.
Quoth Puck, My Liege Ile neuer lin,
But I will thorough thicke and thinne,
Vntill at length I bring her in,
My deareſt Lord nere doubt it:
Thorough Brake, thorough Brier,
Thorough Mucke, thorough Mier,
Thorough Water, thorough Fier,
And thus goes Pucke about it,
This thing Nimphidia ouer hard,
That on this mad King had a guard,
Not doubting of a great reward,
For firſt this buſineſſe broching;
And through the ayre away doth goe,
Swift as an Arrow from the Bow;
To let her Soueraigne Mab to know,
What perill was approching.
The Queene bound with Loues powerfulſt charme,
Sate with Pigwiggin arme in arme,
Her merry May des that thought no harme,
About the roome were skipping:
A Humble-Bee their Minſtrell playd,
Vpon his Hobby; euery Mayde
Fit for this Reuells was arayde,
The Horne-pipe neately tripping.
In comes Nimphidia, and doth cry,
My Soueraigne for your ſafety flye,
For there is danger but too nie,
I poſted to forewarne you:
The King hath ſent Hobgoblin out,
To ſeeke you all the fields about,
And of your ſafety you may doubt,
If he but once diſcerne you.
When like an vprore in a Towne▪
Before them euery thing went downe,
Some tore a Ruffe, and ſome a Gowne,
Gainſt one another iuſtling:
They flew about like Chaffe i'th winde,
For haſt ſome left their Maskes behind,
Some could not ſtay their Gloues to finde,
There neuer was ſuch buſtling.
Foorth ranne they by a ſecret way,
Into a brake that neere them lay;
Yet much they doubted there to ſtay,
Leſt Hob ſhould hap to find them:
He had a ſharpe and piercing ſight,
All one to him the day and night,
And therefore were reſolu'd by flight,
To leaue this place behind them,
At length one chanc'd to find a Nut,
In th'end of which a hole was cut,
Which lay vpon a Hazell roote,
There ſcattered by a Squirrell,
Which out the kernell gotten had;
When quoth this Fay deare Queene be glad,
Let Oberon be nere ſo mad,
Ile ſet you ſafe from perill.
Come all into this Nut (quoth ſhe)
Come cloſely in, be rul'd by me,
Each one may here a chuſer be,
For roome ye need not wraſtle.
Nor need ye be together heapt;
So one by one therein they crept,
And lying dovvne they ſoundly ſlept.
As ſafe as in a Caſtle,
Nimphidia that this while doth watch,
Perceiu'd if Pucke the Queene ſhould catch▪
That he would be her ouer-match,
Of which ſhee well bethought her;
Found it muſt be ſome powerfull Charme,
The Queene againſt him that muſt arme,
Or ſurely he would doe her harme,
For throughly he had ſough her.
And liſtning if ſhe ought could heare,
That her might hinder, or might feare:
But finding ſtill the coaſt was cleare,
Nor creature had diſcride her;
Each circumſtance and hauing ſcand,
She came thereby to vnderſtand,
Puck would be with them out of hand,
When to her Charmes ſhe hide her.
And firſt her Ferne ſeed doth beſtowe,
The kernell of the Meſſletowe:
And here and there as Pucke doth goe,
With terrour to affright▪ him,
She Night-ſhade ſtrawes to worke him ill,
There with her Veruayne and her Dill,
That hindreth Witches of their will,
Of purpoſe to deſpight him.
Then ſprinkles ſhe the iuce of Rue,
That groweth vnderneath the Yeu:
With nine drops of the midnight dewe,
From Lunarie diſtilling:
The Molewarps braine mixt therewithall;
And with the ſame the Piſmyres gall,
For ſhe in nothing ſhort would fall;
The Fayrie was ſo willing.
Then thrice vnder a Bryer doth creepe,
Which at both ends was rooted deepe,
And ouer it three times ſhee leepe;
Her Magicke much auayling:
Then on Porſerpina doth call,
And ſo vpon her Spell doth fall,
Which here to you repeate I ſhall,
Not in one tittle fayling,
By the crooking of the Frogge;
By the howling of the Dogge;
By the crying of the Hogge,
Againſt the ſtorme ariſing;
By the Euening Curphewe Bell,
By the dolefull dying knell,
O let this my direfull Spell,
Hob, hinder thy ſurpriſing,
By the Mandrakes dreadfull groanes,
By the Lubricans ſad moanes:
By the noyſe of dead mens bones,
In Charnell houſes ratling:
By the hyſsing of the Snake,
The ru
••
ing of the fire-Drake,
〈…〉
charge thee thou this place forſake,
Nor of Queene Mab be pratling.
By the Whirlewindes hollow ſound,
By the
•
hunders dreadfull ſtound,
•
ells of ſpirits vnder ground,
I charge thee not to feare vs:
By the Screech-owles diſmall note,
By the Blacke Night-Rauens throate,
〈…〉
charge thee Hob to teare thy Coate
With thornes if thou come neere vs.
〈…〉
er ſpell thus ſpoke ſhe ſtept aſide,
〈…〉
nd in a Chinke her ſelfe doth hide,
〈…〉
ſee thereof what would betyde,
For ſhe doth onely mind him:
〈…〉
hen preſently ſhe Pucke eſpies,
〈…〉
nd well ſhe markt his gloating eyes,
〈…〉
ow vnder euery leafe he pries,
In ſeeking ſtill to find them.
But once the Circle got within,
The Charmes to worke doe ſtraight begin,
And he was caught as in a Gin;
For as he thus was buſie,
A paine he in his Headpeece feeles,
Againſt a ſtubbed
•
ree he reeles,
And vp went poore Hobgoblins heeles,
Alas his braine was dizzie,
At length vpon his feete he gets,
Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets,
And as againe he forward ſets,
And through the Buſhes ſcrambles:
A ſtump doth trip him in his pace,
Downe comes poore Hob vpon his face,
And lamentably tore his caſe,
Amongſt the Bryers and brambles.
A plague vpon Queene Mab, quoth he,
And all her maydes where ere they be,
I thinke the Deuill guided me,
To ſeeke her ſo prouoked;
Where ſtumbling at a piece of Wood,
He fell into a ditch of mudd,
Where to the very Chin he ſtood,
In danger to be choked.
Now worſe then e're he was before:
Poore Puck doth yell, poore Puck doth rore,
That wak'd Queene Mab who doubted ſore,
Some Treaſon had beene wrought her.
Vntill Nimphidia told the Queene,
What ſhe had done, what ſhe had ſeene,
Who then had well-neere crackt her ſpleene,
With very extreame laughter.
But leaue we Hob to clamber out:
Queene Mab, and all her Fayrie rout,
And c
•
me againe to haue about,
With Oberon yet madding:
And with Pigwiggin now diſtrought,
Who much was troubled in his thought,
That he ſo long the Queene had ſought,
And through the fields was gadding.
And as he runnes he ſtill doth cry,
King Oberon I thee defie,
And dare thee here in Armes to trye,
For my deare Ladies honour:
For that ſhe is a Queene right good,
In whoſe defence Ile ſhed my blood,
And that thou in this iealous mood
Haſt layd this ſlander on her,
And quickly Armes him for the Field,
A little Cockle-ſhell his ſhield,
Which he could very brauely weeld:
Yet could it not be pierced:
His Speare, a Bent both ſtiffe, and ſtrong,
And well-neere of two Inches long;
The Pyle was of a Horſe-flyes tong,
Whoſe ſharpeneſſe nought reuerſed.
And puts him on a Coat of Male,
Which was of a Fiſhes ſcale,
That when his Foe ſhould him aſſayle,
No point ſhould be preuayling:
His Rapier was a Hornets ſting,
It was a very dangerous thing:
For if he chanc'd to hurt the King,
It would be long in healing.
His Helmet was a Beetles head,
Moſt horrible and full of dread,
That able was to ſtrike one dead,
Yet did it well become him;
And for a Plume a Horſes hayre,
Which being toſſed with the ayre,
Had force to ſtrike his Foe with feare,
And turne his weapon from him.
Himſelfe he on an Earewig ſet,
Yet ſcarſe he on his backe could get,
So oft and high he did coruct,
Ere he himſelfe could ſettle:
He made him turne, and ſtop, and bound,
To gallop, and to trot the Round,
He ſcarce could ſtand on any ground,
He was ſo full of mettle.
When ſoone he met with Tomalin,
One that a valiant Knight had bin,
And to King Oberon of Kin;
Quoth he thou manly Fayrie.
Tell Oberon I come prepar'd,
Then bid him ſtand vpon his guard;
This hand his baſeneſſe ſhall reward,
Let him be ue'r ſo wary,
Say to him thus, that I defie,
His ſlanders and his infamie,
And as a mortall enemie,
Doe publickly proclaime him;
Withall, that if
•
had mine owne,
He ſhould not weare the Fayrie Crowne,
But with a vengeance ſhould come downe,
Nor wee a King ſhould name him.
This Tomalin could not abide,
To heare his Soueraigne vilefide:
But to the Fayrie Court him hide;
Full furiouſly he poſted:
With euery thing Pigwiggen ſayd:
How tit
•
e to the Crowne he layd,
And in what Armes he was arrayd,
As how himſelfe he boaſted.
Twixt head and foote, from poynt to poynt,
He told th'arming of each ioynt,
In euery piece, how neat and quaint,
For Tomalin could doe it:
How fayre he ſat, how ſure he rid,
As of the courſer he beſtrid,
How Mannag'd, and how well he did,
The King which liſtned to it,
Quoth hee, goe Tomalin with ſpeede,
Prouide me Armes prouide my Steed,
And euery thing that I ſhall need,
By thee I will be guided:
To ſtrait account call thou thy wit,
See there be wanting not a whit,
In euery thing ſee thou me fit,
Iuſt as my foes prouided.
Soone flew this newes through Fayrie land,
Which gaue Queene Mab to vnderſtand,
The Combat that was then at hand,
Betwixt thoſe men ſo mighty:
Which greatly ſhe beg
•
n to
••
w,
Perceiuing that all Fayrie kn
•
w,
The firſt occaſion from her grew,
Of theſe affaires ſo weighty.
Wherefore attended with her Maydes,
Through fogs, and miſts, and damps, ſhee wades,
To Proſerpine the Queene of ſhades,
To treat that it would pleaſe her:
The cauſe into her hands to take,
For ancient loue and friendſhips ſake,
And ſoone thereof an end to make,
Which of much care would eaſe her.
A while, there let we Mab alone,
And come we to King Oberon,
Who Arm'd to meete his Foe is gone,
For proud Pigwiggin crying:
Who ſought the Fayrie King as faſt,
And had
•
o well his iourneys caſt,
That he arriued at the laſt,
His puiſſant foe eſpying.
Stout Tomalin, came with the King,
Tom Thum doth on Pigwiggin bring,
That perfect were in euery thing,
To ſingle fights belonging:
And therefore they themſelues ingage,
To ſee them exerciſe their rage,
With faire and comely equipage,
Not one the other wronging.
So like in Armes, theſe champions were,
As they had bin a very paire,
So that a man would almoſt ſweare,
That either had bin either:
Their furious Steeds began to nay,
That they were heard a mighty way,
Their ſtaues vpon their reſts they lay,
Yet e'r they flew together;
Their Seconds miniſter an oath,
Which was indifferent to them both▪
That on their Knightly faith aad troth,
No Magicke them ſupplyed:
And ſought them that they had no charmes,
Wherewith to worke each others harmes,
But came with ſimple open armes,
To haue their cauſes tryed.
Together furiouſly they ran,
That to the ground came horſe and man,
The blood out of their Helmets ran,
So ſharpe were their incounters:
And though they to the earth were throwne,
Yet quickly they regain'd their owne,
Such nimbleneſſe was neuer ſhowne,
They were two gallant mounters▪
When in a ſecond courſe againe,
They forward came with might and maine,
Yet which had better of the twaine,
The ſeconds could not iudge it,
Their ſhields were into pieces cleft,
Their Helmets from their heads were reft,
And to defend them nothing left,
Theſe Champions would not budge yet,
Away from them their ſtaues they threw,
Their cruell ſwords they quickly drew,
And freſhly they the ſight renew;
They euery ſtroke redoubled:
Which made Proſerpina take heed,
And make to them the greater ſpeed,
For feare leſt they too much ſhould bleed,
Which wondrouſly her troubled▪
When to th'infernall Stix ſhe goes,
She takes the Fogs from thence that roſe,
And in a Bagge doth them encloſe,
When well ſhe had them blended,
She hyes her then to Lethe ſpring,
A bottell and thereof doth bring,
Wherewith ſhe meant to worke the thing.
Which onely ſhe intended.
Now Proſerpine with Mab is gone,
Vnto the place where Oberon
And proud Pigwiggen one to one,
Both to be ſlaine were likely:
And there themſelues they cloſely hide,
Becauſe they would not be eſpide;
For Proſerpine meant to decide
The matter very quickly.
And ſuddainly vntyes the Poke,
Which out of it ſent ſuch a ſmoke,
As ready was them all to choke,
So grieuous was the pother.
So that the Knights each other loſt,
And ſtood as ſtill as any poſt,
Tom Thum, nor Tomalin could boaſt,
Themſelues of any other.
But when the miſt gan ſomewhat ceaſe,
Proſerpina commandeth peace:
And that a while they ſhould releaſe,
Each other of their perill,
Which here (quoth ſhee) I doe proclaime,
To all in dreadfull Plutoes name,
That as yee will eſchew his blame,
You let me heare the quarrell,
But here your ſelues you muſt engage,
Somewhat to coole your ſpleeniſh rage,
Your grieuous thirſt and to aſſwage,
That firſt you drinke this liquor,
Which ſhall your vnderſtanding cleare,
As plainely ſhall to you appeare;
Thoſe things from mee that you ſhall heare,
Conceiuing much the quicker,
This Lethe water you muſt know,
The memory deſtroyeth ſo,
That of our weale, or of our woe,
It all remembrance blotted:
Of it
〈…〉
can you euer thinke,
For th
•
y
〈…〉
ſooner tooke this drinke,
But nought into their braines could ſ
•
nke,
Of what
•
ad them beſotted.
King O
•
eron forgotten
•
ad,
That
•
e for
••
a
•
ouſie ranne madd:
But of his Queene was wonderous glad,
And ask'd how he came thither;
Pigwiggen likewiſe doth forget,
That he Queene Mab had euer mett
Or that they were ſo hard beſet,
When they were found together.
Nor neither of them both had thought,
That e'r they had each other ſought,
Much leſſe that they a Combat fought,
But ſuch a dreame were lothing;
Tom Thum had got a little ſup,
And Tomalin
••
arſe kiſt the Cup,
Yet had their braines ſo ſure lockt vp,
That they remembred nothing.
Queene Mab and her light Maydes the while,
Amongſt themſelues doe cloſely ſmile,
To ſee the King caught with a wile,
With one another ieſting:
And to t
•
e Fayrie Court they went,
With mickle i
•
y and merriment,
Which thing was done with good intent,
And thus I left them feaſting.
FINIS.
THE QVEST OF CYNTHIA.
WHat time the groues were clad in greene,
The fields dreſt all in flovvers,
And that the ſleeke-hayrd Nimphs were ſeene,
To ſeeke them Sommer Bowers.
Foorth rou'd I by the ſliding Rills,
To find where Cynthia
〈…〉
,
Whoſe name ſo often from the hilles,
The Ecchos wondred at.
When me vpon my Queſt to bring,
That pleaſure might excell,
The Birds ſtroue which ſhould ſweetlieſt ſing,
The flowers which ſweet'ſt ſhould ſmell.
Long wandring in the Woods (ſayd I)
Oh whther's Cynthia gone?
When ſoone the Eccho doth reply,
To my laſt word, goe on.
At length vpon a lofty Firre,
It was my chance to finde,
Where that deare name moſt due to her,
Was caru'd vpon the rynde.
Which whilſt with Wonder I beheld,
The Bees their hony brought,
And vp the carued letters fild,
As they with gold were wrought,
And neere that trees more ſpacious roote,
Then looking on the ground,
The ſhape of her moſt dainty foote,
Imprinted there I found.
Which ſtucke there like a curious ſeale,
As though it ſhould forbid,
Vs wretched mortalls, to reueale,
What vnder it was hid.
Beſides the flowers which it had preſt,
Appeared to my view,
More freſh and louely then the reſt,
That in the meadowes grew:
The cleare drops in the ſteps that ſtood,
Of that delicious Girle,
The Nimphs amongſt their dainty food,
Drunke for diſſolued pearle,
The yielding ſand, where ſhe had troad,
Vnt
••
cht yet with the Winde,
By the faire poſture playnely ſhow'd,
Where he might Cynthi
•
finde,
When on vpon my wayleſſe walke,
As my deſires me draw,
I like a madman fell to talke,
With euery thing I ſaw:
I ask'd ſome Lillyes why ſo white,
They from their fellowes were;
Who anſwered me that Cynthia's ſight,
Had made them looke ſo cleare,
I ask'd a nodding Violet why
It ſadly hung the head,
It told me Cynthia late paſt by,
Too ſoone from it that fled:
A bed of Roſes ſaw I there,
Bewitching with their grace,
Beſides ſo wonderous ſweete they were,
That they perfum'd the place;
I of a Shrub of thoſe enquir'd,
From others of that kind,
Who with ſuch vertue them enſpir'd,
It anſwer'd (to my mind▪)
As the baſe Hemblocke were we ſuch,
The poyſond' weed that growes,
Till Cynthia by her good-lucke tuch
Transform'd vs to a Roſe,
Since when thoſe Froſts that winter brings,
Which candy euery greene,
Renew vs like the Teeming Springs,
and wee thus freſh are ſ
•
ene.
At length I on a Fountaine light,
whoſe brim with Pincks was platted;
The Bank with Daffadillies dight,
with graſſe like Sleaue was matted,
When I demanded of that Well,
What power frequented there;
Deſiring, it would pleaſe to tell
What name it vſ'd to beare.
It told me it was Cynthias owne,
Within whoſe cheerefull brimmes,
That curious Nimph had oft bin knowne,
To bath her ſnowy Limmes.
Since when that water had the power,
Loſt Mayden-heads to reſtore,
And make one Twenty in an howre,
of Eſons Age before,
And told me that the bottome cleere,
Now layd with many a fett
Of ſeed-pearle, ere ſhe bath'd her there;
Was knowne as blacke as Iet,
And when ſhe from the water came,
Where firſt ſhe toucht the mould,
In balles the people made the ſame
For Pomander, and ſold.
When chance me to an Arbour led,
Whereas I might behold
Two bleſt Elizeums in one ſted,
The leſſe the great enfold,
The place which ſhe had choſen out,
Her ſelfe in to repoſe;
Had they com'n down the gods nodoubt
The very ſame had choſe.
The wealthy ſpring yet neuer bore,
That ſweet, nor dainty flower,
That damask'd not the chequer'd flore
Of Cynthias Summer Bower.
The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay,
Like friends did all embrace;
And their large branches did diſplay,
To Canopy the place,
Where ſhee like Venus doth appeare,
Vpon a Roſie bed;
As Lillyes the ſoft pillowes were,
Whereon ſhee layd her head.
Heau'n on her ſhape ſuch coſt beſtow'd,
And with ſuch bounties bleſt,
No lim of hers but might haue made
A goddeſſe at the leaſt.
The Flyes by chance meſht in her hayr
•
,
By the bright Radience throwne,
From her cleare eyes, rich Iewels were,
They ſo like Diamonds ſhone.
The meaneſt weed the ſoyle there bare,
Her breath did ſo refine,
That it with Woodbynd durſt compare,
And beard the Eglanti
•
e.
The dew which on the tender graſſe,
The Euening had diſtill'd,
To pure Roſe-water turned was,
The ſhades with ſweets that fild.
The winds were huſht, no leafe ſo ſmall,
At all was ſeene to ſtirre:
Whilſt turning to the waters fall,
The ſmall Birds ſang to her.
Where ſhee too quickly mee eſpies,
When I might plainely ſee,
A thouſand Cupids from her eyes,
ſhoote all at once at mee▪
Into theſe ſecret ſhades (quoth ſhe)
How dar'ſt thou be ſo bold,
To enter, conſecrate to me;
Or touch this hallowed mold.
Thoſe words (quoth ſhe) I can pronounce,
Which to that ſhape can bring,
Thee, which the Hunter had, who once
Saw Dian in the ſpring,
Bright Nimph againe I thus replye,
This cannot me affright:
I had rather in thy preſence dye,
Then liue out of thy ſight.
I firſt vpon the mountaines hie,
Built Altars to thy name,
And grau'd it on the Rocks thereby,
To propagate thy Fame.
I taught the Shepheards on the downes,
Of thee to frame their Layes:
T'was I that fill'd the neighboring Townes,
With Ditties of thy prayſe.
Thy collours I deuis'd with care;
Which were vnknowne before:
Which ſince that, in their brayded hayre,
The Nimphs and Siluans wore.
Transforme me to what ſhape you can,
I paſſe not what it bee,
Yea what moſt hatefull is to man:
So I may follow thee,
Which when ſhee heard, full pearly floods
I in her eyes might view:
(Quoth ſhe) moſt vvelcome to theſe Woods,
Too meane for one ſo true,
Here from the hatefull world wee'll liue,
A den of meere deſpight,
To Ideots onely that doth giue,
Which be her ſole delight.
To people the infernall pit,
That more and more doth ſtriue,
Where onely Villany is wit:
And Diuels onely thriue.
Whoſe vildneſſe vs ſhall neuer awe:
But here our ſports ſhall be;
Such as the golden world firſt ſaw,
Moſt innocent and free.
Of Simples in theſe Groues that grow,
Wee'll learne the perfect skill;
The nature of each Herbe to know,
Which cures, and which can kill.
The waxen Pallace of the Bee,
Wee ſeeking will ſurpriſe,
The curious workemanſhip to ſee,
Of her full laden thighes.
Wee'll ſuck the ſweets out of the Combe,
And make the gods repine:
As they doe feaſt in Ioues great roome,
To ſee with what we dine.
Yet when there haps a honey fall,
Wee'll licke the ſirupt leaues;
And tell the Bees that their's is gall,
To this vpon the Greaues,
The nimble Squirrell noting here,
Her moſſy Dray that makes,
And laugh to ſee the luſty Deere
Come bounding ore the brakes,
The ſpiders Web to watch weele ſtand,
And when it takes the Bee,
Weele helpe out of the Tyrants hand,
The Innocent to free.
Sometime weele angle at the Brooke,
The freckled Trout to take,
With ſilken Wormes, and bayte the hooke,
Which him our prey ſhall make,
Of medling with ſuch ſubtill tooles,
Such dangers that encloſe,
The Morrall is that painted Fooles,
Are caught with ſilken ſhowes.
And when the Moone doth once appeare,
Weele trace the lower grounds,
When Fayries in their Ringlets there,
Doe dance their nightly Rounds,
And haue a Flocke of Turtle Doues,
A guard on vs to keepe,
As witneſſe of our honeſt loues,
To watch vs till wee ſleepe.
Which ſpoke I felt ſuch holy fires,
To ouerſpred my breaſt,
As lent life to my chaſt deſires,
And gaue me endleſſe reſt.
By Cynthia thus doe I ſubſiſt,
On earth Heauens only pride,
Let her be mine, and let who liſt,
Take all the world beſide.
FINIS.
THE SHEPHEARDS SIRENA.
DOrilus in ſorrowes deepe,
Autumne waxing old and chill,
As he ſate his Flocks to keepe,
Vnderneath an eaſie hill;
Chanc'd to caſt his eye aſide,
On thoſe fields, where he had ſeene,
Bright Sirena, Natures pride,
Sporting on the pleaſant greene:
To whoſe walkes the Shepheards oft,
Came her god-like foote to finde,
And in places that were ſoft,
Kiſt the print there left behind,
Where the path which he had troad,
Hath thereby more glory gayn'd,
Then in Heau'n that milky rode,
Which with Nectar Hebe ſtain'd:
But bleake Winters boyſtrous blaſts,
Now their fading pleaſures chid,
And ſo fill'd them with his waſts,
That from ſight her ſteps were hid.
Silly Shepheard ſad the while,
For his ſweet Syrena gone,
All his pleaſures in exile:
Layd on the cold earth alone,
Whilſt his gameſome cur-tayld Curre,
With his mirthleſſe Maſter playes,
Striuing him with ſport to ſtirre,
As in his more youthfull dayes;
Dorilus his Dogge doth chide,
Layes his well-tun'd Bagpipe by,
And his Sheepe-hooke caſts aſide,
There (quoth he) together lye,
When a Letter foorth he tooke,
Which to him Syrena writ,
With a deadly downe-caſt looke,
And thus fell to reading it.
Dorilus my deare (quoth ſhee)
Kind companion of my woe,
Though we thus diuided be,
Death cannot diuorce vs ſo:
Thou whoſe boſome hath beene ſtill
Th'only cloſet of my care,
And in all my good and ill;
Euer had thy equall ſhare:
Might I winne thee from thy Fold,
Thou ſhouldſt come to viſite mee,
But the Winter is ſo cold,
That I feare to hazzard thee:
The wild waters are waxt hie,
So they are both deafe and dumbe,
Lou'd they thee ſo well as I,
They would ebbe when thou ſhouldſt come,
Then my coate with light ſhould ſhine,
•
urer then the Veſt
•
ll fire:
Nothing here but ſhould be thine,
That thy heart can well deſire:
Where at large wee will relate,
From what cauſe our friendſhip grew,
And in that the varying Fate,
Since we firſt each other knewe:
Of my heauy p
•
ſſed plight,
As of many a future feare,
Which except the ſilent night,
None but onely thou ſhalt heare;
My ſad heart it ſhall releeue,
When my thoughts I ſhall diſcloſe,
For thou canſt not chuſe but greeue,
When I ſhall recount my Woes;
There is nothing to that friend,
To whoſe cloſe vncranied breſt,
Wee our ſecret thoughts may ſend.
And there ſafely let it reſt:
And thy faithfull counſell may
My diſtreſſed caſe aſſiſt,
Sad af
•
liction elſe may ſway
Me a woman as it liſt:
Hither I would haue thee haſte,
Yet would gladly haue thee ſtay,
When thoſe dangers I forecaſt,
That may meete thee by the way,
Doe as thou ſhalt thinke it beſt,
Let thy knowledge be thy guide,
Liue thou in my conſtant b
•
e
•
Whatſoeuer ſhall betide.
He her letter hauing red,
Puts it in his Scrip againe,
Looking like a man halfe dead,
By her kindneſſe ſtrangely ſlaine;
And as one who inly knew,
Her diſtreſſed preſent ſtate,
And to her had ſtill beene true,
Thus doth with himſelfe delate.
I will not thy face admire,
Admirable though it be,
Nor thine eyes whoſe ſubtile fire,
So much wonder winne in me:
But my maruell ſhall be now,
(And of long it hath bin ſo,)
Of all woman kind that thou
Wert ordain'd to taſt of vvoe;
To a beauty ſo diuine,
Paradiſe in little done,
O that fortune ſhould aſsigne,
Ought, but what thou wel mightſt ſhun,
But my counſailes ſuch muſt bee,
(Though as yet I them conceale)
By their deadly wound in me,
They thy hurt muſt only heale,
Could I giue what thou doo'ſt craue,
To that paſſe thy ſtate is growne,
I thereby thy life may ſaue,
But am ſure to looſe mine owne,
To that ioy thou do'ſt conceiue.
Through my he
•••
the way doth lye,
Which in two for thee muſt cleaue,
Leſt that thou ſhouldſt goe awry,
Thus my death muſt be a toy,
Which my penſiue breſt muſt couer;
Thy beloued to enioy,
Muſt be taught thee by thy Louer,
Hard the choiſe I haue to chuſe,
To my ſelfe if friend I be,
I muſt my Syrena looſe,
If not ſo, ſhee looſeth mee.
Thus whilſt he doth caſt about,
What therein were beſt to doe,
Nor could yet reſolue the doubt,
Whether he ſhould ſtay or goe,
In thoſe Fields not farre away,
There was many a frolike Swaine,
In freſh Ruſſets day by day,
That kept Reuells on the plaine,
Nimble Tom, ſurnam'd the Tup,
For his Pipe without a peere:
And could tickle Trenchmore vp,
As t'would ioy your heart to heare,
Ralph as much renownd for skill,
That the Taber touch'd ſo well:
For his Gittern, little Gill,
That all other did excell,
Rocke and Rollo euery way,
Who ſtill led the Ruſticke Ging,
And could troule a Roundelay,
That would make the Fields to ring,
Collin on his Shalme ſo cleere,
Many a high▪pit
•
ht note that had,
•
nd could make the Ecchos neere,
•
hout as they were waxen mad,
Many a luſtie Swaine beſide,
•
hat for nought but pleaſure car'd,
•
auing Dorilus eſpy'd,
•
nd with him knew how it far'd,
•
hought from him they would remoue,
•
his ſtrong melancholy fitt,
Or ſo, ſhould it not behoue,
Quite to put him out of's wit;
Hauing learnt a Song, which h
•
e,
•
ometime to Sirena ſent,
•
ull of Iollity and glee,
When the Nimph liu'd neere to Trent,
•
hey behind him ſoftly got,
•
ying on the earth along,
•
nd when he ſuſpected not,
•
hus the Iouiall Shepheards ſong,
NEare to the Siluer Trent,
Syrena dwelleth,
•
hee to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth:
•
y which the Muſes late,
And the neate Graces,
•
aue for their greater ſtate,
Taken their places:
•
wiſting an Anadem,
Wherewith to Crowne her,
•
s it belong'd to them
Moſt to renowne her.
Cho: On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swannes ſing her,
And with their Muſicke,
Along let them bring her.
Tagus and Pact
•
lus
are to thee Debter,
Nor for their gould to vs,
are they the better:
Hencefoorth of all the reſt,
be thou the Riuer,
Which as the daintieſt,
puts them downe euer,
For as my precious one,
o'r thee doth trauell,
She to Pearle Paragon
turneth thy grauell.
Cho: On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanns ſing her,
And with their Muſicke
along let them bring her,
Our mournefull Philomell,
that rareſt Tuner,
Hencefoorth in Aperi
••
ſhall wake the ſooner,
And to her ſhall complaine,
from the thicke couer,
Redoubling euery ſtraine
ouer and ouer:
For when my Loue too long
her chamber keepeth;
As though it ſuffered wrong,
the morning weepeth,
••
o: On thy Banke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swannes ſing her,
And with their Muſicke,
along let them bring her.
Oft haue I ſeene the Sunne,
to doe her honour,
Fix himſelfe at his noone,
to looke vpon her,
And hath guilt euery Groue,
euery Hill neare her,
With his flames from aboue,
ſtriuing to cheere her,
And when ſhe from his ſight
hath her ſelfe turned,
Hee as it had beene night,
In Clouds hath mourned:
••
o: On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swannes ſing her
And with their Muſicke,
along let them bring her,
The Verdant Meades are ſeene
•
when ſhe doth view them,
In Freſh and gallant Greene,
ſtraight to renew them,
And euery little Graſſe
broad it ſelfe ſpreadeth,
Proud that this bony Laſſe,
vpon it treadeth:
Nor flower is ſo ſweete
In this large Cincture,
But it vpon her feete
Leaueth ſome Tincture,
Cho: On thy Bancke
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanes ſing her,
And with their Muſicke
along let them bring her.
The Fiſhes in the Flood,
when ſhe doth Angle,
For the hooke ſtriue a good
Them to intangle;
And leaping on the Land,
from the cleare water,
Their Scales vpon the ſand
lauiſhly ſcatter;
Therewith to paue the mould
whereon ſhee paſſes,
So her ſelfe to behold,
as in her glaſſes.
Cho: On thy Banke,
In a Ranke,
Let thy Swanns ſing her,
And with their Muſicke,
along let them bring her,
When ſhee lookes out by night,
The Starres ſtand gazing,
Like Comets to our ſight,
Fearefully blazing,
As wondring at her eyes,
with their much brightneſſe,
Which ſo amaze the skies,
dimming their lightneſſe,
The raging Tempeſts are Calme,
when ſhe ſpeaketh,
Such moſt delightſome ba
•
me,
from her lips breaketh.
Cho: On thy Banke,
In a Ranck,
Let thy Swanns ſing her,
And with their Muſicke, &c.
In all our Brittany
ther's not a fayrer,
Nor can you fitt any:
ſhould you compare her.
Angels her eye-lids keepe;
all harts ſurprizing,
Which looke whilſt ſhe doth ſleepe
like the Sunnes riſing:
She alone of her kinde,
knoweth true meaſure,
And her vnmatched mind
is Heauens treaſure:
Cho: On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swannes ſing her,
And with their Muſicke,
Along let them bring her.
Fayre Done and Darwine cleere
boaſt ye your beauties,
To Trent your Miſtres here
yet pay your duties,
My loue was higher borne
tow'rds the full Fountaines,
Yet ſhe doth Mooreland ſcorne,
and the Peake Mountaines;
Nor would ſhe none ſhould dreame,
vvhere ſhe abideth,
Humble as is the ſtreame,
Which by her ſlydeth,
Cho: On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanns ſing her,
And with their Muſicke
along let them bring her,
Yet my poore Ruſticke Muſe,
nothing can moue her,
Nor the meanes I can vſe,
though her true Louer,
Many a long Winters night
haue I wak'd for her.
Yet this my piteous plight,
nothing can ſtirre her,
All thy Sands ſiluer Trent
downe to the Humber,
The ſighs that I haue ſpent
Neuer can number.
Cho: On thy Bancke
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swans ſing her,
And with their Muſicke
along let them bring her.
Taken with this ſuddaine Song,
Leaſt for mirth when he doth looke,
His ſad heart more deepely ſtong,
Then the former care he tooke,
At their laughter and amaz'd,
For a while he ſate aghaſt,
But a little hauing gaz'd,
Thus he them beſpake at laſt.
Is this time for mirth (quoth he)
To a man with griefe oppreſt,
•
infull wretches as you be,
May the ſorrowes in my breaſt,
•
ight vpon you one by one,
•
nd as now you mocke my woe,
•
hen your mirth is turn'd to moane,
May your like then ſerue you ſo.
When one Swaine among the reſt,
Thus him merrily beſpake,
Get thee vp thou arrant beaſt,
Fits this ſeaſon loue to make?
Take thy Sheephooke in thy hand,
Clap thy Curre and ſet him on,
For our fields ti's time to ſtand,
Or they quickly will be gon.
Rougiſh Swinheards that repine,
At our Flocks, like beaſtly Clownes,
Sweare that they will bring their Swine,
And will wroote vp all our Downes:
They their Holly whips haue brac'd,
And tough Hazell goades haue gott;
Soundly they your ſides will baſte,
If their courage faile them not,
Of their purpoſe if they ſpeed,
Then your Bagpipes you may burne,
It is neither Droane nor Reed
Shepheard, that will ſerue your turne,
Angry Olcon ſets them on,
And againſt vs part doth take,
Euer ſince he was out-gone,
Offring Rymes with vs to make,
Yet if ſo our Sheep-hookes hold,
Dearely ſhall our Downes be bought,
For it neuer ſhall be told.
Wee our Sheepe-walkes ſold for naught,
And we here haue got vs dogges,
Beſt of all the Weſterne breed,
Which though Whelps ſhall lug their Hogges,
Till they make their eares to bleed:
Therefore Shepheard come away;
When as Dorilus aroſe,
Whiſtles Cut-tayle from his play,
And along with them he goes.
FINIS.
THE MOONE-CALFE.
Stultorum plena ſunt omnia.
HElpe Neighbors helpe, for Gods ſake need▪
come with ſpeed,
For of your helpe there neuer was ſuch
Midwiues ma
•
▪ haſt & dres ye as ye run,
Either come quickly, or w'are al vndon,
The World's in labour, her throwes come ſo thick,
That with the pa
•
gs ſhe's waxt ſtarke lunntick:
But whither, whither, one was heard to crye:
Shee that call'd thus, doth preſently reply;
Doe yee not ſee in eu'ry ſtreet and place,
The generall world now in a piteous caſe,
Vp got the Goſsips, and for very haſt,
Some came without ſhoes, ſome came all vnlac'd,
As ſhe had firſt appointed them, and found
The World in labour, dropt into a ſwound;
Wallowing ſhe lay, like to a boyſtrous hulke,
Dropſied with ryots, and her big-ſwolne balke,
Stuff'd with infection, rottenneſſe, and ſtench;
Her blood ſo fierd, that nothing might it quench,
But the Aſpes poyſon, which ſtood by her ſtill,
That in her drought ſhe often vſ'd to ſwill;
Clothed ſhe was in a Fooles coate, and cap,
Of rich imbroydered Silks, and in her lap,
A ſort of paper Puppets, Gawdes and Toyes,
Trifles ſcarce good enough for Girles and Boyes,
Which ſhe had dandled, and with them had playd,
And of this traſh her only God had made.
Out and alaſſe (quoth one) the reſt among,
•
doubt me Neighbours, we haue ſtayd too long:
Plucke off your Rings, lay me your bracelets by;
Fall to your bus'neſſe, and that ſpeedily,
Or elſe I doubt, her ſpirits conſume ſo faſt,
That e'r the birth, her ſtrength will quite be paſt:
But when more wiſtly they did her behold,
There was not one (that once) durſt be ſo bold
As to come neere her, but ſtood all amaz'd,
Each vpon other ſilently and gaz'd:
When as her belly they ſo bigge doe ſee,
As if a Tunne within the ſame ſhould be,
And heard a noyſe and rumbling in her wombe,
As at the inſtant of the generall doome:
Thunder and Earthquakes raging, and the Rocks
Tubling down from their ſcyts, like mighty blocks,
Rowl'd frō huge mountains, ſuch a noiſe they make,
As though in ſunder heau'ns huge Axtree brake;
They either Poles, their heads together paſht,
And all againe into the Chaos daſht;
Some of ſlight iudgement that were ſtanding by,
Sayd, it was nothing but a Timpany:
Others ſayd, ſure ſhe humane helpe did want,
And had conceiued by an Elephant;
Or ſome Sea-monſter, of a horrid ſhape,
Committed with her by ſome violent rape:
Others more wiſe, and noting very well,
How her huge wombe did paſt all compaſſe ſwell,
Said certainly (if that they might confeſſe her)
It would be found ſome Diuell did poſſeſſe her.
Thus while they ſtood, and knew not what to doe,
Women (quoth one) why doe you trifle ſo:
I pray you thinke but wherefore ye came hether,
Shall wombe and burthen periſh both together:
Bring foorth the Birth-ſtoole, no, let it alone,
She is ſo farre beyond all compaſſe growne:
Some other new deuiſe vs needs muſt ſted,
Or elſe ſhe neuer can be brought to bed.
Let one that hath ſome execrable ſpell,
Make preſently her entrance into hell:The Furies fetcha from hell to bring the World to
••
d.
Call Hecate, and the damn'd Furies hether,
And try if they will vndertake together:
To helpe the ſicke World; one is out of hand
Diſpatch'd for hell, who by the dread command
Of powerfull Charmes, brought Hecate away,
Who knowing her bus'neſſe from herſelfe doth lay
That ſad aſpect, ſhee wont to put on there,
In that blacke Empire; and doth now appeare,
As ſhees Lucina giuing ſtrength and ayde,
In birth to women; mild as any Mayde,
Full of ſweet hope her brow ſeem'd, and her eyes
Darting freſh comfort, like the morning skies.A deſcription of the furies
Then came the Furies with their boſomes bare,
Saue ſomewhat couer'd with their Snaky hayre,
In wreathes contorted, mumbling helliſh Charmes,
Vp to the elbowes naked were their Armes,
Megera eld'ſt of this damn'd Femall Fiends,
Gnawing her wriſts, biting her fingers ends,
Entred the firſt; Tiſiphone the next,
As to reuenge her ſiſter throughly vext,
In one hand bare a whip, and in the other,
A long ſharpe knife; the third which ſeeme to ſmother,
Her manner of reuenge, caſt ſuch an eye,
As well neere turn'd to ſtone all that ſtood by,
Her name Alecto, which no plague doth rue,
Nor neuer leaues them whom ſhe doth purſue.
The women pray the goddeſſe now to ſtand,
Auſpicious to them, and to lend her hand
To the ſick World, which willingly ſhe granted;
But at the ſight, as altogether danted,
From her cleare face the ſprightly vigour fled,
And but ſhe ſaw the Women hard beſted
Out ſhee had gone, not one glance backe had ſhot,
Till heauen or hell ſhe o'r her head had got,
Yet ſhee her ſelfe retires, next to the doore,
The Goſſips worſe then e'r they were before,
At their wits end, know not which way to take,
At length the World beginning to awake,
Out of the trance, in which ſhe lay as dead,
And ſomewhat raiſing her vnweeldy head,
To bright Lucina call'd for helpe, that ſhee,
Now in her trauell would propitious be,
The Goddeſſe not from feeling of her woe,
Onely to ſee with what the World might goe,
As ſhe is draded Hicate, hauing power,
Of all that keepe hells vgly▪ Balefull Bower,
Commands the Furies to ſtep in and ayd her,
And be the Midwiues, till they ſafe had layd her,
To doe whoſe pleaſure as they were about,
A ſturdy Huswife pertly ſtepping out,
Cryes hold a while, and let the queane alone,
It is no matter let her lye and groane:
Hold her ſtill to't wee'l doe the beſt we can,
To get out of her, certainely the man,
Which ownes the Baſtard, for ther's not a Nation,
But hath with her committed fornication:
And by her baſe and common proſti
•
ution,
Shee came by this vnnaturall pollution;
There is a meane for women thus abus'd.
Which at this time may very well be vs'd:
That in this caſe when people doe deſire,
To know the trueth, yet doubtfull of the Sire,
When as the woman moſt of life doth doubt her,
In grieuous throwes; to thoſe that are about her,
He that is then at the laſt caſt diſclos'd,
The naturall Father is to be ſuppos'd:
And the iuſt law doth faithfully decide,
That for the nurſing he is to prouide:
Therefore let's ſee, what in her pangs ſhee'll ſay,
Leſt that this Baſtard on the Land we lay:
They lik'd her counſell, and their helpe denyde,
And bad her lye and languiſh till ſhe dyde;
Vnleſſe to them ſhe truly would confeſſe,
Who fill'd her belly with this foule exceſſe.
Alas (quoth ſhee) the Deuill dreſt mee thus,
••
e Moone
•
lfe beg
•
t the diuell.
A midſt my Ryot, whilſt that Incubus
Wrought on my weakeneſſe, and by him beguilde,
Hee onely is the Father of the childe.
His Inſtrument my Apiſh imitation,
Of ev'ry monſtrous and prodigeous faſhion,
Abus'd my weakeneſſe: women it was ſhe,
Who was the Bawd betwixt the Fiend and me:
That this is true, it on my death I take,
Then helpe me women euen for pitties ſake,The prodigious ſigns that foreran the birth of the Moone-Calfe.
When ominus ſignes to ſhew themſelues began,
That now at hand this monſtrous birth fore-ran:
About at noone flew the affrighted Owle,
And dogs in corners ſet them downe to howle:
Bitches and Wolues theſe fatall ſignes among,
Brought foorth moſt monſtrous & prodigious yong
And from his hight the earth refreſhing Sunne,
Before his houre his golden head doth runne,
Farre vnder vs, in doubt his glorious eye,
Should be polluted with this Prodigy,
A Panique feare vpon the people grewe,
But yet the cauſe, there was not one that knew,
When they had heard this; a ſhort tale to tell,
The Furies ſtraight vpon their bus'neſſe fell,
And long it was not ere there came to light,
The moſt abhorrid, the moſt fearefull ſight,
That euer eye beheld, a birth ſo ſtrange,
That at the view, it made their lookes to change;
Women (quoth one) ſtand off, and come not neere it
The Diuell if he ſaw it, ſure would feare it;
For by the ſhape, for ought that I can gather,
The childe is able to affright the Father;
Out cryes another, now for Gods ſake hide it,
It is ſo vgly we may not abide it:
The birth is double, and grows ſide to ſide,
That humane hand it neuer can diuide;A deſcription of the Moon▪ Calfe.
And in this wonderous ſort as they be Twins;
Like Male and Female they be Androgines,
The Man is partly Woman, likewiſe ſhee
Is partly Man, and yet in face they bee,
Full as prodigious, as in parts; the Twinne,
That is moſt man, yet in the face and skinne,
Is all meere vvoman, that which moſt doth take
From weaker woman: Nature ſeemes to make
A man in ſhow, thereby as to define,
A Fem'nine man, a woman Maſculine;
Before bred, nor begot: a more ſtrange thing,
Than euer Nile yet into light could bring,
Made as Creation meer
•
ly to deſpight,
Nor man, nor woman, ſcarſe Hermophradite,
Affricke that's ſaid, Mother of Monſters is,
Let her but ſhew me ſuch a one as this,
And then I will ſubſcribe (to doe her due)
And ſweare, that what is ſaid of her is true,
Quoth one, tis monſtrous, and for nothing fitt,
And for a Monſter, quicke let's bury it:
Nay quoth another, rather make prouiſion.
If poſsibly, to part it by inciſion,
For were it parted, for ought I can ſee,
Both man, and woman it may ſeeme to bee:
Nay quoth a third, that muſt be done with coſt,
And were it done, our labour is but loſt,
For when w'haue wrought the vtmoſt that we can,
Hees too much woman, and ſhee's too much man;
Therefore, as'tis a moſt prodigious birth,
Let it not liue here to pollute the earth:
Goſsip (quoth th'laſt) your reaſon I deny,
Tis more by law, then we can iuſtifie;
For Syer, and Dam, haue certainly decreed▪
That they will haue more comfort of their ſeed:
For he begot it, and t'was borne of her,
And out of doubt, they will their owne prefer:
Therefore good women, better be aduis'd,
"For precious things ſhould not be lightly priz'd,
This Moon-Calfe borne vnder a lucky Fate,
May powerfull proue in many a wealthy State,
And taught the tongues about ſome few yeers hence
As now vv'are all tongue, and but little ſence:
It may fall out for any thing you know,
This Moon-Calfe may on great imployments goe:
When learned men for noble action fit.
Idly at home (vnthought of once) may ſit;
A Bawd, or a Proiector he may proue,
And by his purſe ſo purchaſing him loue,
May be exalted to ſome thriuing Roome,
Where ſeldome good men ſuffred are to come:
What will you ſay, hereafter when you ſee
The times ſo graceleſſe and ſo mad to be;
That men their perfect humane ſhape ſhall flie,
To imitate this Beaſts deformitie:
Nay, when you ſee this Monſter, which you novv
Will hardly breath vpon the earth alow;
In his caroch with foure vvhite Freezelands drawn,
And he as pyde and gariſh as the Pavvne,
With a ſet face; in which as in a booke,
He thinks the World for grounds of ſtate ſhould looke,
Whē to ſōe greater one, whoſe might doth awe him
He's known a verier iade, then thoſe that draw him,
Nay at the laſt, the very killing ſight,
To ſee this Calfe (as vertue to deſpight)
Aboue iuſt honeſt men his head to reare,
Nor to his greatneſſe may they once come neere,
Each ignorant Sott to Honour ſeekes to riſe;
But as for vertue who did firſt deuiſe
That title a reward for, hee's to be,
As moſt contemned and despiſed ſhee,
Goes vnregarded, that they who ſhould owne her,
Dare not take notice euer to haue knowne her;
And but that vertue, when ſhe ſeemeth throwne
Lower then Hell, hath power to raiſe her owne.
Aboue the World and this her monſtrous birth!
She long e'r this had periſh'd from the earth:
Her Fautors baniſh'd by her foes ſo hie,
Which looke ſo bigge as they would ſcale the skie:
But ſeeing no helpe, why ſhould I thus complaine,
Then to my Moone-Calfe I returne againe,
By his deare Dam the World, ſo choicely bred,
To whom there is ſuch greatneſſe promiſed;
For it might well a perfect man amaze,
To ſee what meanes the Syer and Dam will raiſe,
T'exalt their Moon-Calfe, and him ſo to cheriſh,
That he ſhall thriue, when vertuous men ſhal periſh▪
The Drunkard, Glutton, or who doth apply,
Himſelfe to beaſtly ſenſuallity,
Shall get him many friends, for that there be,
Many in euery place iuſt ſuch as hee;
The euill loue them that delight in ill,
Like haue clean'd to their like, and euer will:
But the true vertuous man (God knowes) hath fewe,
They that his ſtraite and harder ſteps purſue,
Are a ſmall number, ſcarcely knowne of any;
"God hath few friends, the Deuill hath ſo many,
But to returne that yee may plainly ſee,
That ſuch a one he likely is to be,
And that my words for trueth that ye may trie,
Of the Worlds Babe thus doe I prophecy,
Marke but the more man of theſe monſtrous Twins,
From his firſt youth, how tow'rdly he begins,
Whē he ſhould learn, being learnd to leaue the ſchole
This arrant Moon-Calfe, this moſt beaſtly foole,
•
uſt to our Engliſh Prouerbe ſhall be ſeene,
"Scarcely ſo wiſe at fifty, as fifteene:
And when himſelfe hee of his home can free,
He to the City comes, where then if he,
And the familiar butterflye his Page,
Can paſſe the Streete, the Ord'nary and Stage,
It is enough, and he himſelfe thinks then,
To be the only abſolut'ſt of men:
Then in his Cups you ſhall not ſee him ſhrinke,
To the grand diuell a carowſe to drinke.
Next to his whore he doth himſelfe apply,
And to maintaine his gotiſh luxurie,
•
ates Capons Cookt at fifteene Crownes a peece,
With their fat bellies, ſtuff'd with Amber greece,
And being to trauell he ſticks not to lay,
His Poſt Caroches ſtill vpon his way:
•
nd in ſome ſixe dayes iourney doth conſume,
Ten pounds in Suckets and the Indian Fume:
For his Attire, then Forraigne parts are ſought,
He holds all vile in England that is wrought,
And into Flanders ſen
•
eth for the nonce,
Twelue dozen of Shirts prouiding him at once,
Layd in the ſeames vvith coſtly Lace that be,
Of the Smocke faſhion whole below the knee,
Then bathes in milke, in which when he hath bin,
He lookes like one for the prepoſtrous ſinne,
Put by the wicked and rebellious Iewes,
To be a Pathique in a Malekind Stevves.
With the ball of's foot the ground he may not feel
•
But he muſt tread vpon his toe and heele▪
Dublet and Cloake, vvith Pluſh, and Veluet linde,
Onely his head. piece, that is fil'd with Winde,
Rags, running Horſes, Dogs, Drabs, Drink & dice,
The onely things that he doth hold in price:
Yet more then theſe, naught doth him ſo delight,
As doth his ſmooth-chind, plump-thigh'd, Catami
••
Sodome for her great ſinne that burning ſanke,
Which at one draught the pit infernall dranke,
Which that iuſt God on earth could not abide,
Hath ſhee ſo much the Deuils terrifide:
As from their ſeate, them well neere to exile,
Hath Hell new spew'd her vp after this while:
Is ſhe new riſen, and her ſinne agen,
Imbrac'd by beaſtly and outragious men.
Nay more he ieſts at Inceſt, as therein,
There were no fault, counts ſacriledge no ſin:
His blaſphemies he vſeth for his grace;
Wherewith he trueth doth often times outface:
He termeth vertue madneſſe, or meere folly,
He hates all high things, and prophanes all holly.
Where is thy thunder god, art thou aſleepe?
Or to what ſuff'ring hand giu'ſt thou to keepe
Thy wrath and vengeance; where is now the ſtrength
Of thy Almighty arme, failes it at length?
Turne all the Starres to Comets, to out ſtare
The Sunne at noone-tide, that he ſhall not dare
To looke but like a G
•
oworme, for that hee
Can without melting theſe damnations ſee.
But this Ile leaue, leſt I my pen defile:
Yet to my Moon-Calfe keepe I cloſe the while,
Who by ſome knaue, perſwaded he hath wit,
When like a braue Foole, he to vtter it,
Dare with a deſperate boldneſſe roughly paſſe
His cenſure on thoſe bookes, which the poore Aſſe
Can neuer reach to, things from darkeneſſe ſought,
That to the light with blood & ſweat were brought:
And takes vpon him thoſe things to controule,
Which ſhould the braineleſſe Ideot ſell his ſoule,
All his dull race, and he can neuer buy
With their baſe pelfe, his glorious induſtry;
Knowledge with him is idle, if it ſtraine
Aboue the compaſſe of his yeſtie braine:
Nor knowes mens worths but by a ſecond hand,
For he himſelfe doth nothing vnderſtand;
He would haue ſomething, but what tis hee ſhowes not
What he would ſpeake, nay what to think he knowes not
He nothingmore thē truth & knowledg loaths
And nothing he admires of mans but cloathes.
Now for that I thy dotage dare miſlike▪
And ſeeme ſo deepe, into thy ſoule to ſtrike;
Becauſe I am ſo plaine thou likd'ſt not me,
Why know, poore Slaue, I no more thinke of thee,
Then of the Ordure that is caſt abroad,
I hate thy vice more then I doe a Toade,
Poore is the ſpirit that fawnes on thy applauſe;
Or ſeekes for ſuffrage from thy Barbarous Iawes.
Misfortune light on him, that ought doth way,
Yee ſonnes of Beliall, what yee thinke or ſay:
Who would haue thought whilſt wit ſought to aduance,
It ſelfe ſo high, damn'd beaſtly ignorance
Vnder the cloake of knowledge ſhould creepe in,
And from deſert ſhould ſo much credit win:
But all this poyſonous froth Hell hath let flie,
In theſe laſt dayes, at noble Poeſie,
That which hath had both in all times and places,
For her much worth, ſo ſundry ſoueraigne graces;
The language, which the Spheares and Angels ſpeake,
In which their minde they to poore Mortals breake,
By Gods great power, into rich ſoules infus'd,
By euery Moone-Calfe lately thus abus'd:
Should all hells blacke inhabitants conſpire,
And more vnheard of miſchiefe to them hyer,
Such as high Heau'n were able to affright,
And on the noone ſted bring a double night:
Then they haue done, they could not more diſgrace her,
As from the earth (euen) vtterly terace her:
What Princes lou'd, by Peaſants now made hatefull,
In this our age ſo damnably ingratefull:
And to giue open paſſage to her fall,
It is deuis'd to blemiſh her withall,
That th'hideous braying of each Barbarous Aſſe,
In Printed Letters freely now muſt paſſe,
In Accents ſo vntuneable and vile,
With other Nations was might damne our Ile,
If ſo our tongue they truely vnderſtood,
And make them thinke our braines were meerely m
•
a,
To make her vile, and vgly to appeare,
Whoſe naturall beauty is Diuinely cleare;
That on the Stationers Stall, who paſsing lookes,
To ſee the multiplicity of Bookes,
That peſter it, may well beleeue the Preſſe,
Sicke of a ſurfet ſpu'd with the exceſſe:
Which breedeth ſuch a dulneſſe through the land,
Mongſt thoſe one tongue which onely vnderſtand,
Which did they reade thoſe ſinewie Poems writ,
That are materiall reliſhing of wit:
Wiſe pollicie, Morallity, or Story,
Well purtraying the Ancients and their glory,
Theſe blinded Fooles, on their baſe Carrion feeding,
Which are (in trueth) made ignorant by reading,
In little time would growe to be aſham'd,
And bluſh to heare theſe lowzie Pamphlets nam'd,
Which now they ſtudie, naught but folly learning,
Which is the cauſe that they haue no diſcerning,
The good from bad, this ill, that well to know,
Becauſe in ignorance they are nouriſh'd ſo:
Who for this hatefull traſh ſhould I condemne
They that doe vtter, or Authorize them:
O that the Ancients ſhould ſo carefull be,
Of what they did impreſſe, and only wee
Looſely at randome, ſhould let all things flie,
Though gainſt the Muſes it be blaſphemy:
But yet to happy spirits, and to the wiſe,
All is but fooliſh that they can deuiſe,
For when contempt of Poeſie is proudeſt,
Then haue the Muſes euer ſung the lowdeſt,
But to my Calfe, who to be counted prime,
According to the faſhion of the time,
Him to aſſociate ſome Buffoon doth get,
Whoſe braines he ſtill with much expence muſt whet,
And euer beare about him as his gueſt,
Who comming out with ſome ridiculous ieſt,
Of one (perhaps) a god that well might be,
If but compar'd with ſuch an Aſſe as hee,
His Patron rores with laughter, and doth cry,
Take him away, or preſently I dye,
Whilſt that Knaue-foole which well himſelfe doth know
Smiles at the Coxecombe, which admires him ſo:
His time and wealth, thus lewdly that doth ſpend,
As it were lent him to no other end:
Vntill this Moone-Calfe, this moſt drunken puffe,
Euen like a Candle burnt vnto the ſnuffe:
Fierd with ſurfet, in his owne greace fries,
Sparkles a little, and then ſtinking dies.
The wealth his Father by extortion wonne,
Thus in the spending helps to damne the Sonne,
And ſo falls out indifferently to either,
Whereby in hell they iuſtly meete together;
And yet the World much ioyes in her behalfe,
And takes no little pleaſure in her Calfe,
Had this declining time the Freedome now,
Which the braue Romane once did it allowe:
With wyer and Whipcord yee ſhould ſee her payd,
Till the luxurious Whore ſhould be afraid
Of proſtitution and ſuch laſhes giuen,
To make her blood ſpirt in the face of Heauen;
That men by looking vpward as they goe,
Should ſee the plagues layd on her here below,
But now proceed we with the other Twin,
Which is moſt woman who ſhall ſoone begin
To ſhew her ſelfe; no ſooner got the Teenes,
But her owne naturall beauty ſhe diſdaines,
With Oyles and Broathes moſt venomous and baſe,
She plaiſters ouer her well-fauoured face;
And thoſe ſweet veines by nature rightly plac'd,
Wher with ſhe ſeem'd that white skin to haue lac'd
She ſoone doth alter; and with fading blew,
Blanching her boſome, ſhe makes others new,
Blotting the curious workemanſhip of nature;
That e're ſhe be arriu'd at her full ſtature,
E're ſhe be dreſt, ſhe ſeemeth aged growne,
And to haue nothing on her of her owne:
Her black, browne, aburne or her yellow hayre,
Naturally louely, ſhe doth ſcorne to weare,
It muſt be white to make it freſh to ſhow,
And with compounded meale ſhe makes it ſo:
With fumes and powdrings raiſing ſuch a ſmoke,
That a whole Region able were to choke:
Whoſe ſtench might fright a Dragon from his den;
The ſunne yet ne're exhal'd from any Fen
Such peſtilentious vapours as ariſe,
From their French powderings and their Mercuries,
Ireland, if thou wilt able be alone,
Of thine owne power to driue out thy Tyrone▪
By heaping vp a maſſe of Coyne together▪
Sheere thy olde Wolues, and ſend their Fle
•
ces hether,
Thy white Goates hayre, Wales, dearer will be ſolde,
Then ſilks of Naples, or then Threed of gold,
Our Water-dogs, and ſlands here are ſhorne;
White haeyre ſo much of Women here is worne,
Nay more then this, they'll any thing endure,
And with large ſummes they ſticke not to procure
Haire from the dead yea and the moſt vncleane,
To helpe their pride they nothing will diſdaine.
Then in attyring her, and in her ſleepe,
The dayes three parts ſhe exercis'd doth keepe,
And in ridiculous viſits ſhe doth ſpend,
The other fourth part to no other end;
But to take note how ſuch a Lady lyes,
And to gleane from her ſome deformities,
Which for a grace ſhe holds and till ſhe get,
She thinks her ſelfe to be but counterfet.
Our Merchants from all parts twixt either Inde,
Cannot get ſilke to ſatisfie her minde:
Nor natures perfect'ſt patterne can ſuffice,
The curious draughts for her embroderies:
She thinkes her
•
onour vtterly is loſt,
Except thoſe things doe infinitely coſt,
Which ſhee doth weare; nor thinke they can her dre
••
Except ſhe haue them in moſt ſtrange exceſſe,
And in her faſhion ſhe is likevviſe thus,
In euery thing ſhe muſt be monſtrous:
Her Picadell aboue her crowne vp beares,
Her Fardingale is ſet aboue her eares:
Which like a broad ſayle with the wind doth ſwell,
To driue this faire Hulke headlong into hell.
After againe, note, and you ſhall her ſee,
Shorne like a man, and for that ſhe will be
Like him in all, her congies ſhe will make,
With the mans curtſie, and her hat off take,
Of the French faſhion, and weare by her ſide,
Her ſharpe Stillato in a Ryband tyde,
Then gird he ſelfe cloſe to the paps ſhe ſhall,
Shap'd, breaſt and buttocke, but no waſte at all.
But of this ſhee Calfe now to ceaſe all ſtrife,
•
le by example lim her to the life,
Not long agone it was my chance to meete,
With ſuch a Fury, ſuch a female ſpright,
As neuer man ſaw yet, except twere ſhee,
And ſuch a one as I'may neuer ſee
Againe I pray: but where I will not name,
For that the place might ſo partake her ſhame:
But when I ſaw her rampant to tranſcend
All womenhead, I thought her (ſure) a friend,
And to my ſelfe my thoughts ſuggeſted thus,
That ſhe was gotten by ſome Incubus,
And ſo remembring an old womans tale,
As ſhee ſate dreaming o'
•
a pot of Ale,
•
hat on a time ſhe did the Deuill meete,
•
nd knew him only by his clouen feete:
•
o did I looke at hers, where ſhe did goe,
•
o ſee if her feete, were not clouen ſo▪
Ten long-tongu'd Tapſters in a common Inne,
When as the Gueſts to flocke apace begin,
When vp-ſtaire one, downe-ſtaire another hyes,
With ſqueaking clamours, and confuſed cryes;
Neuer did yet make ſuch a noyſe as ſhe,
That I dare boldly iuſtifie, that he,
Who but an howre her loud clacke can endure,
May vndiſturbed, ſafely and ſecure,
Sleepe vnder any Bells, and neuer heare,
Though they were rung the clappers at his eare,
And the long'ſt night with one ſweet ſleepe be guile
As though he dreamt of Muſicke all the while.
The very ſight of her, when ſhe doth rore,
Is able to ſtrike dumbe the boldeſt Whore,
That euer traded: ſhee'll not ſticke to tell,
All in her life that euer her befell;
How ſhe hath layne, with all degrees, and ages,
Her Plow-boyes, Scullians; Lackies, and ſome Pages▪
And ſweare when we haue ſaid all that we can,
That there is nothing worth a pin in man,
And that ther's nothing doth ſo pleaſe her mind,
As to ſee Mares, and Horſes, doe their kind;
And when ſhee's Tipſey, how ſo e'r t'offend,
Then all her ſpeech to Bawdry doth intend:
In womens ſecrets, and ſhee'll name ye all
Read to the Midwiues at the Surgeons Hall.
Were the poore Coxecombe, her dull husband de
••
He that durſt then this female Moone-Calfe wed▪
Should quite put down the Roman which once leep
•
Into the burning Gulfe, thereby to keepe
His Country from deuouring with the flame:
Thus leaue we her, of all her ſexe the ſhame.
Amongſt the reſt, at the Worlds labour there,
For good old Women, moſt eſpeciall were,
Which had bene iolly Wenches in their dayes,
Through all the Pariſh, and had borne the prayſe,
For merry Tales: one Mother Red-Cap hight,
And Mother Howlet ſomewhat ill of ſight,
For ſhe had hurt her eyes with watching late;
Them Mother Bumby a mad iocund Mate
As euer Goſsipt, and with her there came
Olde Gammer Gurton, a right pleſant Dame,
As the beſt of them; being thus together,
The bus'neſſe done for which they had come thither:
Qaoth Iolly Mother Red-Cap at the laſt,
I ſee the night is quickly like to waſte,
And ſince the World ſo kindly now is layd,
And the child ſafe, which made vs all afrayde:
Let's haue a night on't Wenches, hang vp ſorrow,
And what
•
leepe wants now, take it vp to morrow,
Stirre vp the fire, and let vs haue our Ale,
And o'r our Cups, let's each one tell her Tale:
My honeſt Goſsips, and to put you in,
Ile breake the Ice, and thus doth mine begin.
There was a certaine Propheſie of old,Mother Red-Cap
•
tal
•
.
Which to an Ile had anciently beene told,
That after many yeeres were com'n and gone,
Which then came out, and the ſet time came on;
Nay, more it told the very day and howre,
Wherein ſhould fall ſo violent a ſhowre;
That it new Riuers in the earth ſhould weare,
And Dorps and Bridges quite away ſhould beare:
But where this Ile is, that I cannot ſhowe,
Let them enquire that haue deſire to know:
The Story leaues out that, let it alone;
And Goſsip with my Tale I will goe on:
Yet what was worſe the Prophecy this ſpake,
(As to warne men defence for it to make)
That vpon whom one drop ſhould chance to light,
They ſhould of reaſon be depriued quite,
This Prophecy had many an Age beene heard,
But not a man did it one pin regard;
For all to folly did themſelues diſpoſe,
(On veryer Calues the Sunne yet neuer roſe)
And of their laughter made it all their Theame,
By terming it the drunken Wizards dreame:
There was one honeſt man amongſt the reſt,
That bare more perfect knowledge in his breaſt;
And to himſelfe his priuat houres had kept,
To talke with God, whilſt others drunke or ſlept,
Who in his mercy to this man reueal'd▪
That which in Iuſtice he had long conceal'd
From the rude Heard but let them ſtill run on
The ready way to their deſtruction.
This honeſt man the Prophecy that noted,
And things therein more curiouſly had quoted,
Found all thoſe ſignes were truely come to paſſe,
That ſhould fore▪ſhowe this raine, and that it was
Neerely at hand; and from his depth of skill,
Had many a time fore-warn'd them of their ill,
••
d Preach'd to them this Deluge (for their good)
••
to th'old world Noe did before the Flood,
••
t loſt his labour, and ſince t'was in vaine,
•
o talke more to thoſe Ideots of the raine,
••
e let them reſt: and ſilent ſought about,
•
here he might finde ſome place of ſafety out,
•
o ſhroud himſelfe in, for right well he knew,
•
hat from this ſhower, which then began to brew,
••
o roofe of Tyle, or thatch he could come in,
•
ould ſerue him from being wet to the bare skin.
••
length this man bethought him of a Caue,
••
a huge Rocke which likely was to ſaue
Him from the ſhower, vpon a hill ſo ſteepe,
•
s vp the ſame a man could hardly creepe;
•
o that except Noahs flood ſhould come againe,
••
e neuer could be raught by any raine;
•
hither at length, though with much toyle he clome
•
iſtning to heare what would thereof become.
It was not long e'r he perceiu'd the skies
•
etled to raine, and a blacke cloud ariſe,
•
hoſe foggy groſneſſe ſo oppos'd the light,
•
s it would turne the noone-ſted into night,
When the winde came about with all his povver,
•
nto the tayle of this approaching ſhovver,
And it to lighten preſently began;
Quicker then thought, from Eaſt to Weſt that ran:
The Thunder following did ſo fiercely raue,
And through the thick clouds vvith ſuch fury draue
As Hell had beene ſet open for the nonce,
And all the Diuels heard to rore at once:
And ſoone the Tempeſt ſo outragious grew,
That it whole hedgerowes by th
•
rootes vp threw
So wondrouſly prodigious was the weather,
As heauen and earth had meant to goe together:
And downe the ſhower impetuouſly doth fall,
Like that which men the Hurricano call:
As the grand Deluge had bene come againe,
And all the world ſhould periſh by the raine,
And long it laſted; all which time this man
Hid in the Caue doth in his iudgement ſcan,
What of this inundation would enſue,
For he knew well the Prophecie was true:
And when the ſhower was ſomewhat ouerpaſt;
And that the skie began to cleare at laſt:
To the Caues mouth he ſoftly put his eare,
To liſten if he any thing could heare:
What harme this ſtorm had done, and what became
Of thoſe that had beene ſowſed in the ſame,
No ſooner he that nimble Organ lent,
To the Caues mouth; but that incontinent
There was a noyſe as if the Garden beares
And all the Dogs together by the eares,
And thoſe of Bedlam had enlarged bin,
And to behold the bayting had come in:
Which when he heard, he knevv too well alas,
That what had beene fore-told, was come to paſſe;
Within himſelfe good man, he reaſoned thus:
Tis for our ſinnes, this plague is falne on vs.
Of all the reſt, though in my wits I be,
(I thanke my Maker) yet it grieueth mee,
•
o ſee my Country in this piteous caſe;
•
oe's me that euer they ſo wanted grace,
•
t vvhen as man once caſts off vertue quite,
•
nd doth in ſin and beaſtlineſſe delight,
•
e ſee how ſoone God turnes him to a Sot:
•
o ſhow my ſelfe yet a true Patriot,
•
e in amongſt them, and if ſo that they
•
e not a curſt of God, yet, yet I may,
•
y wholeſome counſell (if they can but heare)
•
ake them as perfect as at firſt they vvere,
•
nd thus reſolu'd goes this good poore man downe,
•
hen at the entrance of the neighboring Towne,
•
e meets 2 woman with her buttocks bate,
•
ot vp a ſtride vpon a wall eyd Mare,
•
orunne a Horſe-race and was like to ride
•
uer the goodman; but he ſtept aſide;
•
nd after her, another that beſtroad
Horſe of ſeruice, with a Lance ſhe rode,
•
rm'd, and behind her on a Pillian ſatt
•
er frantique husband, in a broad brim'd Hat,
Maske and Safeguard; and had in his hand,
••
s mad Wiues Diſtaffe for a rvding Wand:
•
arſe from theſe mad folke, had he gone ſo farre,
•
s ſtrong man will eas'ly pitch a Barre:
••
t that he found a Youth in Tiſſue braue,
•
daintier man one would not wiſh to haue)
•
as courting of a loathſome meazeled Sow,
••
d in his iudgement ſwore he muſt alowe
••
s the prime Beauty, that he euer ſaw,
••
s was ſhe ſued to (by that prating Daw)
Who, on a Dunghill in the loathſome gore
Had farrowed ten Pigs ſcarce an houre before,
At which this man in melancholly deepe,
Burſt into laughter, like before to weepe,
Another foole, to fit him for the Weather,
Had arm'd his heeles with Corke his head with feather
And in more ſtrange and ſundry collours clad,
Then in the Raine-bowe euer can be had,
Stalk'd through the ſtreets, preparing him to flie,
Vp to the Moone vpon an Embaſsie,
Another ſeeing his drunken Wife diſgorge
Her pamperd ſtomacke, got her to a Forge,
And in her throat the Feauerous heat to quench
With the Smiths horne, was giuing her a Drench:
One his next neighbour haltred had by force,
So frantique, that he tooke him for a Horſe,
And to a Pond was leading him to drinke;
It went beyond the wit of man to thinke,
The ſundry frenzies that he there might ſee,
One man would to another married be:
And for the Curate taking the Towne Bull,
Would haue him knit the knot: another Gull
Had found an Ape was chained to a Stall,
Which he to worſhip on his knees doth fall;
To doe the like and doth his Neighbours get,
Who in a Chaire this ill-fac'd Munky ſet,
And on their ſhoulders lifting him on hie,
They in Proceſsion beare him with a cry,
And him a Lord will haue at leaſt if not,
A greater man; another ſort had got
•
bout a Pedlar, vvho had lately heard,
•
ow with the mad men of this Ile it far'd:
•
nd hauing nothing in his Packe but toyes,
•
hich none except meere mad men, and fond boyes
•
ould euer touch; thought verily that hee
•
mongſt theſe Bedlams, would a gayner be,
•
r elſe looſe all: ſcarce had he pitcht his packe,
•
re he could ſcarcely ſay, what doe yee lacke:
•
t that they throng'd about him with their money,
•
s thicke as Flyes about a pot of hony:
••
me of theſe Lunaticks, theſe frantique Aſſes,
••
ue him Spurryalls for his farthing Glaſſes:
•
here ſhould you ſee another of theſe Cattell,
•
i
•
e him a pound of filuer for a rattle;
•
nd there another that would needſly ſcorſe,
•
coſtly Iewell for a Hobby▪ Horſe:
•
r Bells, and Babyes, ſuch as children ſmall,
•
e euer vs'd to ſolace them withall:
•
hoſe they did buy at ſuch a coſtly rate,
•
hat it was able to ſubuert a State;
•
hich when this wiſe and ſober man beheld,
••
very griefe his eyes with teares were ſweld.
•
s, that ere I ſaw this day (quoth he)
•
at I my Natiue country-men ſhould ſee
•
this ſtate; when out of very zeale
••
th to his natiue earth, and common weale,
•
thruſt amongſt them, and thus frames his ſpeech.
Dea
••
Country▪ men, I humbly yee beſeech,
•
are
••
a little, and but marke me well,
•
s, it
••
not long ſince firſt yee fell,
Into this frenzie, theſe outragious fits,
Be not I pray ye ſo out of your wits:
But call to mind th'ineuitable ill
Muſt fall on yee, if ye continue ſtill
Thus mad and frantique: therefore be not worſe,
Then your bruite beaſts to bring thereby a Curſe
Vpon your Nephewes, ſo to taynt their blood,
That twenty Generations ſhall be woo'd,
And this braue Land for wit that hath bin fam'd,
The Ile of Ideots after ſhall be nam'd:
Your braines are not ſo craz'd, but leaue this ryot,
And tis no queſtion, but with Temperate Dyet,
And counſaile of wiſe men, when they ſhall ſee
The deſperate eſtate wherein you bee:
But with ſuch med'cines as they will apply,
They'll quickly cure your grieuous malady,
And as he would proceed with his Oration,
One of the chiefeſt of this
•
edlam Nation:
Layes hold on him, and askes who he ſhould bee,
Thou fellow (quoth this Lord) where had we thee,
Com'ſt thou to preach to vs that be ſo wiſe,
What wilt thou take vpon thee to aduiſe
Vs of whom all now vnderneath the skie,
May well be ſeene to learne frugalitie:
Why ſurely honeſt fellow thou art mad,
Another ſtanding by, ſwore that the had
Seene him in Bedlam foureteene yeeres agoe:
O quoth a third this fellow doe I know,
This is an arrant Coxecomb, a meere Dizzard,
If yee remember, this is the ſame Wizzard,
Which tooke vpon him wiſely to fore tell
The ſhower ſo many yeeres before it fell:
Whoſe ſtrong effects being ſo ſtrange and rare,
Hath made vs ſuch braue creatures as we are:
When of this Nation all the frantique Route,
〈…〉
ell into laughter the poore man about,
〈…〉
ome made mouthes at him, others as in ſcorne
With their forkt fingers pointed him the Horne:
They call'd him Aſſe, and Dolt, and bad him goe
〈…〉
mongſt ſuch Fooles, as he himſelfe was, who
〈…〉
ould not teach them: at which this honeſt man,
〈…〉
inding that naught, but hate and ſcorne he wan
〈…〉
mongſt theſe Ideots, and their beaſtly kinde,
〈…〉
he poore ſmall remnant of his life behinde,
〈…〉
etermineth to Solitude to giue.The morali
•
y of mother Red-Caps tale.
〈…〉
nd a true Hermite afterward to liue,
The tale thus ended, Goſsip by your leaue;
〈…〉
oth Mother Bumby, I doe well perceiue
〈…〉
he morrall of your Story, which is this;
Correct me Dame, if I doe iudge amiſſe)
〈…〉
firſt Ile tell you by this honeſt Ale,
〈…〉
my conceit this is a pretty Tale;
〈…〉
d if ſome hanſome players would it take,
(ſure) a pretty interlude would
•
ake,
〈…〉
t to the Morrall, this ſame mig
••
y ſhower
〈…〉
a plague ſent by ſupernaturall power,
〈…〉
pon the wicked: for when God intends
〈…〉
lay a curſe on mens vngodly ends,
〈…〉
vnderſtanding he doth them depriue;
〈…〉
hich taken from them vp themſelues they giue
〈…〉
beaſtlineſſe, nor will he let them ſee▪
The miſerable eſtate wherein they be.
The Rocke to which this man for ſafety climes,
The contemplation is of the ſad times
Of the declining World; his counſailes told
To the mad Route, to ſpoyle and baſeneſſe ſolde,
Showes that from ſuch no goodneſſe can proceede,
Who counſailes fooles, ſhall never better ſpeede.
Quoth Mother Red-Cap, you haue hit it right:
(Quoth ſhe) I know it Goſsip, and to quite
Your tale; another you of me ſhall haue,
Therefore a while your patience let me craue.
Out in the North tow'rds Greeneland farre away,
There was a Witch (as ancient Stories ſay)
As in thoſe parts there many Witches be:
Yet in her craft aboue all other, ſhee
Was the moſt expert, dwelling in an Ile,
Which was in compaſſe ſcarce an Engliſh mile,
Which by her cunning ſhee could make to floate
Whither ſhe liſt, as though it were a Boate:
And where againe ſhe meant to haue it ſtay,
There could ſhe fixe it in the deepeſt Sea:
Shee could ſell Windes to any one that would
Buy them for money, forcing them to hold
What time ſhe liſted, tye them in a thrid,
Which euer as the Sea-farer vndid,
They roſe or ſcantled, as his Sayles would driue,
To the ſame Port whereas he would ariue:
She by her Spels could make the Moone to ſtay,
And from the Eaſt ſhe could keepe backe the day,
Rayſe Miſts and Fogs that could Eclipſe the light,
And with the noone-ſted ſhe could mixe the night
Vpon this Ile whereas ſhe had abode,
Nature (God knowes) but little coſt beſtow'd:
Yet in the ſame, ſome Baſtard creatures were,
〈…〉
eldome yet ſeene in any place but there;
Halfe men, halfe Goate there was a certaine kinde,
〈…〉
uch as we Satyres purtray'd out doe finde,
Another ſort of a moſt vgly ſhape;
A Beare in body and in face an Ape:
Other like Beaſts yet had the feete of Fowles,
That Demy-Vrchins were, and Demy-Owles:
Beſides there were of ſundry other ſorts,
But wee'll not ſtand too long on theſe reports.
Of all the reſt that moſt reſembled man,
Was an o'
•
worne ill-fauoured Babian;
Which of all other, for that onely he
Was full of tricks, as they are vs'd to bee
Him in her craft, ſo ſeriouſly ſhe taught,
As that in little time ſhe had him brought,
That nothing could before this Ape bee ſet,
That preſently he could not counterfet;
〈…〉
he learnt him medicines inſtantly to make
Him any thing whoſe ſhape he pleas'd to take:
And when this skill ſhee had on him beſtow'd,
〈…〉
he ſent him for intelligence abroad.
Thus fully furniſh'd, and by her ſent out,
〈…〉
ee went to practiſe all the World about,
〈…〉
e like a Iipſey oftentimes would goe,
〈…〉
ll kind of Gibb'riſh he had learnt to know,
〈…〉
nd with a ſticke, a ſhort ſtring and a nooſe,
Would ſhow the people tricks at faſt and looſe:
〈…〉
ell folkes their Fortunes, for he would finde out
By ſlye enquirie, as he went about,
What chance this one he, or that ſhe had prou'd
Whom they moſt hated, or whom moſt they lou'd,
And looking in their hands, as there he knew it,
Out of his skill would counterfet to ſhew it:
Sometimes he for a Mountebanke would paſſe,
And ſhew you in a Cruſible, or Glaſſe;
Some rare extraction, preſently and runne,
Through all the cures that he therewith had done,
An Aſpick ſtill he carried in a poke,
Which he to bite him often would prouoke,
And with an oyle when it began to ſwell,
The deadly poyſon quickly could expell:
And many times a iugler he would be,
(A craftier knaue there neuer was then he;)
And by a miſt deceiuing of the ſight,
(As knauery euer falſifies the light)
He by his actiue nimbleneſſe of hand,
Into a Serpent would transforme a Wand,
As thoſe Egyptians, which by Magicke thought,
Farre beyond Moyſes wonders to haue wrought,
There neuer was a ſubtilty deuis'd,
In which this villaine was not exercis'd.
Now from this Region where they dwelt, not
〈…〉
There was a wiſe and learn'd Aſtronomer,
Who skilfull in the Planetary hovvres,
The working knew of the Celeſtiall powers,
And by their ill, or by their good aſpect,
Men in their actions wiſely could direct,
And in the blacke and gloomy Arts ſo skild,
That he (euen) Hell in his ſubiection hild;
He could command the Spirits vp from below,
And bind them ſtrongly, till they let him know
All the dread ſecrets that belong'd them to,
And what thoſe did, with whom they had to do.
This Wizzard in his knowledge moſt profound,
Sitting one day the depth of things to ſound;
For that the World was brought to ſuch a paſſe,
That it well neere in a confuſion was,
For things ſet right, ran quickly out of frame,
And thoſe awry to rare perfection came:
And matters in ſuch ſort about were brought,
That States were puſled almoſt beyond thought,
Which made him thinke (as he might very well)
There were more Diuels then he knew in hell.
And thus reſolues that he would caſt about
In his beſt skill, to find the Engine out,
That wrought all this, and put himſelfe therein:
When in this bus'neſſe long he had not bin;
But by the Spirits which he had ſent abroad,
And in this worke had euery way beſtow'd;
He came to know this Foule Witch, and her factor,
The one the Plotter, and the other th'Actor,
Of all theſe ſtirres, which many a State had ſpoyl'd,
Whereby the World ſo long had bene turmoyl'd,
Wherefore he thought it much did him behoue,
Out of the vvay this couple to remoue;
Or (out of queſtion) halfe the World e're long,
Would be diuided, hers, and his among,
When turning ouer his moſt myſtique bookes,
•
nto the ſecrets of his Art he lookes,
And th'earth, and th'Ayre doth with his Magiques fill,
That euery place was troubled by his skill;
Whilſt in his minde he many a thing reuolues,
Till at the laſt he with himſelfe reſolues;
One Spirit of his ſhould take the Witches ſhape,
Another, in the perſon of the Ape,
Should be ioyn'd with him, ſo to proue by this,
Whether their power were leſſe or more then his;
Which he performes, and to their taske them ſets,
When ſoon that Spirit, the Witch that counterfets,
Watch'd till he found her farre abroad to be,
Into a place then of her home gets he:
And when the Babian came the newes to bring
What he had done abroad, and eu'ry thing
Which he had plotted, how their bus'neſſe went,
And in the reſt to know her dread intent,
Where ſhe was wont to call him her deare ſonne,
Her little play-feere and her pretty Bun:
Hug him, and ſweare he was her only ioy;
Her very Hermes, her moſt dainty Boy,
O moſt ſtrange thing▪ ſhe chang'd her wonted cheare
And doth to him moſt terrible appeare:
And in moſt fearefull ſhapes ſhe doth him threaten
With eager lookes, as him ſhe would haue eaten,
That from her preſence he was forc't to flye,
As from his death, or deadly enemy.
When now the ſecond which the ſhape doth take
Of the Baboon, determining to make,
The like ſport with him, his beſt time doth watch,
When he alone the curſed Witch might catch;
And when her Factor fartheſt was remote,
Then he began to change his former note,
And where he wont to tell her pleaſing ſtories,
Ful of their Conqueſts, Triumphs▪ and their glories,
He turnes his Tale, and to the Witch relates,
The ſtrange reuolts of Tributary States,
Things go
•
ten backe, which late they had for prize,
With new diſcoueries of their policies;
Diſguſts and dangers that had croſt their cunning,
With ſad portents, their ruine ſtill forerunning;
That thus the Witch and the Baboon deceiu'd
Of all their hopes, of all their ioyes bereau'd,
As in deipaire doe bid the world adue,
When as the Ape which weake and ſickly grew,
On the cold earth his ſcuruy caryion layes,
And worne to nothing, ends his wretched dayes:
The filthy Hagg abhorring of the light,
Into the North paſt Thule takes her flight,
And in thoſe deepes, paſt which no Land is found,
Her wretched ſelfe ſhe miſerably drownd.
The tale thus ended, mother Owle doth take
Her turne, and thus to mother Bumby ſpake;
The tale our Goſsip Red-cap told before
You ſo well ridled that there can no more
Be ſayd of it, and therefore as your due,
What haue you done for her, Ile doe for you.The morallity of mother Bumbyes
•
al
•
And thus it is, that ſame notorious Witch,
Is the ambition men haue to be rich,
And Great, for which all faith aſide they lay,
And to the Deuill giue themſelues away,
The floating Ile where ſhe is ſayd to wonne,
The various courſes are through which they ronne,
To get their endes, and by the Ape is ment,
Thoſe damned Villaines made the inſtrument
To their deſignes, that wondrous man of skill,
Sound counſell is, or rather if you will,
The Diuine Iuſtice, which doth bring to
•
ight,
The wicked plots not raught by common
•
ight,
For though they neuer haue ſo cloſely wrought,
Yet to confuſion laſtly they are brought,
Goſsip, indeed, you haue hit it to a haire,
And ſurely your Morality is rare,
Quoth Mother Bumby: Mother Owle replyde,
Come, come, I know I was not very wide,
Wherefore to quit your Tales, and make them three
My honeſt Goſsips liſten now to me.
There was a man▪ not long ſince dead▪ but he
Rather a Diuell might accounted be:
For Iudgement at her beſt could hardly ſcan,
Whither he were more Deuill, or more man;
And as he was, he did himſelfe apply
T'all kind of Witchcraft, and blacke Sorcery:
And for his humour naturally ſtood,
To Theft▪ to Rapine, and to ſhedding blood,
By thoſe damn'd Hags with whom he was in grace,
And vſd to meet in many a ſecret place:
He learnt an hearbe of ſuch a wondrous power,
That were it gather'd at a certaine hower,
(For nature for the ſame did ſo prouide,
As though from knowledge gladly it to hide,
For at Sunſet itſelfe it did diſcloſe,
And ſhut itſelfe vp, as the morning roſe)
That with thrice ſaying a ſtrange Magique ſpell,
Which but to him, to no man they would tell,
When as ſo e'r that ſimple he would take,
It him a War-vvoolfe inſtantly would make,
Which put in practiſe he moſt certaine proou'd,
When to a Forreſt he himſelfe remou'd,
Through which there lay a plaine and common rode
Which he the place choſe for his chiefe abode,
And there this monſter ſet him downe to theeue,
Nothing but ſtolne goods might this fiend releeue;
No ſilly woman, by that way could paſſe,
But by this Woolfe ſhe ſurely rauiſht was,
And if he found her fleſh was ſoft and good,
What ſeru'd for Luſt, muſt alſo ſerue for food,
Into a Village he ſometime would get,
And watching there (as for the purpoſe ſet)
For little children when they came to play,
The fattſt he euer bore with him away;
And as the people oft were wont to riſe,
Following with Hubbubs and confuſed cryes:
Yet was he ſo well breathed, and ſo light,
That he would ſtill outſtrip them by his flight:
And making ſtraight to the tall Forreſt neere,
Of the ſweet fleſh would haue his Iunkets there.▪
And let the Sheepheards doe the beſt they could,
Yet would he venture oft vpon the fold:
And taking the fatt'ſt ſheepe he there could finde:
Beare him away, and leaue the dogs behind:
Nor could men keepe, ſo much as Pig or Lamb,
But it no ſooner, could drop from the Dam,
By hooke or crooke, but he would ſurely catch,
Though with their weapons all the Towne ſhould watch,
Amongſt the reſt there was a ſilly Aſſe,
That on the way by Fortune chanc'd to paſſe,
Yet (it was true) he in his time had bin
A very perfect man in ſhape▪ and skin:
But by a Witch enuying his eſtate,
That had borne to him a moſt deadly hate,
Into this ſhape he was transform'e, and ſo,
From place to place, he wandred to and fro,
And often times was taken for a ſtray,
And in the Pinfold many a time he lay;
Yet held he ſtill the reaſon that he had
When he was man, although he thus was clad
In a poore aſſes ſhape, wherein he goes,
And muſt endure what Fortune will impoſe.
Him on his way this cruell Woolfe doth take,
His preſent pray determining to make,
He bray'd▪ and ro
•
'd to make the people heare:
But it fell out, no creature being neare,
The ſilly Aſſe when he had done his beſt,
Muſt walke the common way among the reſt:
When tow'rds his den the cruell Wolfe him tugs,
And by the eares moſt terribly him lugs,
But as God would, he had no liſt to ſeed,
Wherefore to keepe him till he ſhould haue need,
The ſilly creature vtterly forlorne,
He brings into a Brake of Bryers and Thorne,
And ſo entangles by the mane and tayle,
That he might pluck, and ſtruggle there, and hale,
Till his breath left him, vnleſſe by great chance
Some one might come for his deliuerance.
At length the people grieuouſly annoy'd
By this vild Woolfe, ſo many that deſtroy'd,
Determined a Hunting they would make,
To ſee if they by any meanes could take
This rauenous War Woolfe: and with them they bring,
Maſtiffes, and Mungrells, all that in a ſtring
Could be got out, or could but lug a Hog,
Ball, Eateall, Cuttaile, Blackfoot, Bitch, and Dogg,
Bills, Batts and Clubs, the Angry men doe beare,
The Women eager as their husbands were
With Spits and Fireforks, ſware if they could catch him,
It ſhould go hard but they would ſoon diſpatch him
This ſubtill Woolfe by paſſengers that heard,
What forces thus againſt him were prepar'd,
And by the noyſe; that they were neere at hand,
Thinking this Aſſe did nothing vnderſtand,
Goes downe into a ſpring that was hard by,
(Which the Aſſe noted) and immediatly,
He came out perfect man, his Wolues ſhape left,
In which ſo long he had committed theft.
The ſilly Aſſe, ſo wiſtly then did view him,
And in his fancy ſo exactly drew him,
That he was ſure to owne this theefe agen,
If he ſhould ſee him mongſt a thouſand men,
This woolfe turn'd man, him inſtantly doth ſhrowd
In a neere thicket, till the boyſtrous crowd,
Had ſomewhat paſt him, then he in doth fall
Vpon the Reare, not any of them all
Makes greater ſtirre, nor ſeemes to them to be
More diligent to finde the Woolfe then he:
They beate each brake, and tuft o'r all the ground,
But yet the War-Woolfe was not to be found:
But a poore Aſſe entangled in the Bryers,
In ſuch ſtrange ſort, as euery one deſires
To ſee the manner, and each one doth gather,
How he was faſtned ſo, how he came thither,
The ſilly Aſſe yet being ſtill in hold,
Makes all the meanes, that poſsibly he could,
To be let looſe, he hummes, he kneeles, and cryes,
Shaketh his head, and turneth vp his eyes:
To moue their pitty: that ſome ſayd, t'was ſure
This Aſſe had ſence of what he did endure:
And at the laſt amongſt themſelues decreed
To let him looſe; the Aſſe no ſooner freed,
But out he goes the company among,
And where he ſaw the people thickſt to throng,
There he thruſts in, and looketh round about,
Here he runnes in, and there he ruſheth out;
That he was likely to haue throwne to ground
Thoſe in his way, which when the people found,
Though the poore Aſſe they ſeemed to diſ
•
laine,
Follow'd him yet, to find what he ſhould meane,
Vntill by chance that he this Villaine met;
When he vpon him furiouſly doth ſet,
Faſtning his teeth vpon him with ſuch ſtrength,
That he could not be looſed, till at length
Railing them in, the people make a Ring,
Strooke with the wonder of ſo ſtrange a thing;
Whilſt they are cadg'd contending whither can
Conquer, the Aſſe ſome cry, ſome cry the man:
Yet the aſſe drag'd him, & ſtil forward drue,
Towards the ſtrange ſpring, which yet they neuer knew
Yet to what part the ſtrugling ſeem'd to ſway,
The people made a lane, and gaue them way,
At length the Aſſe had tug'd him neere thereto,
The people wondring what he meant to doe;
He ſeem'd to ſhow them with his foot the Well,
Then with an Aſſe-like noyſe he ſeem'd to tell
The Story, now by pointing to the men,
Then to the Theefe, then to the ſpring agen,
At length waxt angry growing into paſsion;
Becauſe they could not find his demonſtration,
T'expreſſe it more, he l
•
apes into theſpring,
When on the ſuddaine, O moſt monſtrous thing,
To change his ſhape he preſently began,
And at an inſtant became perfect man,
Recouering ſpeech, and comming foorth accus'd,
The bloody murtherer, who had ſo abus'd
The honeſt people, and ſuch harme had done;
Before them all, and preſently begun
To ſhew them in what danger he had bin,
And of this Woolfe, the cruelty and ſin;
How he came chang'd agen as he had prou'd:
Whereat the people being ſtrangely moou'd,
Some on the head, ſome on the backe doe clap him,
And in their armes, with ſhouts and kiſſes hap him,
Then all at once vpon the War-woolfe flue,
And vp and downe him on the earth they drew;
Then from his bones the fleſh in Collops cut,
And on their weapons points in Triumph put;
Returning backe with a victorious ſong,
Bearing the man aloft with them along.
Quoth Gammer Gurton, on my honeſt word,
You haue told a Tale doth much conceit afford:
Good neighbour Howlet and as ye haue done,
Each one for other, ſince our Tales begunne,
And ſince our ſtand of Ale ſo well endures,The morality of mother Howlets tale.
As you haue morral'd Bumbyes, I will yours,
The fable of the War-wolfe I apply,
To a man, giuen to blood and cruelty,
And vpon ſpoyle doth onely ſet his reſt;
Which by a Woolfes ſhade liuely eſt is expreſt,
The ſpring by which he gets his former ſhape,
Is the euaſion aft
•
r euery rape,
He hath to ſtart by; and the ſilly Aſſe,
Which vnregard
•
d, euery where doth paſſe,
Is ſome iuſt ſoule, who though the world diſdaine,
Yet hee by God is ſtrangely made the meane,
To bring, his damned practiſes to light,Gammer Gurtons tale.
Quoth mother Howlet you haue hit the white,
I thought as much quoth Gammer Gurton then,
My turne comes next, haue with you once agen,
A mighty Waſte there in a country was,
Yet not ſo great as it was poore of graſſe;
T'was ſayd of olde, a Saint once curſt the ſoyle,
So barren, and ſo hungry, that no toyle,
Could euer make it any thing to beare;
Nor would ought proſper, that was planted there,
Vpon the earth, the ſpring was ſeldome ſeene,
T'was winter there, when each placeelſe was green
When Summer did her moſt abundance yeeld,
That ſtill lay browne, as any fallow field,
Vpon the ſame, ſome few trees ſcattering ſtood,
But it was Autumne, ere they vs'd to bud,
And they were crookt, and knotty, and the leaues,
The niggard ſap ſo vtterly deceiues,
That ſprouting foorth, they drouping hung the head
And were neere withered,
•
re yet fully ſpread,
No mirthfull Birds the boughs did euer grace,
Nor could be won to ſtay vpon that place,
Onely the night▪ Crow ſometimes you might ſee,
Croking to ſit vpon ſome Rampick-tree,
Which was but very ſeldome too, and then
•
t boded great mortality to men;
•
s were the trees, which on that common grew,
•
o were the cattell ſtaruelings, and a few,
•
ſſes, and Mules, and they were vs'd to gnaw
•
he very earth to fill the hungry maw,
When they far'd beſt they fed on Ferne and brak,
Their leane ſhrunke bellies cleau'd vp to their back,
Of all the reſt in that great Waſte that went,
Of thoſe quicke caryons, the moſt eminent,
Was a poore Mule vpon that common bred,
•
nd from his foaling further neuer fed,
•
he Summer well-neere euery yeare was paſt,
•
re he his ragged Winter coat could caſt,
•
nd then the Iade would get him to a tree,
•
hat had a rough bark, purpoſely▪ where he
•
ubbing his Buttocks, and his either ſide
Would get the old hayre from his ſtarued hyde,
••
d though he were as naked as my nayle,
•
et he would whinny then, and wagge the tayle,
•
this ſhort paſture one day as he ſtood,
•
eady to faint amongſt the reſt for food:
•
et the poore Beaſt according to his kinde,
•
aring his noſtrill vp into the Winde,
ſweet freſh feeding thought that he did vent,
"(Nothing as hunger ſharpneth ſo the ſent)
For that not far there was a goodly ground,
Which with ſweet graſſe, ſo greatly did abound,
That the fat ſoyle ſeem'd to be ouer fraught
Nor could beſtow the burthen that it brought,
Beſides that bounteous nature did it ſtick,
With ſundry ſorts of fragrant flowers ſo thicke,
That when the warme, and Baulmy ſouthwind blew
The luſhyous ſmells o're all the region flew,
Led by his ſence, at length this poore Iade found,
This paſture (fenc'd though with a mighty Mound)
A pale and quicke ſet, circling him about,
(That nothing could get in, nor nothing out)
And with himſelfe thus wittily doth caſt,
Well, I haue found good paſture yet at laſt,
If by ſome meanes accompliſht it might be,
Round with the ditch immediatly walks he;
(And long though't was, good lucke nere comes too late)
It was his chance to light vpon a gate
That led into it, (thoug
•
his hap were good)
Yet was it made of ſo ſufficient wood,
And euery bar that did to it belong,
Was ſo well ioynted, and ſo wondrous ſtrong
Beſides a greatlocke, with a double ward,
That he thereby of entrance was debar'd
And thereby hard beſet, yet though at length,
"T'was done by ſleight, that was not don by ſtrengt
•
Faſt in the ground his two fore-feet doth get,
Then his hard Buttocks to the gate he ſet,
And thruſt, and ſhooke, and laboured till at laſt,
The two great poſts, that held the ſame ſo faſt,
Began to looſen, when a gaine he takes,
Freſh foot-hold, and a freſh he ſhakes and ſhakes,
Till the great Hinges to flye off he feeles;
And heard the gate fall clattering at his heeles,
Then nayes and brayes, with ſuch an open throat,
That all the Waſte reſounded with his note;
The reſt that did his language vnderſtand,
Knew well there was ſome good to them in hand,
And tag, & rag, through thick & thin came running
Nor dale, nor ditch, nor banke nor buſhes ſhunning;
And ſo deſirous to ſee their good hap,
That with their thrunging they ſtucke in the gap.
Now they beſtir their teeth, and doe deuoure,
More ſweetneſſe in the compaſſe of one howre,
Then twice ſo many could in twice the time,
For now the ſpring was in the very prime,
Till pri
•
kt with plenty eas'd of all their lacks
Their pampred bellies ſwolne aboue their backs,
They tread and waddle all the goodly graſſe,
That in the field there ſcarce a corner was,
•
eft free by them, and what they had not ſwallow'd
There they had dung'd, and layd them down and wallowd,
One with another they wouldly and play,
And in the deepe fog batten all the day,
Thus a long while, this merry life they led
•
ill (euen) like Lard their thickned ſides were fed,
•
ut on a time the weather being fayre,
And ſeaſon fit to take the pleaſant ayre,
To view his paſture the rich owner went,
To ſ
•
e what graſſe the fruitfull yeare had ſent,
Finding the feeding for which he had toyl'd,
To haue kept ſafe, by theſe vile cattell ſpoyl'd,
He in a rage vpon them ſets his Cur,
But for his bawling, not a beaſt would ſtir;
Then whoots and ſhouts, and claps his hands, but
〈…〉
Might as well mooue the dull earth, or a tree,
As once but ſtirre them, when all would not doe,
Laſt with his goad amongſt them he doth goe,
And ſome of them he girdeth in the Hanches,
Some in the flankes, that prickt their very pa
•
ches
But when they felt that they began to ſmart,
Vp on a ſuddaine they together ſtart,
And driue at him as faſt as they could ding,
They flirt, they yerke, they backward fluce, and flin
•
As though the Deuill in their heeles had bin,
That to eſcape the danger he was in,
He back and backe into a quagmire by,
Though with much perill, forced was to flie:
But lightly treading there-vpon doth ſhift,
Out of the bog his cumbred feet to lift,
When they the perill that doe not fore-caſt,
In the ſtiffe mud, are quickly ſtabled faſt:
When to the Towne he preſently doth flie,
Rayſing the Neighbours with a ſuddaine crye:
With Cords and Halters that came all at once;
For now the Iades were fitted for the nonce:
For by that time th'had ſunke themſelues ſo deepe,
That ſcarce their heads aboue groūd they could kee
•
When preſently they by the necks them bound,
And ſo they led them to the common pound,
Quoth Mother Red-Cap, right well haue you done
Good Gammer Gurton, and as we begun,
So you conclude: tis time we parted now;
But firſt of my morallity alowe.
The common that you ſpeake of here, ſay I,The morallity of Mother Gurtons
•
s nothing elſe but want and beggery;
••
the World common, and the Beaſts that goe
Vpon the ſame, which oft are famiſh'd ſo:
•
re the poore bred in ſcarcity; the Mule
•
he other Cattell that doth ſeeme to rule,
•
ome crafty fellow that hath ſlily found
•
way to thriue by: and the fruit full ground
••
wealth, which he by ſubtilty doth win,
••
his poſſeſsion which not long hath bin;
•
ut he with ryot and exceſſe doth waſte,
•
For goods ill gotten doe conſume as faſt;
•
nd with the Law they laſtly doe contend,
•
ill at the laſt the Priſon is the end.
Quoth Gammer Gurton, well your ſelfe you quite,
•
y this the dawne vſurpt vpon the night;
•
nd at the vvindow biddeth them good day
•
hen they departed each their ſeuerall way▪
FINIS.
ELEGIES VP ON SVNDRY OCCASIONS
Of his Ladies not Comming to London.
THat ten-yeres-trauel'd Greek return'd from Sea,
Ne'r ioyd ſo much to ſee his Ithaca,
As I ſhould you, who are alone to me,
More then wide Greece could to that wanderer be,
The Winter windes ſtill Eaſterly doe keepe,
And with keene froſts haue chained vp the deepe▪
The Sun's to vs a niggard of his Rayes,
But reuelleth with our Antipodes;
And ſeldome to vs when he ſhowes his head,
Muſled in Vapours, he ſtraight hies to bed,
In thoſe bleake mountains can you liue, where ſno
•
Maketh the valles vp to the hilles to grow;
Whereas mens breaths doe inſtantly congeale,
And attom'd miſts turne inſtantly to hayle;
Belike you thinke, from this more temperate coſt,
My ſighes may haue the power to thaw the froſt,
Which I from hence ſhould ſwiftly ſend you thithe
Yet not▪ ſo ſwift, as you come ſlowly hither
How many a time hath Phebe from her wayne,
With Phabus fires filld vp her hornes againe;
Shee through her Orb, ſtill on her courſe doth rang
•
ut you keepe yours ſtill, nor for me will change.
•
he Sun that mounted the ſterne Lyons backe,
•
hall with the Fiſhes ſhortly diue the Bracke,
•
ut ſtill you keepe your ſtation, which confines
•
ou, nor regard him trauelling the ſignes,
•
hoſe ſhips which when you went put out to Sea,
•
oth to our Greeneland, and Virginia,
•
re now return'd, and Cuſtom'd haue their fraught,
•
et you arriue not, nor returne me ought.
The Thames was not ſo frozen yet this yeare,
•
s is my boſome, with the chilly feare,
Of your not comming, which on me doth light,
•
s on thoſe Climes, where halfe the world is night.
Of euery tedious howre you haue made two,
•
ll this long Winter here, by miſsing you,
•
inutes are months, and when the houre is paſt,
•
yeere is ended ſince the clocke ſtrooke laſt,
When your remembrance puts me on the racke,
•
nd I ſhould ſwound to ſee an Almanacke,
•
o read what ſilent weekes away are ſlid,
•
nce the dire Fates you from my ſight haue hid.
I hate him who the firſt deuiſor was
•
f this ſame fooliſh thing, the Hower▪glaſſe,
•
nd of the Watch whoſe dribling ſands and wheele,
•
ith their ſlow ſtroaks, make me too much to feele
•
our ſlackneſſe hither, O how I doe ban,
•
im that theſe Dialls againſt walles began,
•
hoſe Snayly motion of the moouing hand,
Although it goe) yet ſeeme to me to ſtand,
••
though at Adam it had firſt ſet out,
••
d had beene ſtealing all this while about,
And when it backe to the firſt point ſhould come,
It ſhall be then iuſt at the generall Doome.
The Seas into themſelues retract their ſlowes▪
The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,
Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,
The Stars riſe to vs, as from vs they fall;
Thoſe Birds we ſee, that leaue vs in the Prime,
Againe in Autumne re-ſalute our Clime,
Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,
Or you delight elſe to be Retrograde.
But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,
Like an Inchantreſſe you haue charm'd the howers
Into ſhort minutes, and haue drawne them backe,
So that of vs at London, you doe lacke,
Almoſt a yeare, the Spring is ſcarce begonne
There where you liue, and Autume almoſt done
With vs more Eaſtward, ſurely you deuiſe,
By your ſtrong Magicke, that the Sun ſhall riſe,
Where now it ſets, and that in ſome few yeares,
You'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares,
Yes, and you meane, I ſhall complaine my loue
To grauell'd Walkes▪ or to a ſtupid Groue,
Now your companions; and that you the while
(As you are cruell) will ſit by and ſmile,
To make me write to theſe, while paſſers by,
Sleightly looke in your louely face, where I
See Beauties heauen, whilſt ſilly blockheads, they
Like laden Aſſes, plod vpon their way,
And wonder not, as you ſhould point a Clowne,
Vp to the Guards, or Ariadnes Crowne;
Of Conſtellations, and his dulneſſe tell,
Hee'd thinke your words were certainely a ſpell;
Or him ſome piece from Creet, or Marcus ſhow,
In all his life which till that time ne'r ſaw
Painting: except in Alehouſe or old Hall
Done by ſome Druzzler, of the prodigall.
Nay doe, ſtay ſtill, whilſt time away ſhall ſteale
Your youth, and beauty, and your ſelfe conceale
From me I pray you, you haue now inur'd
Me to your abſence, and I haue endur'd
Your want this long, whilſt I haue ſtarued bin
For your ſhort Letters, as you held it ſinne
To write to me, that to appeaſe my woe,
I reade ore▪ thoſe you writ a yeare agoe,
Which are to me, as though they had bene made,
Long time before the firſt Olimpiad.
For thankes and ourt'ſies ſell your preſence then
To tattling Women, and to things like men,
And bee more fooliſh then the Indians are
For Bells, for Kniues, for Glaſſes, and ſuch ware,
That ſell their Pearle and Gold, but here I ſtay,
So would I not haue you, but come away.
To Maſter GEORGE SANDIS Treaſurer for the Engliſh Colony in Virgina.
FRiend, if you thinke my Papers may ſupplie
You, with ſome ſtrange omitted Nouelty,
Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,
You take me off before I can take hold
Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea,
For two moneths Voyage to Virginia,
With newes which now, a little ſome thing here,
But will be nothing ere it can come there.
I feare as I doe Stabbing; this word, State,
I dare not ſpeake of the Palatinate,
Although ſome men make in their hourely theame,
And talke what's done in Auſtria, and in Beame,
I may not ſo; what Spinola intends,
Nor with his Dutch, which way Prince Maurice bend
•
To other men although theſe things be free,
Yet (George) they muſt be my ſteries to me,
I ſcarſe dare prayſe a vertuous friend that's dead,
Leſt for my lines he ſhould be cenſuted,
It was my hap before all other men,
To ſuffer ſhipwarcke by my forward pen:
When King Iames entred: at which ioyfull time,
I taught his title to this Ile in rime:
And to my part did all the muſes win,
With high pitch Paeans to applaud him in:
When cowardiſe had tyd vp euery tongue,
And all ſtood ſilent, yet for him I ſung;
And when before by danger I was dar'd,
I kickt her from me, nor aiot I ſpar'd,
Yet had not my cleare ſpirit in Fortunes ſcorne,
Mee aboue earth and her afflictions borne;
He next my God on whom I built my truſt,
Had left me troden lower then the duſt:
But let this paſſe: in the extreameſt ill,
Apollo's brood muſt be couragious ſtill,
Let Pies and Dawes ſit Dumb before their death▪
Onely the Swan ſings at the parting breath.
And (worthy George) by induſtry and vſe,
Let's ſee what Lines
Ʋirginia will produce,
Goe on with Ovid as you haue begun,
With the firſt fiue bookes, let your numbers run,
Glib as the former, ſo ſhall it liue long,
And doe much honour to the Engliſh tongue:
Intice the muſes thither to repaire,
Intreat them gently, traine them to that ayre,
For they from hence may thither hap to flye,
T'wards the ſad time which but to faſt doth hie,
For Poeſie is followed with ſuch ſpight,
By groueling drones that neuer raught her height,
That ſhe muſt hence, ſhee may no longer ſtay,
The driery fates prefixed haue the day,
Of her departure, which is now come on,
And they command her ſtraightway to be gone;
That beſtiall heard ſo hotly her purſue,
And to her ſuccour, there be very few,
Nay none at all, her wrongs that will redreſſe,
But ſhe muſt wander in the wilderneſſe,
Like to the woman, which that holy Iohn,
Beheld in Pathm
•
s in his viſion.
As the Engliſh now, ſo did the ſtiffe-neckt Iewes,
Their noble Prophets vtterly refuſe,
And of thoſe men ſuch poore opinions had,
They counted Eſay and Ezechiel mad;
When Ieremy his Lamentations writ,
They thought the Wizzard quite out of his wit,
Such ſotts they were, as worthily to ly,
Lockt in the chaines of their captiuity,
Knowledge hath ſtill her Eddy in her flow,
So it hath bene, and it will ſtill be ſo.
That famous Greece where learning flouriſht moſt,
Hath of her Muſes long ſince left to boaſt,
Th'vnletter'd Turke, and rude Barbarian trades,
Where Homer ſang his lofty Iliades;
And this vaſte volume of the vvorld hath taught,
Much may to paſſe in little time be brought.
As if to Symptoms wee may credit giue,
This very time, vvhere in vve tvvo now liue,
Shall in the compaſſe, wound the Muſes more,
Then all the old Engliſh ignorance before,
Baſe Balatry is ſo belou'd and ſought,
And thoſe braue numbers are put by for naught,
Which rarely read, were able to awake,
Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to ſhake
The wandring clouds, and to our men at armes,
'Gainſt pikes and muskets were moſt powerfull charmes,
That, but I know, inſuing ages ſhall,
Raiſe her againe, who now is in her fall;
And out of duſt reduce our ſcattered rimes,
Th'reiected iewels of theſe ſlouthfull times,
Who with the Muſes would miſpend an hower,
But let blind Gothiſh Barbariſme deuoure
Theſe feuerous Dogdayes, bleſt by no record,
But to be euerlaſtingly abhord.
If you vouchſafe reſcription, ſtuffe your quill
With naturall bounties, and impart your skill,
In the diſcription of the place, that I,
May be come learned in the ſoyle thereby,
Of noble Wy
•••
health, and let me heare,
The Gouernour; and how our people there,
Increaſe and labour, what ſupplyes are ſent,
Which I confeſſe ſhall giue me much content;
But you may ſaue your labour if you pleaſe,
To write to me ought of your Sauages.
As ſauage ſlaues be in great Britaine here,
As any one that you can ſhew me there
And though for this, Ile ſay I doe not thirſt,
Yet I ſhould like it well to be the firſt,
Whoſe numbers hence into Virginia flew,
So (noble Sandis) for this time adue.
To. my noble friend Maſter WILLIAM BROWNE, of the euill time.
DEare friend, be ſilent and with patience ſee,
What this mad times Cataſtrophe will be,
The Worlds firſt wiſemen certainely miſtooke
Themſelues, and ſpoke things quite beſide the book
•
And that which they haue ſayd of God, vntrue,
Or elſe expect ſtrange iudgement to inſue.
This Ile is a meere Bedlam, and therein,
We all lye rauing mad in euery ſinne,
And him the wiſeſt moſt men vſe to call,
Who doth (alone) the maddeſt thing of all,
He whom the maſter of all wiſedome found,
For a marckt foole, and ſo did him propound,
The time vve liue in, to that paſſe is brought,
That only he a Cenſor now is thought:
And that baſe Villaine, not an age yet gone,)
Which a good man would not haue look'd vpon,
Now like a God▪ with diuine worſhip follow'd,
And all his actions are accounted hollow'd.
This world of ours, thus runneth vpon wheeles,
Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles,
Which makes me thinke of what the Ethinck▪
told,
Th'opinion the Pythagoriſts vphold,
That the immortall ſoule doth tranſmigrate;
Then I ſuppoſe by the ſtrong power of fate,
That thoſe which at confuſed Babell were,
And ſince that time now many a lingering yeare,
Through fooles, and beaſts, and lunaticks haue paſt,
Are here i
•
bodyed in this age at laſt,
And though ſo long we from that time be gone,
Yet taſte we ſtil of that confuſion.
For certainely ther's ſcarce one found that now,
Knowes what t'approue, or vvhat to diſalovv,
Al arſey var
•
ey, nothing is it's owne,
But to our prouerbe▪ all turn'd vpſide dovvne:
To doe in time, is to doe out of ſeaſon,
And that ſpeeds beſt, that's done the farth'ſt from reaſon
Hee's high'ſt that's low'ſt, hee's ſureſt in that's out,
He hits the next way that goes farth'ſt about,
Hee ge
••
eth vp vnlike to riſe at al,
He ſlips to ground as much vnlike to fall:
Which doth enforce me partly to preferre,
The opinion of that mad Philoſopher,
Who taught, that thoſe al-framing powers aboue,
(As
•
is ſuppos'd) made man not out of Loue
To him at all, but onely as a thing,
To make them ſport with, which they vſe to bring,
As men doe munkeys, puppets, and ſuch tooles,
Of laughter; ſo men are but the Gods of fooles,
Such are by titles lifted to the sky,
As wherefore no man knovves, God ſcarcely why;
The vertuous man depreſſed like a ſtone
For that dull Sot to raiſe himſelfe vpon:
He who ne're thing yet worthy man durſt doe,
Neuer durſt looke vpon his countreys foe,
Nor durſt attempt that action which might get
Him fame vvith men: or higher might him ſet
Then the baſe begger (rightly if compar'd)
This drone yet neuer braue attempt that dat'd,
Yet dares be Knighted, and from thence dares grow,
To any title Empire can beſtow;
For this beleeue, that impudence is now
A Cardinall vertue, and men it alow
Reuerence, nay more, men ſtudy and inuent,
New vvayes▪ nay glory to be impudent.
Into the clouds the Deuill lately got,
And by the moiſture doubting much the rot,
A medicine tooke to make him purge and caſt;
Which in ſhort time began to worke ſo faſt,
That he fell too't, and from his backeſide flew,
A rout of raſcall a rude ribauld crew
Of baſe Plebeians, which no ſooner light,
Vpon the earth, but vvith a ſuddaine flight,
They ſpread this Ile, and as Deucalion once
Ouer his ſhoulder backe, by throwing ſtones
They became men, euen ſo theſe beaſts became,
Owners of titles from an obſcure name.
He that by ryot of a mighty rent,
Hath his late goodly Partrimony ſpent,
And into baſe and wilfull beggery runne,
This man as hee ſome glorious act had done,
With ſome great penſion, or rich guift releeu'd,
When he that hath by induſtry atchieu'd
Some noble thing, contemned and diſgrac'd,
In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd,
As though that God had careleſſely left all
That being hath on this tereſtiall ball,
To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doe
With man, nor ought that doth belong him to,
Or at the leaſt God hauing giuen more
Power to the Deuill, then he did of yore,
Ouer this vvorld: the fiend as he doth hate
The vertuous man; maligning his eſtate,
All noble things, and would haue by his will,
To be damn'd with him vſing all his skill,
By his blacke helliſh miniſters to vexe
All worthy men, and ſtrangely to perplexe,
Their conſtancie, there by them ſo to fright,
That they ſhould yeelde them wholly to his might,
But of theſe things I vainely doe but tell,
Where hell is heauen, and heau'n is now turn'd he
•
,
Where that which lately blaſphemy hath bin,
Now godlineſſe▪ much leſſe accounted ſin;
And a long while I greatly maruail'd why
Buffoons and Bawds ſhould hourely multiply▪
Til that of late I conſtrued it, that they
To preſent thrift had got the perfect way,
When I concluded by their odious crimes,
It was for vs no thriuing in theſe times▪
As men oft laugh at little Babes when they
Hap to behold ſome ſtrange thing in their play,
To ſee them on the ſudden ſtrucken ſad,
As in their fancie ſome ſtrange formes they had,
Which they by pointing with their fingers ſhow,
Angry at our capacities ſo ſlow,
That by their countenance we no ſooner learne,
To ſee the wonder which they ſo diſcerne:
So the celeſtiall powers doe ſit and ſmile
At innocent and vertuous men the while,
They ſtand amazed at the world ore-gone,
So farre beyond imagination,
With ſlauiſh baſeneſſe, that the ſilent ſit
Pointing like children in deſcribing it.
Then noble friend the next way to controule
Theſe worldly croſſes, is to arme thy ſoule
With conſtant patience: and with thoughts as high
As theſe belowe, and poore, winged to flie
To that exalted ſtand, whether yet they
Are got with paine, that ſit out of the way
Of this ignoble age, which raiſeth none
But ſuch as thinke their blacke damnation
To be a trifle; ſuch, ſo ill, that when
They are aduanc'd, thoſe few poore honeſt men
That yet are liuing, into ſearch doe runne
To find what miſchiefe they haue lately done,
Which ſo prefers them; ſay thou he doth riſe,
That maketh vertue his chiefe exerciſe,
And in this baſe World come what euer ſhall,
Hees worth lamenting that for her doth fall.
Vpon the three Sonnes of the Lord SHEFFIELD, drowned in Humber.
LIght Sonnets hence, and to looſe Louers flie,
And mournefull Maydens ſing an Elegie,
On thoſe three Sheffields, ouerwhelm'd with waues
Whoſe loſſe the teares of all the Muſes craues;
A thing ſo full of pitty as this was,
Me thinks for nothing ſhould not ſlightly paſſe,
Treble this loſſe was, why ſhould it not borrow,
Through this Iles treble parts, a treble ſorrow:
But fate did this, to let the World to know,
That ſorrowes which from common cauſes grow,
Are not worth mourning for, the loſſe to beare,
But of one onely ſonne's, not worth one teare,
Some tender hearted man, as I, may ſpend
Some drops (perhaps) for a deceaſed friend,
Some men (perhaps) their wiues late death may r
〈…〉
Or wiues their husbands, but ſuch be but few:
Cares that haue vs'd the hearts of men to touch
So oft and deepely, vvill not now bee ſuch;
Who'll care for loſſe of maintenance, or place,
Fame, liberty, or of the Princes grace;
Or ſuites in lavv, by baſe corruption croſt:
When he ſhall finde, that this which he hath loſt;
Alas, is nothing to his, which did looſe,
Three ſonnes at once ſo excellent as thoſe:
Nay, it is feard that this in time may breed
Hard hearts in men to their owne naturall ſeed,
That in reſpect of this great loſſe of theirs,
•
en wil ſcarce mourne the death of their own heirs.
Through all this Ile their loſſe ſo publique is,
That euery man doth take them to be his,
And as a plague which had beginning there,
•
o catching is, and raigning euery where,
•
hat thoſe the fartheſt off as much doe rue them,
•
s thoſe the moſt familiarly that knew them;
Children with this disaſter are waxt ſage,
•
nd like to men that ſtrucken are in age,
•
alke what it is, three children at one time,
•
hus to haue drown'd, and in their very prime;
•
ea, and doe learne to act the ſame ſo well,
•
hat then old folke, they better can it tell.
Inuention oft that Paſsion vs'd to faine,
••
ſorrowes of themſelues but ſlight, and meane,
•
o make them ſeeme great, here it ſhall not need,
•
or that this Subiect doth ſo farre exceed
•
ll forc'd Expreſsion, that what Poeſie ſhall
•
appily thinke to grace it ſelfe withall,
••
lls ſo below it, that it rather borrowes,
•
race frō their griefe, then addeth to their ſorrowes,
•
or ſad miſchance thus in the loſſe of three,
•
o ſhewe it ſelfe the vtmoſt it could be:
•
xacting alſo by the ſelfe ſame lawe,
•
he vtmoſt teares that ſorrowe had to draw,
•
ll future times hath vtterly preuented
•
f a more loſſe, or more to be lamented.
Whilſt in faire youth they liuely flouriſh'd here,
••
their kind Parents they were onely deere,
•
t being dead, now euery one doth take,
Them for their owne, and doe like ſorrow make▪
As for their owne begot, as they pretended,
Hope in the iſſue, which ſhould haue diſcended
From them againe; nor here doth end our ſorrow,
But thoſe of vs, that ſhall be borne to morrow
Still ſhall lament them, and when time ſhall count,
To what vaſt number paſſed yeares ſhall mount,
They from their death ſhall duly reckon ſo,
As from the Deluge, former vs'd to doe.
O cruell Humber. guilty of their gore,
I now beleeue more then I did before,
The Brittiſh Story, whence thy name begun
Of Kingly Humber, an inuading Hun,
By thee deuoured, for t'is likely thou
With blood wert Chriſtned, blood-thirſty till now
The Ouſe, the Doue. And thou farre clearer Trent,
To drowne theſe Sheffields as you gaue conſent,
Shall curſe the time, that ere you were infus'd,
Which haue your waters baſely thus abus'd,
The groueling Boore ye hinder not to goe,
And at his pleaſure Ferry to and fro,
The very beſt part of whoſe ſoule▪ and blood,
Compar'd with theirs, is viler then your mud.
But wherefore Paper, doe I idly ſpend,
On thoſe deafe waters to ſo little end,
And vp to ſtarry heauen doe I not looke,
In which, as in an euerlaſting booke,
Our ends are written, O let times rehearſe,
Their fatall loſſe, in their ſad aniverſe.
To the noble Lady, the Lady I. S. of worldly croſſes.
MAdame, to ſhew the ſmoothneſſe of my vaine,
Neither that I would haue you entertaine
The time in reading me, which you would ſpend,
In faire diſcourſe with ſome knowne honeſt friend,
I write not to you. Nay, and which is more,
My powerfull verſes ſtriue not to reſtore,
What time and ſickneſſe haue in you impair'd,
•
o other end my Elegie is ſquar'd.
Your beauty, ſweetneſſe, and your gracefull parts
•
hat haue drawne many eyes, w
•
n many hearts,
Of me get little, I am ſo much man,
•
hat let them doe their vtmoſt that they can,
•
will reſiſt their forces: and they be
Though great to others, yet no
•
ſo to me.
The firſt time I beheld you, I then ſaw,
That (in it ſelfe) which had the power to draw,
My ſtay'd affection, and thought to allow
You ſome deale of my heart; but you haue now
Got farre into it, and you haue the skill
For ought I ſee) to winne vpon me ſtill.
When I doe thinke how brauely you haue borne
Your many croſſes, as in fortunes ſcorne,
And how neglectfull you haue ſeem'd to be,
Of that which hath ſeem'd terrible to me,
•
thought you ſtupid, nor that you had felt
•
hoſe griefes which (often) I haue ſeene to melt,
•
nother woman into ſighes and teares,
A thing but ſeldome in your ſexe and yeares,
But when in you I haue perceiued agen,
(Noted by me, more then by other men)
How feeling and how ſenſible you are
Of your friends ſorrowes, and with how much ca
•
You ſeeke to cure them, then my ſelfe I blame,
That I your patience ſhould ſo much miſname,
Which to my vnderſtanding maketh knowne
""Who feeles anothers griefe, can feele their owne
When ſtraight me thinks, I heare your patience ſay
Are you the man that ſtudied Seneca:
Plinies moſt learned letters; and muſt I
Read you a Lecture in Philoſophie,
T'auoyd the afflictions that haue vs'd to reach you,
I'
••
learne you more Sir, then your bookes can teac
•
yo
•
Of all your ſexe, yet neuer did I know,
Any that yet ſo actually could ſhow,
Such rules for patience, ſuch an eaſie way,
That who ſo ſees it, ſhall be forc't to ſay,
Loe what before ſeem'd hard to be diſcern'd,
Is of this Lady in an inſtant learn'd,
It is heauens will that you ſhould wronged be
By the malicious, that the world might ſee
Your Doue-like meekeneſſe; for had the baſe ſcum
The ſpawne of fiends, beene in your ſlander dumbe
Your vertue then had periſh'd, neuer priz'd,
For that the ſame you had not exerciſ'd;
And you had loſt the Crowne you haue, and glory
Neuer had you beene the ſubiect of my Story.
Whilſt they feele Hell, being damned in their hate
Their thoughts like deuils them excruciate,
Which by your noble ſufferings doe torment
Them with new paines, and giues you this content
To ſee your ſoule an innocent, hath ſuffered,
And vp to heauen before your eyes be offered:
Your like wee in a burning Glaſſe may ſee,
When the Sunnes rayes therein contracted be,
But on ſome obiect, which is purely white,
We find that colour doth diſperce the light,
And ſtands vntainted: but if it hath got
•
ome little ſully; or the leaſt ſmall ſpot,
Then it ſoone fiers it; ſo you ſtill remaine,
Free, becauſe in you they can finde no ſtaine.
God doth not loue them leaſt, on whom he layes
The great'ſt afflictions; but that he will praiſe
Himſelfe moſt in them, and will make them fit,
Near'ſt to himſelfe who is the Lambe to fit:
For by that touch, like perfect gold he tryes them,
Who are not his, vntill the world denies them,
And your example may worke ſuch effect,
That it may be the beginning of a Sect,
Of patient women; and that many a day,
All Husbands may for you their Founder pray.
Nor is to me your Innocence the leſſe,
•
n that you ſtriue not to ſuppreſſe
Their Barbarous malice; but your noble heart
Prepar'd to act ſo difficult a part,
With vnremoued conſtancy is ſtill
The ſame it was, that of your proper ill,
Th' effect proceeds from your owne ſelfe the cauſe,
Like ſome iuſt Prince, who to eſtabliſh lawes,
•
uffers the breach at his beſt lou'd to ſtrike,
•
o learne the vulgar to endure the like,
You are a Martir thus, nor can you be,
Leſſe to the world ſo valued by me:
If as you haue begun, you ſtill perſeuer,
Be euer good, that I may loue you euer.
An Elegie vpon the death of the Lady Pe
•
elope Clifton.
MVſt I needes write, whoſe hee that can refuſe
He wants a mind for her that hath no Muſe,
The thought of her doth heau'nly rage inſpire,
Next powerfull, to thoſe clouen tongues of fire.
Since I kn
•
w ought time neuer did allow
Mee ſtuffe fit for an Elegie, till now;
When France and England's Henry's dy'd, my quill
Why, I know not, but it that time lay ſtil.
'Tis more then greatneſſe that my ſpirit muſt raiſe
To obſerue cuſtome I vſe not to praiſe,
Nor the leaſt thought of mine yet ere depended,
On any one from whom ſhe was deſcended:
That for their fauour I this way ſhould wooe,
As ſome poore wretched things (perhaps) may do
•
I gaine the end, whereat I only ayme,
If by my freedome I may giue her fame.
Walking then foorth being newly vp from bed▪
O Sir (quoth one) the Lady Cl
•
ffto
•
s dead.
When, but that reaſon my ſterne rage withſtood,
My hand had ſure beene guilty of his blood,
If ſhee be ſo, muſt thy rude tongue confeſſe it▪
(Quoth I) and com'ſt ſo coldly to expreſſe it,
Thou ſhouldſt haue giuen a ſhreek, to make me fear the
That might haue ſtain what euer had bin neere the▪
Thou ſhuldſt haue com'nlike time Wth thy ſca
•
p bar
And in thy hands thou ſhouldſt haue brought thy haire,
Caſting vpon me ſuch a dreadfull looke,
As ſeene a ſpirit, or th'adſt beene thunder ſtrooke,
And gazing on mee ſo a little ſpace,
Thou ſhouldſt haue ſhot thine eye-balls in my face,
Then falling at my feet thou ſhouldſt haue ſayd,
O ſhe is gone, and Nature with her dead.
With this ill newes amaz'd by chance I paſt,
By that neere groue, whereas both firſt and laſt,
I ſaw her, not three moneths before ſhee dy'd:
When (though full Summer gan to vaile her pride,
And that I ſaw men lead home ripened Corne,
Beſides aduis'd me well;) I durſt haue ſworne
The lingring yeare the Autumne had adiourn'd,
And the freſh ſpring had been againe return'd,
Her delicacie, louelineſſe, and grace,
With ſuch a Summer brauely deckt the place:
But now alas, it lookt forlorne and dead;
And where ſhe ſtood, the fading leaues were ſhed,
Preſenting onely ſorrow to my ſight,
O God (thought I) this is her Embleme right.
And ſure I thinke it cannot but bee thought,
That I to her by prouidence was brought:
For that the Fates fore-dooming ſhe ſhould die,
Shewed me this wondrous Maſter-peece, that I
Should ſing her funerall, that the world ſhould know it
That heauen did thinke her worthy of a Poet;
My hand is fatall, nor doth fortune doubt,
For what it writes, not fire ſhall e'r race out,
A thouſand ſilken Puppets ſhould haue died,
And in their fulſome Coffins putrified,
Ere in my lines, you of their names ſhould heare
To tell the world that ſuch there euer were,
Whoſe memory ſhall from the earth decay,
Before thoſe rags be worne they gaue away,
Had I her god-like features neuer ſeene,
Poore ſleight Report had told me ſhe had beene
A hanſome Lady, comely, very well,
And ſo might I haue died an Infidell,
As many doe which neuer did her ſee,
Or cannot credit, what ſhe was by me.
Nature, her ſelfe, th
•
t b
•
fore Art prefers
To goe beyond all our Coſmogaphers,
By Charts and Maps exactly that haue ſhowne,
All of this earth that euer can be knowne,
For that ſhee would beyond them all d
•
ſcry,
What Art could not by any mortall eye;
A Map of Heauen in her rare features drue,
And that ſhe did ſo liuely and ſo true,
That any ſoule but ſeeing it might ſweare,
That all was perfect heauenly that was there.
If euer any Painter were ſo bleſt,
To draw that face, which ſo much hean'n expreſt,
If in his beſt of skill he did her right,
I wiſh it neuer may come in my ſight,
I greatly doubt my faith (weake man) leſt I
Should to that face commit idolatry.
Death might haue tyth'd her ſex, but for this one
Nay, haue ta'n halfe to haue let her alone,
Such as their wrinckled temples to ſupply,
Cyment them vp with
•
luttiſh Mercury,
Such as vndreſt were able to affright,
A valiant man approching him by night;
Death might haue taken ſuch, her end deferd,
Vntill the time ſhe had beene climaterd;
When ſhe would haue bin at threeſcore yeres and three,
Such as our beſt at three and twenty be,
With enuy then, he might haue ouerthrowne her,
When age nor time had power to ſeaſe vpon her.
But when the vnpittying Fates her end decreed,
They to the ſame did inſtantly proceed,
For well they knew (if ſhe had languiſh'd ſo)
As thoſe which hence by naturall cauſes goe,
So many prayers and teares for her had ſpoken,
As certainly their Iron lawes had broken,
And had awak'd heau'n, who clearely would haue ſhow'd
That change of Kingdoms to her death it ow'd,
And that the World ſtill of her end might thinke,
It would haue let ſome neighboring mountain ſinke
Or the vaſt Sea it in on vs to caſt,
As Seuerne did about ſome fiue yeares paſt:
Or ſome ſterne Comet his curld top to reare,
Whoſe length ſhould meaſure halfe our Hemiſphere,
Holding this height, to ſay ſome will not ſticke,
That now I raue, and am growne lunaticke:
You of what ſexe ſo ere you be, you lye,
'Tis thou thy ſelfe is lunatique, not I.
I charge you in her name that now is gone,
That may coniure you, if you be not ſtone,
That you no harſh, nor ſhallow rimes decline,
Vpon that day wherein you ſhall read mine,
Such as indeed are falſely termed verſe,
And will but ſit like mothes vpon her herſe;
Nor that no child, nor chambermaid nor page,
Diſturbe the Rome, the whilſt my ſacred rage,
In reading is; but whilſt you heare it read,
Suppoſe, before you, that you ſee her dead,
The walls about you hung with mournfull blacke,
And nothing of her funerall to lacke,
And when this period giues you leaue to pauſe,
Caſt vp your eyes, and ſigh for my applauſe.
Vpon the noble Lady ASTONS departure for ſpaine.
I Many a time haue greatly marueil'd why,
Men ſay their friends depart when as they die,
How well that word, a dying doth expreſſe,
I did not know (I truely muſt confeſſe,)
Till her departure, for whoſe miſſed ſight,
I am enforc'd this Elegie to write:
But ſince reſiſtleſſe fate will haue it ſo,
That ſhe from hence muſt to Iberia goe,
And my weake wiſhes can her not detaine,
I will of heauen in policy complaine,
That it ſo long her trauell ſhould adiourne,
Hoping thereby to haſten her returne.
Can thoſe of Norway for their wage procure,
By their blacke ſpells a winde that ſhall endure
Till from aboard the wiſhed land men ſee,
And fetch the harbour, where they long to
•
e,
Can they by charmes doe this, and cannot I
Who am the Prieſt of Phaebus, and ſo hie;
Sit in his fauour, win the Poets god,
To ſend ſwift Hermes with a ſnaky rod,
To Aeolus Caue, commanding him with care,
His proſperous winds, that he for her prepare,
And from that houre, wherein ſhe rakes the ſeas,
Nature bring on the quiet Halcion dayes,
And in that hower that bird begin her neſt,
Nay at that very inſtant, that long reſt
May ſeize on Neptune, who may ſtill repoſe,
And let that bird nere till that houre diſcloſe,
Wherein ſhe landeth, and for all that ſpace
Be not a wrinckle ſeene on Thetis face,
Onely ſo much breath with a gentle gale,
As by the eaſie ſwelling of her ſaile,
May at The neareſt harbour of Spaine.
Sebaſtians ſafely ſet her downe
Where with her goodnes ſhe may bleſſe the towne.
If heauen in iuſtice would haue plagu'd by thee
Some Pirate, and grim Neptune thou ſhould'ſt be
His Executioner, or what is worſe,
The gripple Merchant, borne to be the curſe
Of this braue Iland; let them for her ſake,
Who to thy ſafeguard doth her ſelfe betake,
Eſcape vndrown'd, vnwrackt, nay rather let
Them be at caſe in ſome ſafe harbour ſet,
Wher with much profit they may vent their wealth
That they haue got by vi
•
lany and ſtealth,
Rather, great Neptune, then when thou doſt raue,
Thou once ſhould ſt
•
wet her ſaile but with a vvaue.
Or if ſome proling Rouer ſhall but dare,
To ſeize the ſhip wherein ſhe is to fare,
Let the fell fiſhes of the Maine appeare,
And tell thoſe Sea-thieues, that once ſuch they were,
As they are now, till they aſſaild to rape;An Ile for the abunde
•
of wine ſuppoſed to be the habita
•
on of B
〈…〉
Grape▪ crowned Bacchus in a ſtriplings ſhape,
That came aboard them, and would faine haue ſayld,
To vine ſpread An Ile for the ab
•
ndance
•
f Wine ſuppoſed to bee the habitati
•
n of Bacchus
Naxus, but that him they faild▪
Which he perceiuing, them ſo monſtrous made,
And warne them how they paſſengers inuade.
Ye South and Weſterne winds now ceaſe to blow
Atumne is come, there be no flowers to grow,
Yea from that place reſpire, to which ſhe goes,
And to her ſailes ſhould ſhow your ſelfe but foes,
But Boreas and ye Eſterne windes ariſe;
To ſend her ſoone to Spaine, but be preciſe,
That in your ayde you ſeeme not ſtill ſo ſterne,
As we a Summer ſhould no more diſcerne,
For till that here againe, I may her ſee,
It will be winter all the yeare with me.
Yee ſwan-begotten louely brother ſtars,
So oft auſpicious to poore Marriners,
Yee twin-bred lights of louely Leda's brood,
Ioues egge-borne iſſue ſmile vpon the flood,
And in your mild'ſt aſpect doe ye appeare
To be her warrant from all future feare.
And if thou ſhip that bear'ſt her, doe proue good,
May neuer time but wormes conſume thy wood
Nor ruſt thy iron, may thy tacklings laſt,
Till they for reliques be in Temples plac't;
Mayſt thou be ranged with that mighty Arke,
Wherein iuſt Noah did all the world imbarque,
With that which after Troyes ſo famous wracke,
From ten yeeres trauell brought Vliſſes backe:
That Argo which to Colchos went from Greece,
And in her bottom brought the Golden Fleece,
Vnder braue Iaſon; or that ſame of Drake,
Wherein he did his famous voyage make
About the World, or Candiſhes that went
As farre as his about the Continent.
And ye milde windes that now I doe implore,
Not once to raiſe the leaſt ſand on the ſhore,
Nor once on forfeit of your ſelues reſpire:
When once the time is come of her retire,
If then it pleaſe you, but to doe your due,
What for thoſe Winds I did, Ile doe for you:
Ile wooe you then, and if that not ſuffice,
My pen ſhall proue you to haue dietyes,
Ile ſing your loues in verſes that ſhall flo
•
,
And tell the ſtories of your weale and woe,
Ile proue vvhat profit to the earth you bring,
And how t'is you that vvelcome in the ſpring,
Ile raise vp altars to you, as to ſhow,
The time ſhalbe kept holy, when you blow,
O bleſſed vvinds! your will that it may be,
To ſend health to her, and her home to me.
To my moſt dearely-loued friend Henry Reynolds Eſquire of Poets and Poeſie.
MY dearely beloued friend how oft haue we,
In vvinter euenings (meaning to be free)
To ſome well choſen place vs'd to retire;
And there with moderate meate, and wine, and fire,
Haue paſt the houres contentedly with chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then diſcourſ'd of that,
Spoke our owne verſes 'twixt ourſelues if not,
Other mens lines, which we by chance had got,
Or ſome Stage pieces famous long before,
Of which your happy memory had ſtore:
And I remember you much pleaſed were,
Of thoſe who liued long agoe to heare,
As well as of thoſe, of theſe latter times,
Who haue inricht our language with their times,
And in ſucceſſion, how ſtill vp they grew,
Which is the ſubiect that I now purſue;
For from my cradle (you muſt know that) I,
Was ſtill inclin'd to noble Poeſie;
And when that once Pueriles I had read,
And newly had my Cato conſtrued;
In my ſmall ſelfe I greatly maruail'd then,
Amongſt all other, vvhat ſtrange kind of men
Theſe Poets vvere; And pleaſed with the name,
To my mild Tutor merily I came:
(For I was then a proper goodly page,
Much like a Pigmy, ſcarſe ten yeares of age)
Claſping my ſlender armes about his thigh,
O my deare maſter; cannot you (quoth I)
Make me a Poet; doe it, if you can,
And you ſhall ſee, Ile quickly be a man,
Who me thus anſwered ſmiling, boy quoth he,
If you'le not play the wag▪ but I may ſee
You ply your learning, I will ſhortly reade
Some Poets to you; Phoebus be my ſpeed,
Too't hard went I, when ſhortly he began,
And firſt read to me honeſt Mantuan,
Then Virgils E
•
ogues, being entred thus,
Me thought I ſtraight had mounted Pegaſus,
And in his full Careere could make him ſtop,
And bound vpon Pernaſſus by clift-top,
I ſcorn'd your ballet then though it were done
And had for Finis William Elderton,
But ſoft, in ſporting with this childiſh ieſt,
I from my ſubiect haue too long digreſt,
Then to the matter that we tooke in hand,
Ioue and Apollo for the Muſes ſtand.
That noble Chaucer, in thoſe former times,
The firſt inrich't our Engliſh with his rimes,
And was the firſt of ours, that euer brake,
Into the Muſes treaſure, and firſt ſpake
In weighty numbers, deluing in the Mine
Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine.
And coyne for currant and as much as then
The Engliſh language could expreſſe to men,
He made it doe; and by his wondrous skill,
Gaue vs much light from his abundant quill.
And honeſt Gower, who in reſpect of him,
Had onely ſipt at Aganippas brimme,
And though in yeares this laſt was him before,
Yet fell he far ſhort of the others ſtore.
When after thoſe, foure ages very neare,
They with the Muſes which conuerſed, were
That Princely Surry, early in the time▪
Of the Eight Henry, who vvas then the prime
Of Englands noble youth, with him there came
Wyat; with reuerence whom we ſtill doe name
Amongſt our Poets, Bryan had a ſhare
With the two former, which accompted are
That times beſt makers, and the authors were
Of thoſe ſmall Poems, which the title beare,
Of ſongs and ſonnets, vvherein oft they hit
On many dainty paſſages of wit.
Gaſcoyne and Churchyard after them againe
•
n the beginning of Eliza's raine,
Accoumpted were great Meterers many a day,
But not inſpired with braue fier, had they
Liu'd but a little longer, they had ſeene,
Their workes before them to haue buried beene.
Graue morrall Spencer after theſe came on,
Then whom I am perſwaded there was none
Since the blind Bard his Iliads vp did make,
Fitter a taske like that to vndertake,
To ſet downe boldly, brauely to inuent,
In all high knowledge, ſurely excellent.
The noble Sidney, vvith this laſt aroſe,
That Heroe for numbers, and for Proſe,
That throughly pac'd our language as to ſhow,
The plentcous Engliſh hand in hand might goe,
With Greeke and Latine, and did firſt reduce
Our tongue from Lillies vvriting then in vſe▪
Talking of Stones, Stars plants, of Fiſhes, Flyes,
Playing with wordes, and idle Similes,
As th'Engliſh, Apes and very Zanies be
Of euery thing, that they doe heare and ſee,
So imitating his ridiculous tricks,
They ſpake and Writ, all like meere lunatiques.
Then Warner though his lines were not ſo trim'd▪
Nor yet his Poem ſo exactly lim'd
And neatly ioynted, but the Criticke may
Eaſily reproue him, yet thus let me ſay;
For my old friend, ſome paſſages there be
In him, vvhich I proteſt haue taken me,
With almoſt wonder, ſo fine, cleere and new,
As yet they haue beene equalled by few.
Noat Barlow bathed in the Theſpian ſpring
•
Had in him thoſe braue tranſlunary things,
That the firſt Poets had, his raptures were,
All Ayre, and fire, which made his verſes cleere,
For that fine madnes ſtill he did retaine,
Which rightly ſhould poſſeſſe a Poets braine.
And ſurely Naſhe, though he a Proſer were,
A branch of Laurell yet deſerues to beare,
Sharpely Satiricke was he, and that way,
He went, ſince that his being, to this day
Few haue attempted, and I ſurely thinke
Thoſe words ſhall hardly be ſet downe with inke,
Shall ſcorch and blaſt, ſo as his could, where he,
Would inflict vengeance, and be it ſaid of thee,
Shakeſpere thou hadſt as ſmooth a Comicke vaine,
•
itting the ſocke, and in thy naturall braine,
As ſtrong conception, and as cleere a rage,
As any one that traffiqu'd with the ſtage.
Amongſt theſe, Samuel Daniel, whom if I
May ſpeake of, but to cenſure doe denie,
Onely haue heard ſome wiſe men him rehearſe,
To bee too much Hiſtorian in verſe;
His rimes were ſmooth, his mee
•
ers well did cloſe,
But yet his manner better fitted proſe:
•
ext theſe, learn'd Iohnſon, in this Liſt I bring,
Who had drunke deepe of the Pierian ſpring,
Whoſe knowledge did him worthily prefer,
•
nd long was Lord here of the Theater,
Who in opinion made our learnd'ſt to ſticke,
Whether in Poems rightly dramatique,
•
trong Seneca or Plautus, he or they,
•
hould beare the Buskin, or the Socke away.
Others againe here liued in my dayes,
That haue of vs deſerued no leſſe praiſe
For their tranſlations, then the daintieſt wit,
Tha
•
on Parnaſſus thinks he higheſt doth ſit,
And for a chaire may mongſt the muſes call,
As the moſt curious maker of them all;
A
•
reuerent▪
Chapman, who hath brought to vs,
Muſaeus, Homer, and Heſiodus
Our of the Greeke; and by his skill hath reard
Them to that height, and to our tongue endear'd,
Tha
•
were thoſe Poets at this day aliue,
To
••
e their bookes thus with vs to ſuruiue,
They would thinke hauing neglected them ſo long
They
•
ad bin written in the Engliſh tongue.
And Silueſter who from the French more weak
•
Ma
•
e Bartas of his ſixe dayes labour ſpeake,
In naturall Engliſh, who, had he there ſtayd,
He had done w
•
ll, and neuer had bewraid,
His owne inuention, to haue beene ſo poore
Who ſtill wrote leſſe, in ſtriuing to write more,
•
hen dainty Sands, that hath to Engliſh done,
Smouth ſliding Ovid, and hath made him run,
With ſo much ſweetneſſe and vnuſuall grace,
As though the neatneſſe of the Engliſh pace,
Should tell the letting Latine that it came
But ſlowly after, as though ſtiffe and lame.
So Scotland ſent vs hither, for our owne
That man, whoſe name I euer would haue known
•
To ſtand by mine, that moſt ingenious Knight,
My Alexander, to whom in his right,
I want extreamely, yet in ſpeaking thus
I doe but ſhew the loue, that was twixt vs,
And not his numbers which were braue and hie,
So like his minde, was his cleare Poeſie,
And my deare Drummond to whom much
•
owe
For his much loue, and proud I was to know,
His Poeſie, for which two worthy men,
I Me
•
ſtry ſtill ſhall loue, and Hauth
•
rne-den,
Then the two Beamounts, and my Browne aroſe,
My deare companions whom I freely choſe
My boſome friends
•
and in their ſeverall wayes,
Rightly borne Poets, and in theſe laſt dayes,
Men of much note, and no l
•
ſſe nobler parts,
Such as haue freely told to me their hearts,
As I haue mine to them; but if you ſhall
Say in your knowledge, that theſe be not all
Haue writ in numbers be inform'd that I
Onely myſelfe, to theſe few men doetye,
Whoſe workes▪ oft printed, ſet on euery poſt,
To publique cenſure ſubiect haue bin moſt;
For ſuch whoſe Poems, be they nere ſo rare,
In priuate chambers that incloiſtred are,
And by tranſcription daintily muſt goe,
As though the world vn worthy were to know,
Their rich compoſures, let thoſe men that keepe
Theſe wonderous reliques in their iudgement deep,
And cry them vp ſo, let ſuch Peeces bee
Spoke of by thoſe that ſhall come after me,
I paſſe not for them: nor doe meane to runne,
In queſt of theſe, that them applauſe haue wonne,
Vpon our Stages in theſe latter dayes,
That are ſo many let them haue their bayes
That doe deſerue it; let thoſe wits that haunt
Thoſe publique circuits, let them freely chaunt
Their fine Compoſures, and their praiſe purſue,
And ſo my deare friend for this time adue,
Vpon the death of his incomparable friend, Sir Henry Raynsford, of Clifford.
COuld there be words found to expreſſe my loſſe
There were ſom hope, that this my heauy croſſ
•
Might be ſuſtained, and that wretched I
Might once finde comfort: but to haue him die
Paſt all degrees that was ſo deare to me;
As but comparing him with others, he
Was ſuch a thing, as if ſome power ſhould ſay
I'le take man on me, to ſhew men the way
What a friend ſhould be. But words come ſo ſhort,
Of him, that when I thus ſhould him report,
I am vndone, and hauing nought to ſay,
Mad at my ſelfe, I throw my penne away,
And beat my breaſt, that there ſhould be a woe
So high, that words cannot attaine thereto.
T'is ſtrange that I from my abundant breaſt,
Who others ſorrowes haue ſo well expreſt:
Yet I by this in little time am growne
So poore, that I want to expreſſe my owne.
I thinke the fates perceiuing me to beare
My worldly croſſes without wit or feare:
Nay, with what ſcorne I euer haue derided,
Thoſe plagues that for me they haue oft prouided,
Drew them to counſaile; nay, conſpired rather,
And in this buſineſſe layd their heads together,
To finde ſome one plague, that might me ſubuert,
And at an inſtant breake my ſ
•
ubborne heart;
They did indeed, and onely to this end,
They tooke from me this more then man, or friend.
Hard-hearted fates, your worſt thus haue you don
Then let vs ſee what laſtly you haue won,
By this your rigour, in a courſe ſo ſtrict,
Why ſee, I beare all that you can inflict:
And he from heauen your poore reuenge to view;
Laments my loſſe of him, but laughes at you,
Whilſt I againſt you execrations breath;
Thus are you ſcorn'd aboue, and curſt beneath.
Me thinks that man (vnhappy though it bee)
Is now thrice happy in reſpect of me,
Who hath no friend; for that in hauing none
He is not ſtirr'd as I am, to bemone
My miſerable loſſe, who but in vaine,
May euer looke to finde the like againe.
This more then mine owne ſelfe; that who had ſeene
His care of me where euer I had beene,
And had not knowne his actiue ſpirit before,
Vpon ſome braue thing working euermore:
He would haue ſworne that to no other end
He had beene borne; but onely for my friend.
I had beene happy, if nice nature had,
(Since now my lucke falls out to be ſo bad)
Made me vnperfect, either of ſo ſoft
And yeelding temper, that lamenting oft,
I into teares my mournefull ſelfe might melt;
Or elſe ſo dull, my loſſe not to haue felt,
I haue by my too deere experience bought,
That fooles and mad men, whom I euer thought
The moſt vnhappy, are indeed not ſo:
And therefore I leſſe pitty can beſtow
(Since that my ſence, my ſorrow ſo can ſound)
On thoſe I ſee in Bedlam that are bound,
And ſcarce feele ſcourging; and when as I meete free,
A foole by children followed in the Streete.
Thinke I (poore wretch) thou from my griefe art
Nor couldſt thou feele it, ſhould it light on thee;
But that I am a Chriſtian, and am taught
By him who with his precious blood me bought,
Meekely like him my croſſes to endure,
Elſe would they pleaſe me well, that for their cure,
When as they feele their conſcience doth them brand,
Vpon themſelues dare lay a violent hand,
Not ſuffering Fortune with her murdering knife,
Stand like a Surgeon working on the life,
Defecting this part, that ioynt off to cut,
Shewing the Artyre, ripping then that gut,
Whilſt the dull beaſtly World with her ſquint eye,
Is to behold the ſtrange Anatomy.
I am perſwaded that thoſe which we read
To be man-haters, were not ſo indeed
The Athenian Timon, and beſide him more
Of which the Latines, as the Greekes haue ſtore;
Nor not they did all humane manners hate,
Nor yet maligne mans dignity and ſtate.
But finding our fraile life how euery day,
It like a bubble vaniſheth away:
For this condition did mankind deteſt,
Farre more incertaine then that of the beaſt.
Sure heauen doth hate this world and deadly too
Elſe as i
•
hath done it would neuer doe,
For if it did not, it would ne'r permit
A man of ſo much vertue, knowledge, wit,
Of naturall goodneſſe, ſupernaturall grace,
Whoſe courſes when conſiderately I trace
•
nto their ends, and diligently looke,
They ſerue me for Oeconomike booke.
By which this rough world I not onely ſtemme,
•
n goodneſſe but grow learn'd by reading them.
O pardon me, it my much ſorrow is,
Which makes me vſe this long Parentheſis;
Had heauen this world not hated as I ſay,
•
n height of life it had not, tane away
A ſpirit ſo braue, ſo actiue, and ſo free,
That ſuch a one who would not wiſh to be,
Rather then weare a Crowne, by Armes though got
So faſt a friend, ſo true a Patriot,
•
n things concerning both the worlds ſo wiſe,
Beſides ſo liberall of his faculties,
That where he would his induſtrie beſtow,
He would haue done e'r one could thinke to doe.
No more talke of the working of the Stars,
For plenty, ſcarceneſſe, or for peace, or Warres.
They are impoſtures, therefore get you hence
With all your Planets, and their influence.
No more doe I care into them to looke,
Then in ſome idle Chiromantick booke,
Shewing the line of life, and
Ʋenus mount,
Nor yet no more would I of them account,
Then what that tells me, ſince that what ſo ere
Might promiſe man long life: of care and feare,
By nature freed, a conſcience cleere, and quiet,
His health, his conſtitution, and his diet;
Counting a hundred, foure ſcore at the leaſt,
Propt vp by prayers, yet more to be encreaſt,
All theſe ſhould faile, and in his fiftieth yeere
He ſhould expire, henceforth let none be deare,
To me at all, leſt for my hapleſſe ſake,
Before their time heau'n from the world them take,
And leaue me wretched to lament their ends
As I doe his, who was a thouſand friends.
Vpon the death of the Lady Oliue Stanhope.
CAnſt thou depart and be forgotten ſo,
Stanhope thou canſt not, no deare Stanohpe, no,
But in deſpight of death the world ſhall ſee,
That Muſe which ſo much graced was by thee;
Can blacke obliuion vtterly out-braue,
And ſet the vp aboue thy ſilent Graue.
I marueil'd much the Darbian Nimphs were dumb
Or of thoſe Muſes, what ſhould be become,
That of all thoſe, the mountaines there among,
Not one this while thy Epicedium ſung;
But ſo it is, when they of thee were reft,
They all thoſe hilles, and all thoſe riuers left,
And ſullen growne, their former feates remooue,
Both from cleare Darwin, and from ſiluer Doue,
And for thy loſſe, they grieued are ſo ſore,
That they haue vow'd they wil come there no more;
But leaue thy loſſe to me, that I ſhould rue thee,
Vnhappy man, and yet I neuer knew thee:
Me thou didſt loue vnſeene, ſo did I thee,
It was our ſpirits that lou'd then and not wee;
Therefore without prophaneneſſe I may call
The loue betwixt vs, loue ſpirituall:
But that which thou affectedſt was ſo true,
As that thereby thee perfectly I knew;
And now that ſpirit, which thou ſo loud'ſt, ſtill mine,
Shall offer this a Sacrifice to thine,
And reare this Trophe, which for thee ſhall laſt,
When this moſt beaſtly iron age is paſt;
I am perſwaded, whilſt we tvvo haue ſlept,
Our ſoules haue met, and to each other wept;
That deſtiny ſo ſtrongly ſhould forbid,
Our bodies to conuerſe as oft they did:
For certainly refined ſpirits doe know,
As doe the Angels, and doe here below,
Take the fruition of that endleſſe bliſſe,
As thoſe aboue doe, and what each one is,
They ſee diuinely, and as thoſe there doe,
They know each others wills, ſo ſoules can too.
About that diſmall time, thy ſpirit hence flew,
Mine much was troubled, but why, I not knew,
In dull and ſleepy ſounds, it often left me,
As if it ſelfe it ment to haue bereft me,
I ask'
•
it what the cauſe was, of ſuch woe,
Or what it might be, that might vexe it ſo,
But it was deafe, nor my demand would heare,
But when that ill newes came to touch mine eare,
I ſtraightwayes found this watchfull ſpirit of mine,
Troubled had bin to take it leaue of thine,
For when fate found, what nature late had done,
How much from heauen, ſhe for the earth had won,
By thy deare birth; ſaid, that it could not be
In ſo yong yeares, what it perceiu'd in thee,
But nature ſure, had fram'd thee long before;
And as rich Miſers of their mighty ſtore,
Keepe the moſt precious long'ſt, ſo from times paſt,
She onely had reſeru'd thee till the laſt;
So did thy wiſedome, not thy youth behold,
And tooke thee hence, in thinking thou waſt old.
Thy ſhape and beauty often haue to mee
Bin highly praiſed, which I thought might be,
Truely reported, for a ſpirit ſo braue;
Which heauen to thee ſo bountifully gaue;
Nature could not in recompence againe,
In ſome rich lodging but to entertaine.
Let not the world report then, that the Peake,
Is but a rude place only vaſt and bleake,
And nothing hath to boaſt of but her Lead,
When ſhe can ſay that happily ſhe bred
Thee, and when ſhe ſhall of her wonders t
•
ll,
Wherein ſhe doth all other tracts excell,
Let her account thee great'ſt, and ſtill to time
Of all the reſt, record
•
hee for the prime,
To Maiſter WILLIAM IEFFRYES, Chapleine to the Lord Ambaſſa
dour in Spaine.
MY noble friend, you challenge me to write
To you in Verſe, and often you recite,
My promiſe to you, and to ſend you newes;
As 'tis a thing I very ſeldome vſe,
And I muſt write of State, if to Madrid,
A thing our Proclamations here forbid,
And that word State ſuch Latitude doth beare,
As it may make me very well to feare
To write, nay ſpeake at all, theſe let you know
Your power on me, yet not that I will ſhow
The loue I beare you, in that lofty height,
So cleare expreſſion, or ſuch words of weight,
As into Spaniſh if they were tranſlated,
Might make the Poets of that Realme amated;
Yet theſe my laſt were, but that you extort
Theſe numbers from me, when I ſhould report
In home-ſpun proſe, in good plaine honeſt words
The newes our wofull England vs affords.
The Muſes here ſit ſad, and mute the while
A ſort of ſwine vnſeaſonably defile
Thoſe ſacred ſprings, which from the by-clift-hill
Dropt their pure Nectar into euery quill;
In this with State, I hope I doe not deale,
This onely tends the Muſes common-weale.
What canſt thou hope, or looke for from his pen,
Who liues with beaſts, though in the ſhapes of men,
And what a poore few are we honeſt ſtill,
And dare to be ſo, when all the world is ill.
I find this age of our markt with this Fate,
That honeſt men are ſtill precipitate
Vnder baſe Villaines, which till th'earth can vent
This her laſt brood, and wholly hath them ſpent,
Shall be ſo, then in reuolution ſhall;
Vertue againe ariſe by vices fall;
But that ſhall I not ſee, neither will I
Maintaine this, as one doth a Propheſie,
That our King Iames to Rome ſhall ſurely goe,
And from his Chaire the Pope ſhall ouerthrow.
But ô this world is ſo giuen vp to hell,
That as the old Giants, which did once rebel,
Againſt the gods, ſo this now liuing race
Dare ſin, yet ſtand, and
•
eere heau'n in the face.
But ſoft my Muſe, and make a little ſtay,
Surely thou art not rightly in thy way,
To my good Ieffrayes was not I about
To write, and ſee, I ſuddainly am out,
This is pure Satire, that thou ſpeak'ſt, and I
Was firſt in hand to write an Elegie.
To tell my, countries ſhame I not delight,
But doe bemoane't I am no Democrite:
O God, though Vertue mightily doe grieue,
For all this world yet will I not beleeue
But that ſhee's faire and louely, and that ſhee
So to the period of the world ſhall bee;
Elſe
•
ad ſhe beene forſaken (ſure) of all,
For that ſo many ſundry miſchiefes fall
Vpon her dayly, and ſo many take
Armes vp againſt her, as it well might make,
Her to forſake her nature, and behind,
To leaue no ſtep for future time to find,
As ſhee had neuer beene, for he that now
Can doe her moſt diſgrace, him they allow
The times chiefe Champion, and he is the man,
The prize, and palme that abſolutely wanne,
For where Kings Cloſets her free ſeat hath bin,
Shee neere the Lodge, not ſuffered is to Inne,
For ignorance againſt her ſtands in ſtate,
Like ſome great porter at a pallace gate;
So dull and barbarous lately are wee growne,
And there are ſome this ſluttery that haue ſowne,
That for mans knowledge it enough doth make,
If he can learne to read an Almanacke;
By whom that traſh of Amadis de Gaule,
Is held an Author moſt authenticall,
And things wee haue like Noblemen that be
In little time, which I haue hope to ſee
Vpon their foot-clothes, as the ſtreets they ride,
To haue their hornebookes at their girdles ti'd,
But all their ſuperfluity of ſpight
On vertues handmayd Poeſy doth light,
And to extirpe her all their plots they lay,
But to her ruine they ſhall miſſe the way,
For tis alone the Monuments of wit,
Aboue the rage of Tyrants that doe ſit,
And from their ſtrength, not one himſelfe can ſane,
But they ſhall triumph o'r his hated graue.
In my conceipt, friend, thou didſt neuer ſee
A righter Madam then thou haſt of mee,
For now as Elegiacke I bewaile
Theſe poore baſe times; then ſuddainely Ile raile
And I am Satiricke, not that I inforce
My ſelfe to be ſo, but euen as remorſe,
Or hate, in the proud fullneſſe of their hight
Maſter my fancy, iuſt ſo doe I write.
But gentle friend, as ſoone ſhall I behold
That ſtone of which ſo many haue vs told,
(Yet neuer any to this day could make)
The great Elixar, or to vndertake
The Roſe-Croſſe knowledge which is much like that,
A Tarrying-iron for fooles to labour at,
As euer after I may hope to ſee,
(A plague vpon this beaſtly world for mee)
Wit ſo reſpected as it was of yore,
And if hereafter any it reſtore,
It muſt be thoſe that yet for many a yeere,
Shall be vnborne that muſt inhabit here,
And ſuch in vertue as ſhall be aſham'd
Almoſt to heare their ignorant Grandſires nam'd,
With whom ſo many noble ſpirits then liu'd;
That were by them of all reward depriu'd.
My noble friend, I would I might haue quit
This age of theſe, and that I might haue writ,
Before a
•
other, how much the braue pen;
Had here bin honoured of the Engliſh men;
Goodneſſe and knowledge, held by them in priſe,
How hatefull to them ignorance and vice,
But it falls out the contrary is true,
And ſo my Ieffereyes for this time adue.
Vpon the death of Miſtris Elianor Fallowfield.
ACcurſed Death, what need vvas there at all
Of thee, or who to councell did thee call;
The ſubiect vvhere upon theſe lines I ſpend
For thee was moſt vnfit, her timeleſſe end
Too ſoone thou wrought'ſt, too neere her thou didſt ſtand;
Thou ſhouldſt haue lent thy leane and m
•
ager hand
To thoſe who oft the helpe thereof beſeech,
And can be cured by no other Leech.
In this wide world hovv many thouſands be
That hauing paſt foureſcore, do call for thee,
The wretched debtor in the Iayle that lyes,
Yet cannot this his Creditor ſuffice;
Doth woe thee oft with many a ſigh and teare,
Yet thou art coy, and him thou wilt not heare.
The Captiue ſlaue that tuggeth at the Oares,
And vnderneath the Bulls tough ſinewes rores,
Begs at thy hand, in lieu of all his paines,
That thou vvould'ſt but releaſe him of his chaines;
Yet thou a niggard liſteneſt not thereto,
W
〈…〉
ſhort gaſpe which thou might'ſt eaſily do,
But thou couldſt come to her ere there was need,
And euen at once deſtroy both flovvre and ſeede.
But cruell death if thou ſo barbarous bee,
To thoſe ſo goodly, and ſo young as ſhee;
That in their teeming thou wilt ſhew thy ſpight;
Either from marriage thou wilt Maides affright,
Or in their Wedlocke, Widdowes liues to chuſe
Their husbands bed, and vtterly refuſe,
Fearing conception; ſo ſhalt thou thereby
Extirpate mankind by thy cruelty.
If after direfull Tragedy thou thirſt,
Extinguiſh Himens Torches at the firſt;
Build Funerall pyles, and the ſad pauement ſtrew,
With mournful Cypreſſe, and the pale-leau'd Yewe.
Away with Roſes, Mirtle, and with Bayes;
Enſignes of mith, and iollity, as theſe;
Neuer at Nuptialls vſed be againe,
But from the Church the new Bride entertaine
With Weeping Nenias, euer and among,
As at departings be ſad Requiems ſong
Lucina by th'old Poets that wert ſayd,
Women in Child-birth euermore to ayde,
Becauſe thine Altars, long haue layne neglected:
Nor as they ſhould, thy holy fiers reflected
Vpon thy Temples, therefore thou doeſt flye,
And wilt not helpe them in neceſsity.
Thinking vpon thee, I doe often muſe,
Whether for thy deare ſake I ſhould a
•
cuſe
Nature or Fortune, Fortune then I blame,
And doe impute it as her greateſt ſhame,
To haſt thy timeleſſe end, and ſoone agen
I vexe at Nature, nay I curſe her then,
That at the time of need ſhe was no ſtronger,
That wee by her might haue enioy'd thee longer.
But whilſt of theſe I with my ſelfe debate,
I call to mind how flinty-hearted Fate,
Seaſeth the olde, the yong, the faire, the foule,
No thing of earth can Deſtiny controule:
But yet that Fate which hath of life bereft thee,
Still to eternall memory hath lef
•
thee,
Which thou enioy'ſt by the deſerued breath,
That many a great one hath not after death.
FINIS.