jifc* * yK
-
CHURCHYARD'S CHIPS
CONCERNING
g> C © C 1 a 13 D :
BEING
A COLLECTION OF HIS PIECES
RELATIVE TO THAT COUNTRY;
WITH
HISTORICAL NOTICES, AND A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR:
ORNAMENTED WITH CHURCHYARD'S ARMS, AND A FAC-SIMILE
OF HIS WRITING, AND SIGNATURE.
•
BY GEORGE CHALMERS, F.R.S.S.4.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER ROW; AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
1817.
C43
FAC SIMILE
OF
CHURCHYARD'S WRITING.
THE
LIFE
OF
\
- THOMAS CHURCHYARD.
THOMAS CHURCHYARD, in the biography of his country, has not the space, which the variety of his adventures, and the numerousness of his writings, seem to require. That he lived long, and wrote much, are facts, which are generally known from early no- tices. There appear to be still some doubts, about the epoch of his death, though the date of his burial has been ascertained, from the record of the parish. He died, says Lempriere, about the 1 1th of Elizabeth, 1570 : this was said on the doubtful authority of Gib- ber's lives of the poets, which quotes the still more inaccurate lives of the poets, by Winstanley. In this manner is biography written. Abridgements, says the great Bacon, are the bane of history, of which bio- graphy is one of the chief departments.
2 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
That Churchyard was a native of Shrewsbury is quite certain; and it is equally known, that he be- came a warrior, as well as a wit. But, when was he born? Through what period of time, did he so long fight, and still longer scribble? If he were 30, when he returned to the place of his birth, in 1550, after his captivity in Scotland, then was he born, in 1520. His appearance, in the Emperor's army, during May 1542, as Tanner intimates, and Du Tillet confirms, implies, that he must have been bom thus early, if not earlier. This point being thus settled, on pretty sure grounds, the other dates of his devious life fol- low of course. He was 17, in 1537 ; he came of age, in 1541; he passed his climacteric year, in 1583; and as he died, in April 1604, he lived to the ad- vanced age of 84. Happy ! if biography would of- tener call in the sure assistance of arithmetical cri- ticism; we should not so frequently be deluded, from the paths of truth, into the deviations of error.
Whether the father of Churchyard were a burgess, or a yeoman, is not quite clear: he himself is stu- dious to claim a genteel parentage : " Of a gentel " race, I might make boast : of gentel blood, and man- " ners both, and want but wealth alone," And, he goes on to conclude :
" So, born I was, to house, and land, by right ; " But, in a bag, to court I brought the same, " From Shrewsbury-town, a seat of ancient fame."
the Author.'] CHIPS. 3
Considering the age, he seems to have had a libe- ral education: he was fond of reading, and of music; and his father indulged him in both those natural propensities. When Churchyard studied at Oxford, A. a' Wood seems not to have distinctly ascertained : he travelled far, " to learn tongues," we are, by him- self assured. Yes : he served long, in the armies of the empire, as well as of Flanders ; and had many opportunities of acquiring the German, and the Flemish, the cognate tongues with his own English. He- fought, in the ranks of the soldiers of France, and resided long in Guisnes ; and by these means, may have learned the French. It was after his cam- paigns of 154-2-3, that he remained, for some time, upon the continent, to learn tongues, as he says him- self. He seems, indeed, in every situation to have been fond of reading ; as his works evince. Being come to seventeen years of age, in 1537, according to A. a' Wood's computation, from Churchyard's notice, the youth besought his father, to let him de- part, from home ; to seek his hap, amidst the many competitions of life :
" The ladd his farewel took, well-furnished, for the
nonce ; " And had about him, as I trow, his treasure all at
once." •
With his heels, adds Wood, as restless as his head,
B2
4, CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
he went to the royal court, laid aside his books, and so long as his money lasted, became a roister *. At length, having spent some months of libertinism, and wasted his money, he was obliged to look for ser- vice: and, this he found, by whatever recommen- dation, with Henry Howard, the earl of Surrey, a noble, who is never mentioned, but with praise. Churchyard had now some leisure, as well as incli- nation, under the protection of such a personage, to apply to his book ; to cultivate his music, and his muse. Yet, in a situation thus desirable, for such a youth, he appears not to have remained twice two years; and learned therein such fruitful skill, as long he held full dear ; he used the pen as he was taught, with other gifts also, which enabled him to hold his cap on head, where some do crouch full low. Such was the liberal service of his first master. It was in this service, that he wrote the many things, which he reclaims, as printed in Surrey's Miscellaney, 1557 : yet, was he prompted, by his passion for change, to quit in 154-1, the house of Surrey, whom he is stu- dious to praise, by every blandishment, which his fancy could supply.
If we may believe his own account, he did not now enter voluntarily into the war, which was renewed, in 1542, between the Emperor, and Francis I.
" When drum did beat, a soldier was I prest." * A turbulent, lawless, blustering fellow.
the Author.'} CHIPS. 5
In this wretched warfare, we find Churchyard en- gaged, after he had passed one and twenty, in May 1542; when the duke de Vendosme led a French army into the Netherlands, about St. Homers, and did great harm; "which I saw, says Churchyard, " being then a soldier, on the Emperor's side, under " Mons. de Rues, grand master of Flanders *." Thus early then, did Churchyard begin " to trail the pike." In this war of 154-2, Henry VIII. joined the Empe- ror, against Francis I.; and in it, he took Boulogne, which was badly defended by Vervins, who lost his head, for hjs misconduct. In September 1 54-4-, the Em- peror and Francis made their peace, at Crepi, with- put Henry's knowledge, which released Churchyard from his warlike services. In June 1546, Henry made his peace with Francis on such terms, as did not add much to his glory, or the national advantage. It was on the peace of Crepi, 1544, that, Churchyard '< Aweary of those wasting woes,
awhile he left the war, « And for desire to learn the tongues
he travell'd very far,
* Churchyard states those facts in his Choice, p. 2. — Jean du Tillet, in his Recueil, Paris, 1588, p. 100 1. recounts the same passage, almost literally, in May 1542. This clearly ascertains the date of Churchyard's first military campaign. He continued to serve in the Emperor's army, during the subsequent campaign of 1543,
g CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
" And had of every language part, when homeward did he draw, " And could rehearsal make full well of that abroad he saw."
Churchyard returned time enough, to see the sad fate of the admirable Surrey, his first master, and to witness the welcome demise of the worthless king, under whose axe he suffered, in January 1546-7.
The accession of Edward VI. was only another word, for war with Scotland ; to obtain, by whatever means, the infant hand of the Scotish queen, a way of wooing, which the earl of Huntley could not ap- prove. Here began the second scene of Churchyard's warfare. He was sent to Wark Castle, on the Scot- ish border, to act under captain Lawson. But, in this frontier garrison he did not long remain. The protector Somerset passed the English limits into Scotland, with a mighty army ; to subdue the queen's obduracy, or to waste her kingdom. On the 10th of September 1547, the forces of the rival nations met on Pinkie-field, with a resolution of making it a decisive day. The English were superior in what, generally, proves successful in war : they possessed higher discipline, longer experience, and better ma- terials: the Scots were worsted, but not discouraged. And the English obtained, by their victory, none of the objects, for which they fought; the hand of Mary, much less the conquest of a valorous people. Church*
the Author."] CHIPS. 7
yard, as he tells himself*, had the honour of being present, in that memorable conflict. He was less lucky, in the subsequent campaign. Serving in the fleet, under admiral, lord Clinton, and being sent with a detachment, in June 154-8, to lay waste the east nook of Fife, the English invaders were cut off, when many were slain, and a few taken. At that at- tack on Saint Monance, Churchyard had the misfor- tune to remain among the prisoners f. It was on that occasion, the lord James Stewart, the queen's bastard brother, when he was scarcely sixteen, first drew his sword, and showed that he could use it; as the Scotish historians delight to tell.
Churchyard, as he was well used, spent his capti- vity, in a pleasant manner : he, perhaps, was willing to be pleased, and he certainly knew how to please : he, indeed, informs us :
" I taken was, as destiny had decreed ; " Well, yet with words, I did my foes so feed ; " That there I lived, in pleasure, many a day, " And 'skeap'd so free, and did no ransom pay." He busied himself, he adds, in releasing many of his fellow-captives, on his own ransom-bond ; as he
* In his dedication to the earl of Hartford of the historical discourse of the Netherland governors, 1602.
f He notes himself, " I was taken, under the lord admiral " Clinton, at Saynt Mynnins :" the invaders advanced, incau- tiously, and had their retreat cut off.
8 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
is ready to recollect. He paid a high compliment to his own eloquence, when he said :
" To French, and Scots, so fair a tale I told,
" That they belie v'd white chalk and cheese was one,
" And it was pearl, that prov'd but peeble stone."
Churchyard was, plainly, a plausible man, who had many tales to tell, with a voluble tongue. But, what- ever may have been the pleasures of his sojourn, in Scotland, he took the first occasion of a very slight confinement, to depart, secretly, for the English garri- son of Lawder, which he entered, only, to be besieged. In the mean time, peace was declared on the 29th of March, 1550: towns were now surrendered, prisoners were set free, and the garrison of Lawder, including Churchyard, were marched to Berwick * ; whence the soldiers were sent home, as fast as money could be found, to pay their arrears. During the summer of 1550, Churchyard returned, from Scotland, into his own country, and to the court, about the age of thirty ; but, very ill provided with what the necessities of life require. His pen was always in his hand, and his muse constantly at his ear: and, soon after his return, from
* It is a fact, however, which Churchyard had forgotten, or never knew, that the government having, for a time, concealed the conclusion of peace, sir Hugh Willoughby had found it ne- cessary to capitulate with the Scots, for the surrender of Lawder $ reduced to such extremity, as to eat horse-flesh,
the Author. ,] CHIPS. 9
Scotland, he entered into his contest with Camel, about David Dicar's Dream, which provoked the lu- dicrous effusions of the poets of those times*. It was a very troublous moment, which did not admit the domestic disturbance of such discussions, and which, at present would only create laughter : and Churchyard was brought before the privy council, who watched over the country's quiet, with jealous solicitude, on account of some of his earliest poetry. But, he was luckily protected, by Somerset; and was dismissed, with a reprimand, when he might have been sent to the pillory, or the Fleet f.
Churchyard did not remain long, in London, to disturb the reign of Edward VI., with his poetry, or his pranks. He was sent by the way of Shrewsbury, to Ireland, which then required veteran soldiers. Here, he found sir Anthony St. Leger, a wise and noble knight, acting as lord deputy, who gave him
* See the names of the various publications, on that occasion, in Herbert.
f In his dedication of his Fortunate Farewell, 1599, to the r. h. lord Henry Seamer, he said : " I am bold, because your most honourable father, the duke of Somerset, (uncle to the re- nowned imp of grace, noble king Edward VI.) favoured me, when I was troubled, before the lords of the council, for writing some of my first verses. In requital whereof, ever since, I have honoured all his noble race," &c. The protector Somerset was sequestered, in October, 1551 : so that he could have been of no service to Churchyard, after that period.
10 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
such a place, as was to his avail*: Churchyard, having full pockets, and free spirits, cried out : " Then, testers walk'd, as thick as does the hail, '? About the world. For, lo ! from them I bore " For service done, of money right good store."
Yet, home he came, in the beginning of 1552. It was, probably, at this time, that he returned to Shrews- bury; that he attempted some study, that he wooed the widow Browning, who gave him a plain refusal, with some salutary advice ; that he was dissatisfied with himself, and the world ; and became troulled in mind} and that he broke his lute, and forswore his muse, and found solace only in war, with its perils, its varieties, and its pleasures. Such are the intima- tions, which are given, from his obscure notices of his own miseries.
Europe felt a fresh shock, when Francis I. by sur- prize, seized, in April 1552, the three bishopricks of Metz, Toul, and Verdun. When this event was known, in England, Churchyard fared to France : but he served in the Emperor's army, under captain Grayer. Charles V. with a hundred thousand men,
* On the 10th of September, 1550, sir Anthony St. Leger was sworn in, lord deputy: — on the 23d of May, 1551, sir James Croft was sworn in lord deputy, in the room of sir Anthony St. Leger. [Harris's Ware.] These dates mark the period of Church- yard's jfrs< service, in Ireland: and those dates seem to contradict the story of A. a' Wood, who speaks of Churchyard being then,
the Author.'] CHIPS. 1]
besieged Metz, which was defended by the duke of Guise, with the very flower of the French nobility. After a siege of many months, when thousands pe- rished by disease, more than by the sword, the Em. peror was induced, by necessity, to retire from his unavailing efforts, to attack more attainable objects. It was now, that Churchyard sailed down the plea- sant flood of Rhine ; and so, as he says himself, he served in Flanders: but, he was imprisoned, for coming out of France, without proper orders, no doubt ; yet, was he enlarged upon just representations, with the influence of " the noble Madame Sell de Embry." In hope, however, that war would him advance, he continued " to trail the pike," though he had the world to begin anew. During the campaign of 1553, Churchyard served under captain Gonnie, " with whom he was at wages," in the Emperor's army. At the siege of Torwain, the Burgoniers attempted the assault: but, Gonnie, who led the attack, with his band, was repulsed: Mons. Desse, the same ge- neral, who had commanded the French, in Scotland, and now defended this town, for the French king,
for a time, at Oxon; and soon taken into the service of the earl of Leicester, who is substituted, for the earl of Oxford. There is no evidence, that Churchyard bad ever any connection with theearl of Leicester; but, there is the clearest proof,that Church- yard acted in subservience to the earl of Oxford ; Churchyard was sent abroad, by lord Oxford ; and was security for his lord- •hip, to Mrs, Juliana Pen,
12 CHURCHYARD'S [ The Life of
was shot through the head, as he viewed the attack, on the 12th of June, 1553. Churchyard, who par- took of this repulse, continued in the same cause, during the subsequent campaign : and probably re- turned to England in 1555, when the war almost ceased of itself; from the exhaustion both of the Emperor, and the French king. Owing to the ca- prices of Henry VIII., English volunteers served during those wars, in adverse armies; so that English- men might have encountered Englishmen. But, on the accession of Mary, in July 1553, Doctor Wot- ton, who was then the English ambassador, in France, issued a notification , requiring English soldiers, either to enter into the Emperor's army, or to return home*. . It may be here convenient, to pause a moment, while we enquire a little, about those literary labours of Churchyard, while he thus trailed the pike-, and wore the corslet. According to Tanner, and the au- thor, he wrote, during the reign of Edward VI. A Mirrour for a man, wherein he shall see the mise- rable state of the world. A poem, entitled Davie Dicar's Dream, which one Camel wrote against ; but, whom he repelled, by "a playn and final confutation of Camel's cortyke ollatracion" in one folio sheet f.
* Churchyard states the above fact, which gave something like system to the military efforts of brave men.
f But, what is corlyke ollatration? The first maybe cwr-like, cjog-like : oblatration is more difficult, as it was probably an old,
the Author. "\ CHIPS. 13
Other wits engaged in this contestation : but, from the notice taken of Churchyard, by the vigilant se- verity of the ruling powers, we may infer, that they all ran the risk of their ears.
Churchyard, in the hope of advancement, conti- nued to serve the Emperor, under captain Matson. Three years, at least, he saw the Emperor's wars : then homeward drew, as was his wonted tread*. He was now well received : but, weather fair, and flowers full soon will fade :
" So people's love is like new besomes oft, " That sweeps all clean, whiles broom is green and soft."
English word of unfrequent use: we see it, however, in some of our earlier word-books; Oblatralion, a barking, a rayling. Cockeram's Eng. Diet. : so, in Coles's Eng. Diet. : so in Blount's Diet, of hard words : Oblatration (oblatratio) a barking, or making exclamation against any one : yet, the word, which is not a bad one, seems to have subsequently gone out of use.
* From such loose data, it is almost impossible to trace so devious an adventurer. He certainly went to France, in 1554; but, in the Emperor's service, during the same year, or early in the next, he came down the Rhine into the Low Countries; and, as he served the Emperor three years, he may have returned to England, in 1555, Let us add to this statement, his next ser- vice of eight years, under lord Gray, in the castle of Guisnes, which was certainly captured, on the 22d of January, 1558. Eight years deducted from 1558, would leave us, in 1550, when he had just returned, from Scotland. He must mean, that he served several years, under lord Gray.
14, CHURCHYARD'S {The Life of
He may have now indulged his propensity to scribble. In queen Mary's reign, he wrote a book, called A New Years Gift to all England, which treated of rebellion. If we may judge of the tree, by the fruit, Churchyard was loyal. And many things, in the book of songs and sonnets, printed then [Surrey's Poems, 1557] were of his making. Queen Mary, in an evil hour, for her own heart's ease, declared war against France, on the 7th of June, 1557. The wars was he again obliged to haunt; being " assigned thereto by lot." Churchyard now served as a lieutenant, under captain Born, in the garrison of Guisnes ; as he has himself declared. The misfortunes of this war of Mary, history has told. Calais was captured, by the duke of Guise, on the 7th of January, 1558. The duke, immediately, besieged Guisnes, which was va- lorously defended, by lord Gray, who, however, re- ceived little, if any, succour from England. The of- ficers and men, who had fought bravely, till their de- fences were destroyed, and their hope was gone, cried put for a capitulation, and threatened the governor, who did his duty. The officers, however, sent Church- yard out of the castle, to offer to surrender on cer- tain conditions *. They knew, that Churchyard spoke
* Of this adventure, Churchyard has left us a minute ac- count. In the dead of night, he passed the ditch, notwith- standing the caltrops: but, having neither trumpeter, nor drum- mer, to sound a parley, both being wounded, he was, imme-
the Author.'] CHIPS. ]5
the French, and had a plausible tongue, as well as a stout heart : the event evinced, that he was quite equal to the trust. Lord Gray was carried, imme- diately, to Paris, with Churchyard, as prisoners. The duke of Guise had an object, with regard to both : after a while, he informed lord Gray, that he might return to London, if he would be the bearer of a message*. But, Churchyard was retained, that he might be a witness of the terms; as he had made the capitulation. When lord Gray departed, in March 1558-9, Churchyard, who knew not the cause, be-
diately, taken prisoner, by the watch ; and was carried to the commander's tent. Churchyard, now, in humble wise, communi- cated his message. The duke of Alenjon objected to the terms ; as the defences of the garrison were ruined : to this Churchyard replied, with great deference, that admitting the fact, the offi- cers were skilful, and the soldiers were veterans ; and they were all Englishmen, who would fight, while one of them remained, rather than surrender, without honourable terms; and the as- sailants would lose many a man, in such a conflict. Meantime, the duke of Guise rode up, hearing that an officer had come out, with a message. He now cross-questioned Churchyard, who did not much like such an encounter, though the duke treated him civilly, and ordered him refreshment. The general, who knew the secret of his government, declared in favour of the terms offered, as the capture of the castle was the only object in view.
* On the 29th of March, 1558-9, says Cecil, lord Gray came into England ; and had a message, from the duke of Guise, to move peace, secretly. [Diary. J
16 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
trayed some discontent. So exhausted was England, at the accession of Elizabeth, that the genius of Cecil could not carry on such a war, with any hope of sUc- cess. The peace of Cateau Cambresis was made with France, and Scotland, on the2d of April, 1559. Yet, Churchyard, as it should seem, was still de- tained, for want of ransom, by the person, who claimed him, as his captive. This was an age of much reli- gion, but of little morality; and Churchyard was re- leased, on giving his bond, to return to Paris, if his ransom were not paid : yet, to return, forsooth, he had no lust :
" Sens faith could get no credit at his hand, " I sent him word to come and sue my band."
The Frenchman took Churchyard at his word: he came himself to court, and told his tale, as finely as he might: yet, when the matter came to be fully un- derstood, and it was known, that Churchyard had been forced to give a bond, beyond his means, for other Englishmen, the courtiers seemed to think, that the French had done him wrong, without them- selves doing him full right: Churchyard was then at Ragland,in Monmouthshire. He now found the coun- try not as he had left it, when he placed himself under lord Gray, at Guisnes: by the accession of Elizabeth, in November, 1 558, the administration of affairs was placed, chiefly, in Cecil's skillful hands. Church-
the Author."} CHIPS. 17
yard, who was now on the verge of forty, repaired to Shrewsbury, where some received him with open arms : but, says he, his friends were decayed ; his fa- ther was dead ; and the household was clean broke up ; he thus appears, on his return from France, in 1559, to have been quite desolate. He wrote to Elizabeth a few well couched lines, to explain his case: and boldly did he tell thesame to the queen herself: when "gracious" words three times he got, the fourth unfruitful was : such, then, was the unkind guerdon, which Church- yard received, after all his services, and his sufferings, as he supposed, and said, for the public benefit.
Let us, at this sad period of his life, inquire what he wrote, either for his amusement, or his means. He, certainly, had much leisure, while he lay in garrison, with lord Gray, in Guisnes. During that service, pro- bably, he wrote The Mirrour and Manners of Men, which remained unpublished till 1594, when, he said, it had been written fifty years before. The Tragedie of the lorde Mowbray, which was printed, in the Myrrourfor Magistrates, 1559, though his name ap- pears not, in this edition : yet, is justice done him, in the editions, 1587, and 1610. In that period, also, as we may easily suppose, Churchyard often threw out a sonnet, or a song, for the gratification of those, with whom he exclusively lived. It was, in that period, no doubt, that he wrote the tragedie of Shore's Wife, which, as Nash foretold, still makes him live, c
18 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
While Churchyard was dissatisfied, during the au- tumn, 1559, " for the leaf was at the fall," he thought of warfare, as his usual resource. He joined his old commander, lord Gray, who assembled the English army, at Berwick, early in March 1559-60, for the purpose of aiding theScotish insurgents, and expelling the French*. In April they marched forward towards Leith, and were joined, by their Scotish associates. The siege soon commenced, at which Churchyard was present, as he himself avows. The first assault was repulsed, as Cecil acknowledges. And, the as- sailants found, in every rencounter, such skill, and such valour, that the prospect of speedy success be- gan to vanish. Cecil, and Wotton, now set out, from London, at the end of May ; to try what could be done, by treaty, or artifice. After much valorous effort, and many shifts of policy, the 5th of July saw two treaties concluded; the cne, a formal agreement with the French ambassadors, for the equal retreat of the English, and French troops, from Scotland ; the other, a fictitious document, which transferred theScotish queen's prerogatives to her insurgent sub- jects. Thus, ended those short, but sharp, hostili- ties: and, at an after period, the muse of Churchyard sung of what he had seen, and felt, at the siege of
* From Cecil's Diary we learn: V July 1, 1559, the French " king ordered, that 200 men of arms, j»nd twenty ensignes of " footmen, should be sent into Scotland."
the Atithvr.'} CHIPS. 19
Leith. Churchyard returned to London, during the autumn of 1560, without being braver, or richer, or wiser.
He now informs us :
" A little breath I took, then after this,
" And shap'd myself about the court to be,
" And every day, as right and reason is,
" To serve the prince, in court, I settl'd me :
" Some friends I found, as friends do go, you see,
" That gave me words, as sweet as honey still,
" Yet, let me live, by head, and cunning skill."
By this attendance, Churchyard appears to have ob- tained nothing; and as he could not live upon nothing, he bethought himself of service abroad. He wrote a farewel to the court. He seems to have gone to Ire- land, with the companies of troops, which were sent thither, at the end of 1 564 : he appears, from his own story*, to have served in the Northern expedition, under sir Henry Sidney, in 1565, against O'Neil. Used as he had been to the hardships of warfare, he now felt still more the fatigues of hunting the Irish kern to their fastnesses. He returned, probably, with sir Henry Sidney, to England, at the end of the sea- son, after witnessing the submission of the earl of Desmond, at Limerick.
Hearing now of the disturbances, in the Nether-
* Challenge Sig. f. iii.
c2
20 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
lands, on account of religious grievances, Churchyard « trudged to Antwerp, to get some spending pence :" he found this great commercial city in a tumult, during the year 1566. He offered his services to the prince of Orange: the prince " Bad me do well, and shed no guiltless blood ; " And save from spoil, poor people, and their good." The prince retired, from this scene of tumult. The insurgents, amounting to 30,000, placed Churchyard at their head ; the nobles having fled : he saved the religious houses, and the town from " cruel sword, and fire." But, such a multitude, he could not manage long : and he was obliged to abscond ; and to make his escape, in priest's attire, but not with shaven crown. He found his way, through many hazards, into Sea- land, followed by the marshal : but, getting into a ship, at the Slues, notwithstanding that officer's searches, he arrived safe, in England, at the end of 1566*.
The troubled spirits of the Netherlanders were at length worked up to avowed resistance. At the be- ginning of 1567, the prince of Orange, encouraged by the princes of Germany, began to collect troops, athisown domain of Dillenborough, about ten leagues from Cologne. Thither was Churchyard sent, by the earl of Oxford, lord high chamberlain of England f,
* See his Civil Wars in the Netherlands, 1602, p. 4-5, for those singular adventures.
f Civil Wars in the Netherlands, 10.
the Author."] CHIPS. 21
as an agent, no doubt, to see, and to report what passed, at the commencement of a war, which was attended, by memorable consequences. He was obliged to go by the way of Paris, where, he was kindly assisted by lord Norris, the English ambas- sador. Churchyard arrived, at Dillenborough, in time to see the meeting of that great assembly of warriors, who were to contest with so great a general, as the duke of Alva, for the independence of the Low Coun- tries: Churchyard served under count de la March, as cornet-bearer to 250 light horsemen, during the first campaign of this signal war. The prince of Orange mustered his army of 22,000 foot, and 13,000 horse, beyond the Rhine, at Anderwike. The prince marched forward to Aix, Sentre, and Tongre : but, when he approached to Flanders, he was everywhere learded, by the duke of Alva, with 30,000 shot, and 4-,000 horsemen. The prince had thus a hard anta- gonist to contend with, for the prize of skill, expe- rience, and circumspection. These two great com- manders avoided a general action ; knowing how much they risqued, and might lose. After many sharp en- counters, the prince perceiving, that he could make no impression upon such a general as Alva, drew off his army, from Flanders, into France, near Guise, and St. Quinten; and afterwards marched into win- ter quarters, about Strasburgh. It was on this march, that Churchyard took his leave, and departed for En-
22 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
gland. From the account, which he afterwards pub- lished of the late campaign, we may easily suppose what report he made to the lord great chamberlain, his employer.
Churchyard now felt for the Flemings ; wished suc- cess to the prince of Orange ; and entertained a strong desire to see the event of the subsequent campaign of 1568. Whether he was again sent, by the lord great chamberlain, he does not say, though it may be inferred,from subsequent events, that he was ; but, he is studious to tell what risques he ran, and dangers he endured, in travelling through France to the Rhine, during an age of warfare, and demoralization. After escaping many hazards, he at length joined the prince of Orange at his house of Dillenborough. By the prince's people, Churchyard was now "made wel- "come, with many amad carouse." At the opening of the campaign, 1568, towards Flanders, they marched: but, for want of money, the prince's army lay for some months, near the Rhine, and at some distance, from such an enemy. Whatever may have been given out, the prince was too penetrating not to perceive the superiority of his opponent, in great talents, in a disciplined army, and the compactness of his force. Meantime, the governor of the Netherlands published an act of tolerance, for the protestants, which en- feebled the prince's arms. Owing to all those causes, the campaign of 1568 passed away, in demonstrations,
the Author. ] CHIPS. 23
rather than in efforts. Churchyard found, in his pri- vations, that his own share of suffering, was not the severest of the patriot soldiers. When the prince of Orange retired from Flanders, and passed into France, our adventurer asked his permission, to visit his na- tive soil. The prince assented, but, warned him, that the French, by some artifice, would arrest his jour- ney. The duke of Alva commanded every English- man to be detained, as so many pledges, for the Spanish treasure, that had been stopt, in England. We may thus see, that Churchyard ran a double risque of being detained, either in Flanders, or in France. Riding along the limits of the two countries, and pointing to the nearest port, he was betrayed by a peasant, into the hands of banditti, who robbed him of his horse and equipments, and from whom he escaped, by a sort of miracle. These disasters hap- pened, near St. Quinten. And he was now reduced to the necessity of trudging, on foot, sixty miles, through an unfriendly people ; while he was hardly treated, by the captain of Peronne, as he pressed for- ward to Abbeville. He at length found a vessel, which was bound to Guernsey, where he was well re- ceived, by captain Leighton, the governor. Yet, in this hospitable isle, he remained not longer, than his refreshment required. And he arrived, at last, after so many disasters, on his native soil, at the beginning of 1569, a year of disturbance, and rebellion.
24 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
" So coming home, and 'scap'd from toils abroad, " (With charged breast, and heavy heaving heart) " I thought, in court my burden to unload, " And cast away the cares of former smart. "But, there alas! my chance is so o'erthwart, " I sit, and sigh, and fold mine arms withall, " And in old griefs, afresh begin to fall." Churchyard was now arrived at the ripe age of forty- nine : and, in this extremity of distress, he was dis- owned, by the earl of Oxford, for whose service, he had acted so long, and suffered so much. In quest of solace, he retired to Bath, where he was seized with a fever and ague. In this retreat he found some pleasure, and perhaps some profit, in writing A Dis- course of Rel-dlion, drawn forth, for to warn the wanton Wits, how to keep their Heads on their Soulders*. With Camden, at hand, little commen- tary is required, to show the application of this well- timed treatise. While he lived, at Bath, on the 24th of May, 1569, Churchyard, seeing some colleaguing among the papists, wrote to Cecil, upon the point, who, with his usual vigilance, took some steps against them; as we may learn, from Strype, who speaks of Churchyard, as in that age, an excellent soldier, and poet, as well as a man of honest principles f. * It was printed for W. Griffeth, 1570. f Life of Grindal, 138: see Churchyard's letter to Cecil, herein after published, after the list of his writings, among the MSS. No. 1. from the Lansdown Col. in the British Museum.
the Author. .] CHIPS. 25
At length, Churchyard began to lament the want of fortune's gifts ; a house, a wife, and children there withal ; to bear a piece of all his woes, and to impart the privy pangs he felt : so, from a country soil, a sober wife, he chose. Who she was, and where he found her, it were idle to ask, and vain to inquire*. He was not happy, by this change of his condition. He wanted the means, and the temper, the desire of settlement, which marriage, generally, inspires, and brings. In his own house, with his wife, he seldom dwelt. When thousands slept, I waked, I swet, I swelt, said he, to compass that, I never could attain; and stilly from home, abroad, I break my brain f . But,
* Yet, have I a strong suspicion, that Churchyard has him- self left, in his Choice, a satirical account of his worthless wife, under the shadow of "A pitifull complaint, in manner of a tra- "gedie, of seignor Anthonio dell Dondaldoe's wife, sometime in " the duke of Florence's court: translated out of Italian prose, " and put into English verse."
It is, in the above tract, sign. Y l.that Churchyard says,
"That death itself was seen amidst his face
"A noble early as he beheld his case,
" Brake with the man "
This was the earl of Oxford, who employed him abroad: and, we thus see, that Churchyard might well say of the earl of Ox- ford, that he was no more to be compared with the earl of Sur- rey, than chalk is with cheese: yes, Surrey was far superior, as a statesman, as a soldier, as a scholar. In his Pitiful Complaint, he says, that he was taken with an ague: and this circumstance is mentioned, in his letter to Cecil.
f In Churchyard's letter to Cecil, he expresses his wish, for
26 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
his future fortunes, and misfortunes, are so extremely obscure, as not to be easily narrated, or even under- stood; owing to his loose hints, and discontinuous narratives. His wife was certainly alive, in 1579; but without issue by him.
After such a marriage, Churchyard could not re- main long at home; but, to the wars he went. The Netherlands continued to be the constant scene of warfare, while the Spaniards, and the duke of Alva, persecuted the States, while the prince of Orange re- sisted an unfeeling government. The nobles, and the prince, were proscribed. Churchyard and the English stipendiaries, were under captain Morgan, at the siege of Tergues, which was raised, in 1569, by the perse- vering fortitude of the Spanish soldiers, with the loss of 200 English, and French troops, who were either slain, or taken. After performing great service, sun- dry times, during half a year, Churchyard was again wounded, and taken prisoner. This happened, in 1570. Churchyard seems to have been now recog- nised as the soldier, who had mingled, in the late tumult of Antwerp; who had then only escaped death, for his misdeeds, to return, again and again, into a distracted country; he was now imprisoned, as a spy; and was even condemned to lose his head? an introduction to the queen's ambassador, in France: this in- timates,sufficiently, his design to go abroad, in 1569: "for," he adds, «« my mynd gyvs me that I shall never dy tyll I heer andj * ge the Gospell advanced to the uttermoest,"
the Author.*] CHIPS. 27
by martial law. The day, which was appointed for his execution, was even arrived, when a noble dame his respite craved; and spoke for him so fair, that the marshal of the camp listened to her speech: and he was pardoned, and again allowed to return home, with money in his purse. The fortunes, and misfor- tunes, of Churchyard seem to have been faithful re- presentations of the various struggles of victory, and defeat, during that pugnacious age.
Neither the experien ce,nor the hair-breadth escapes of Churchyard, could restrain him, from mingling in the hostilities of the Netherlands, while protestantism continued to be persecuted. He again seems to have joined with the English volunteers, who defended Zutphen, for the States, which was taken, however, by the son of Al va, in November 1 572. Churchyard, at the cool age of fifty-two, now hung up his corslet, like the soldier tired of war's alarms. He computes, in the usual way of his loose arithmetic, to have been a warrior fifty years: but, as he made his first campaign, in 1542, and sheathed his sword, in 1572, the period of his warfare can only be computed, at thirty years of wars, and woes, which left him wasted clean.
We are now to follow Churchyard, during more than thirty years of life's decline, while he subsisted, by his studious labours, amidst the feverish vexation of a shrewish wife. When he could, scarcely, recol- lect himself what he had written, during half 3 cen*
28 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
tury, it cannot be expected of us, at present, to go into minute accuracy, in giving an enumeration of his numerous tracts, both in prose, and verse.
Often as Churchyard had forsworn the court, when he had finished his last campaign, he imme- diately returned to his old haunts. He followed the queen, in her progress to Bristol, in August 1574?. He now supplied " The whole order how our sove- " reign lady was received in Bristowe,and the speeches " spoken before her presence, at her entry, with the " residue of the verses, and matter, that might not be " spoken, for distance of the place *." The poet, very ingeniously, contrived to show the queen some spe- cimens of hostile skirmishing, and of military assault. At the High Cross, in a disguised manner, stood FAME, very orderly set forth, by an excellent boy, who spoke, in the fourteen syllable verse of Phaer's alexandrines :
" Ne fleet of foot, nor swift of wing, nor scarce the thought in breast ;
" Nor yet the arrow out of bow, nor wind, that seld' doth rest;
" Compares with me, quick worlds report, that some calls flying fame,
" A bruit of praise, a blast of pomp, a blazer of good name :
* Published in his CHIPS, 1575, and republishcd in Nichols's Progresses, i.
the Author.] CHIPS. 29
" The only lawd, that kings do seek,
a joy to catch estate, " A welcome friend, that all men loves,
and none alive doth hate, " Salutes the queen of rare renown,
whose goodly gifts divine " Through earth, and air, with glory great,
shall pass this tromp of mine."
Then Fame threw up a great garland, to the re- joicing of the beholders. At the next gate, near her highness's lodging, stood three other boys, called
SALUTATION, GRATULATION, and OBEDIENT GOOD
WILL, who all endeavoured, with active emulation, to outdo each other, in commendation, flattery, and applause. The military operations were performed, on the subsequent day, the first not being long enough, for such verses, for such pleasing falsities, such artful adulation. When the whole came to be published, it was very properly dedicated to " Mister Christo- pher Hatton, Esquier," the captain of the queen's guard, who probably directed the poet, and his en- tertainment; and who had been the fast friend of Churchyard, during many years. While Elizabeth thus sat, in the streets of Bristowe, to hear such coarse flattery, Spenser was one-and-twenty, without any production of his muse; and Shakspeare was only ten years old, without feeling, where his genius -was to lead him.
SO CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
In the subsequent year, Churchyard brought but a second edition of the first part of his Chips, which had, originally, appeared before the public, in 1565. This edition contains only 56 double pages. The edition of the same work, in 1578, which is still called theirs/ edition of Churchyard's Chips, contains 120 double pages, and ends with the order of receiving the queen at Bristowe: the second part was ad- joined to the first, in printing the former, at page 57: by having before me both those editions of 1575, and 1578, 1 see, distinctly, what the truth was, with regard to the first, and second, parts of Churchyard's Chips*.
The Netherlands had been so much the adven- turous scenes of Churchyard's younger life, that he could not, in his latter days, refrain from visiting those celebrated countries, for commerce, for wars, for po- licy. He certainly went to Bruxelles, in the autumn of 1576 : but, whether he was sent thither, by some great man, or went, in obedience to his own desire, to contemplate the passing scene, appears not. At
* Churchyard thus apologizes for the title of his Miscellany: " And that from my head, hand, and pen, can flow no farfetched " eloquence, nor sweet sprinkling speeches (seasoned with spiced "terms) 1 call my works CHURCHYARC'SCHIPS, the baseness where- "of can beguile no man with better opinion, than the substance "itself does import; and indeed, if any other title had been " given to my trifles, than the proper name of Chips, men might " have hoped, for graver matter, than the nature of iny verses " can produce."
the Author.'] CHIPS. 31
Bruxelles, he saw a meeting of many ambassadors, to concert a pacification, for those wretched countries. He saw the rejoicing for' their peace restored. He perhaps remained long enough, to witness the breach of that treaty, by the habitual treachery of don John, the bastard of Austria*. When the civil war was soon after renewed, on the approach of summer, 1577, Churchyard returned to England, at the considerate age of fifty-seven. In the subsequent year, he pub- lished, A lamentable, and pitiful Description, of the woeful Wars, in Flanders, since the four last Years of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, his Reign f.
The creative faculties of Churchyard were now so well known, that Elizabeth intending to visit Norwich, and Norfolk, in August 1578, he was summoned, to give his assistance, in amusing the queen. Every
* The treaty was made, and confirmed on the 5th January, and the 17th of February, 1576-7. [Churchyard's Civil Wars of the Netherlands, 1602, p. 25.] "A peace was concluded; says " Churchyard, andfor the joy thereof I saw a general procession in " Bruxelles, where all the ambassadors, and states, were, (saving " the ambassador of England, and all the nobility of Flanders) " which made such a show, and reached such a length, in the " streets, and tarried so long there, as was a wonder to behold, " and the strangest view that had bee,n seen, in that place, for " many years before ; the number of gentlemen being so great, " and the common people so many." Doctor Wilson, he adds, was then English ambassador, in Flanders. [Churchyard's Wars, and Troubles, in Flanders, 1578, p. 62-3.]
f It was printed at London, by Newberie, 1578. 4to.
32 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
thing was done by the mayor, sir Robert Wood, to receive her majestic, joyfully, and to evince " the dolor of the citie, at her departure*. The queen re- mained here several days ; and every day brought forth something new, from Churchyard's invention, which seems to have been sufficiently fruitful. The following speech was spoken, by a boy, prepared for the occasion :
"Great things were meant to welcome theeO queen, " If want of time had not cut off the same: " Great was our wish, but small is that was seen, " For us to show, before so great a dame. " Great hope we have it pleas'd our prince's eye, " Great were the harms, that else our pains should
reap :
" Our grace, or fame, doth in your judgment lye, " If you mislike, our griefs do grow on heap ; " If for small things, we do great favour find, " Great is the joy, that Norwich feels this day : " If well, we wait the greatness of your mind, "Few words would serve, we had but small to say. "But, knowing thatyour goodness takes things well, " That well are meant, we boldly did proceed : "And so good queen, both welcome, and farewell ; "Thine own we are, in heart, in word, and deed." The boy did thereupon throw up his garland; and the queen's highness said:— This is fine! The citi- * Nichols's Progresses, ii.
the Author.] CHIPS. 33
zens" endeavoured well ; nothing very brilliant was expected ; and as adulation was the text, Elizabeth was of course pleased with the commentary *. When the queen departed out of the gates of Norwich, Master Churchyard had another show, which being finished, her majestic, in princely manner, marched forwards to the citie's confines f. Before she came there, the mayor intimated to the lord chamberlain, that he had another oration to speak, which his lord- ship willed him to forbear; as it was seven o'clock, and the queen had five miles to ride. Then she called Mr. Mayor and knighted him; and so departing, said, I have laid up in my breast such good-will, as I shall never forget Norwich; and proceeding onward, did shake her riding-rod ; and said, Farewell Norwich, with the water standing in her eyes.
Churchyard had scarcely returned to London, from acting his part, in amusing Elizabeth, when he pub- lished, in October 1579, Churchyardes Choise, a quarto miscellany, in prose, and verse ; and containing thir-
* The whole discourse of the queen's majestie's entertainment, id Suffolk, and Norfolk, with a description of many things, then presently seen, was set forth, by Churchyard j and printed, by Bynneman, servant to the rt. hon. sir Christopher Hatton, 4to.j it was republished, in Nichols's Progresses, ii.
f On Thursday, in the morning, saith Churchyard, my lord chamberlain gave me warning, the queen's highness would ride abroad, in the afternoon j and he commanded me to be ready, dutifully to present her with some show. D
34? CHURCHYARD'S [TAe Life of
teen different tracts. More than one half of the vo- lume consists of a general rehearsal of wars, in the Netherlands, in Scotland, in Ireland, which, as the narrative wants dates of time, and place, is now de- ficient in interest: but, for this defect, he apologizes, by saying, that his object was not to write a chronicle, but a few passages, " for passing of the time, and "pleasuring of his friends," in the manner of the an- cient minstrels. His two concluding tracts are Epi- taphs on the virtuous Edward VI. and the worthy earl of Essex.
In the subsequent year, A. a' Wood appears, to have lost sight of Churchyard, in tracing the events of his life. Time, the revealer of secrets, has dis- closed, that our adventurer was obliged, during a year, in which he published many pamphlets, to seek for shelter, in Scotland. The year 1580 was a period of great intrigue, in that country, and some mo- mentous measures. The object of king James, and his minions, was to impeach, and punish the earl of Morton, for his participation, in the murder of the king's father: the purpose of Elizabeth, and her mi- nisters, was, to protect him, by any means. Ran- dolph, the notorious agent of the English govern- ment, endeavoured to raise a rebellion of the Scotish barons; and engaged, in the most dangerous measures, till he was driven away, by firing shot into his windows. Churchyard, when he left England, seems not to have
the Author.'} crtips. 35
been very hotly pursued; and Elizabeth's agents, perhaps, made use of his blandishments of tale-telling, and poetic scribbling, to sooth the king*. Church- yard, after a while, was viewed with malignant eyes ; and he, also, was despitefully used; and was shot at, day after day: whereupon, he asked leave of the king, to depart, which was easily granted him : and he re- turned southward to Aymouth, at the end of June 1581; whence he wrote to lord Hunsdon, the queen's lieutenant, at Berwick, to allow him to remain, in safety, till he could obtain her majesty's gracious pardon, for his late fact, committed by chance, and against his willf. Churchyard had a friend at court, in sir Christopher Hatton, who had influence suffi- cient, to obtain greater matters, than a pardon, for
* We know, indeed, from the treasurer's accounts, that in February, 1580-1, there were paid to " Thomas Churchyard, " Inglisman, conform to the K. precept ; as the same, and the "said Thomas, acquittance bear, 200J." Scotish money, which was then as eight to one of the English.
f See lord Hunsdon's letter, and Churchyard's statement of the earl of Arran's message, hereinafter published. The fact committed, by Churchyard, which obliged him, to abscond, for a season, I believe was a passage, in his CHOISE, sig. O 1. where- in he speaks too bluntly, " of our sovereign ladie's great regard " to soldiers— who had gone from court, with full hands, that " began with empty purses." The whole paragraph, which is too strongly expressed, must have given great disgust to a court, which affected such extreme delicacy, amounting even to re- markable prudery.
D2
36 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
the poor poet's accidental fault. Churchyard re- mained, at Edinburgh, long enough to see Morton beheaded, on the second of June, 1581 ; whose tra- gedie, our poet lived to publish, in his Challenge, under happier circumstances, in 1593.
There is reason to believe, that Churchyard was not soon restored, either to the freedom of the court, or the benefit of the city. He published much the year before he retreated to Scotland : we see few, indeed, none of his labours, for some years, after his return, in 1581. He was, perhaps, told, that he would do well to be awhile quiet, and his offence would be forgotten*. The first, perhaps, of Church- yard's writings, after his numerous publications of 1580, was his Scourge for Relells, in 1584: " where- " by are many notable services truly set forth, with "every particular point, touching the troubles of " Ireland, as far as the painful, and dutiful service of " the earl of Ormondf." There is reason to believe,
* Churchyard, in the dedication of his Sparke of Friendship, and Warm Goodwill, to sir Walter Raleigh, in March 1588-9, says, with infinite thankfulness — " Yourself, six years passed " [1582-3] bestowed good speeches to the q. majestie, in myhe- " half, by the which, I got some comfortable recreation, to quick- " en my spirits, and keep me in breath." We thus perceive, that Churchyard was not only received into favour, but also obtained some present subsistence; owing to the manly eloquence of Raleigh.
f The above tract was printed, for Cadman, 1 584, 4to. [Her- bert, 1323 : it is in the Brit. Museum.]
the Author. 1 CHIPS. 37
that Churchyard was not only restored to his former state, about that time, but was even allowed some pension, or annual subsistence, from the queen's bounty*. His next labour was the Worthines of Wales, which he, affectionately, supposes, would de- light many thousands; and which seems to have been the precursor of Drayton's Polyolbion, though this eminent writer supposed, that his poem was the first of this kind of chorographical illustration : and yet Churchyard in apologizing to the reader, for under- taking, in the end of his days, to make a description of countries, said, whereof, many before had learn- edly handled: it is not, however, meant, to compare Churchyard with Drayton, as a poet, or the Poly- olbion of the one, with the Worthines of Wales of the other f. In February 1586-7, appeared Whetstone's Cen-
* In 1587, he published his ITorthines of Wales, which he de- dicated to the queen's most excellent majestic: but, he advances to her presence, with great diffidence, and speaks of his work, with abundant circumspection. At the conclusion, he says: "thus " duetifully praying for your majestie's long preservation, (by " whose bountie, and goodnesse, 1, a long while, have lived,} I wish " your highnesse all the hap, honour, victory, and hart's ease, *' that can be desired, or imagined."
f A second part of the Worthines of Wales was intimated, in 1594 j but, it seems never to have appeared. The Welsh seem never to have been very forward promoters of works on their own literature, or antiquities.
38 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
sure of a loyall Subject upon certain notable traitors, and also, of the Scotish queen, now (thanks be to God) cut off, by justice, as the principal root of all their treasons. On the back of the title-page is an advertisement, which is signed, by T. C.; and which is given by the intelligent editor of the BIBLIOGRA- PHER, to Thomas Churchyard. This advertisement was, plainly, written by T. C. : but, the orthography is so different, from the absurd spelling of Church- yard, who never wanted gratitude, that I doubt, whether he was the substitute, on this calumnious occasion, of George Whetstone *. This is one of the abominable publications, by which Cecil tried, to ca- lumniate the Scotish queen, even after the grave had closed upon the eyesore of Elizabeth, though not on her compunctions; but, without burying the lasting enmities of her inveterate minister.
In 1588, when every one drew his sword, to oppose the armada, Churchyard, a professed soldier, seems only to have drawn his pen. He was now 68, when the military spirit, generally, evaporates, in tales twice told, of youthful feats, in the adventurous field. In this year of danger, and glory, he published, as we have seen, his Sparke of Friendship, and Good Will, to sir Walter Raleigh, who showed his kindness, for the author, when kindness was of most value to him, who had travelled, through the forest of affliction : * Bibliographer, iv. 140.
the Author.'] CHIPS. 39
our poet now shows the Commoditie of Science, and the Benefit of Paper .-
" I praise the man, that first did paper make, " The only thing, that sets all virtues forth; " It shows new books, and keeps old works awake, " Much more of price, than all the world is worth*."
This is a very interesting poem, and merited wel to be republished. In the same memorable year, Churchyard showed his zeal, by writing A Reluke to Rebellion, which he dedicated to the queen, with " ten millions of treble blessings, and fifteen-fold of " good fortunes to her majestic."
Soon after occurred, in 1590, a transaction, which involved Churchyard, in some distress, and Edward Vere, the earl of Oxford, in additional disgrace. The earl, with his servants, took his lodging, and board, in the house of Mrs. Juliana Pen, on St. Peter's-hill,
* This work is reprinted by Mr. Nichols, in his Progresses, ii. There seems to have been some mistake, even by the accurate Ritson, as to an edition of the above work, in 1558, which, if dedicated to Raleigh, must have been when he was only six years old. Churchyard admits what is more important :
" That old art only is revived anew."
He shows, that Thirlby having been sent to the emperor Charles V., as ambassador, at his return brought with him "a learned mail, Remegius, by name ;" and made, by his device, a paper- mill, but not so much in price, as this, that standeth now near Darthforth, where Spilman, may himself, and household, dwell.
40 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
with whom he lived, and lodged, a quarter of a year, and incurred a debt of five and twenty pounds. Being unable, or unwilling to pay this debt, his lord- ship induced his old servant, Churchyard, to become his security to mistress Pen. The poet, being still poorer than the peer, gave his bond to pay this debt, on a certain day. And, being afraid of an arrest, when the day of payment came, he went into the sanctuary of Westminster. He, however, commu- nicated the whole transaction to the queen's ma- jestie ; in order that lord Oxford might be induced to satisfy Mrs. Pen ; and to exonerate Churchyard. It does not appear, distinctly, how this strange trans- action ended; though there is some reason to think, that both those objects were, after a while, obtained, by lord Oxford's paying Mrs. Pen her debt, and dis- charging Churchyard of his bond*.
Meanwhile, Churchyard prepared, for publication, A Feast full of sad cAeerf; being epitaphs on the earl of Worcester, sir James Acroft, comptroller of the household, sir William Winter, a naval officer of great merit, sir William Holstock, comptroller of the navy, and Dr.Underhill, the bishop of Oxford. Church- yard showed, on this occasion, what his contempo- rary poets, also, exhibited, that they did not know the
* See the papers, which are hereinafter published, among his MSS. No. 3.
-J- It appeared from the press, in 1592.
the Author.'] CHIPS. 41
difference, between an epitaph, or an inscription up- on a tomb, and an elegy, a funereal poem of little length, without any affected elegancies.
We are now arrived, by a long detail, at 1593, the year of Churchyard's CHALLENGE; when, he rejoiced, on his own good fortune, by receiving from a gracious queen, a settled pension*. In the year 1593, he also published A pleasant Conceite, penned in verse ; co- lourably set forth, and humbly presented, on new year's day last, to the queen's majestic, at Hampton Court. Here is his memorable address to the queen of his Pleasant Conceite^. " May it please your ma- " jestie: so long as breath is in my breast, life in the " heart, and spirit in the head, I cannot hold the hand, « from penning some acceptable device to your ma- " jestie, not to compare (in mine own over weening) with " the rare poets of our flourishing age; but, rather coun- " terfeiting to set forth the workes of an extraordinary " painter, that hath drawn, in a pleasant conceit, divers " flowers, fruits, and famous towns : which pleasant
* The above volume contains no fewer, than two and twenty distinct treatises, in prose and verse: the 1st is the tragedie of the earl of Morton; the 2d is the tragedie of Simon Eurlie, which had heen printed before : these two seem to have been designed, for the Mirrour for Magistrates. The Tragedie of Shore's Wife^ which was one of his earliest works, was now much augmented, and republished.
f The above work was printed, in 1593, by Ward j and re- printed, by Nichols, in his Progresses, ii.
42 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
" conceipt, I have presumed, this new-year's day, to pre- " sent to your majestic, in sign, and token, that your " gracious goodness towards me, often times, (and " chiefly now, for my pension, ) shall never go out of my •* remembrance, with all dutiful services, belonging to " a loyal subject."
In the foregoing address, the humility of the ve- nerable bard is remarkable. He had lived long enough to perceive a variety of transcendant poets arise around him; his judgement enabled him to feel their vast su- periority; and his prudence induced him to avow his own feelings of his inferiority : of those poets, Spen- ser is still allowed to stand in the foremost ranks of the British muses: and Shakspeare has not yet been equalled, and perhaps will never be surpassed. In that address, we may see the adulation, as well as the gratitude of Churchyard. In a strain of inde- pendent feelings of enjoying a provision for life, he thus, at length, broke out :
" The book, I called, of late, my dear Adieu, " Is now become, my Welcome home most kind: " For old mishaps are heal'd with fortune new, " That brings a balm, to cure a wounded mind: " From God, and prince, I now such favour find, " That full afloat, in flood, my ship sure rides, " At anchor hold against all checking tides."
Endeavours had been, meantime, used, to perpe-
the 4uthor.~] CHIPS. 4,3
tuate a former enmity, between Nash and Church- yard : but, Nash had manfully spoken out, in favour of the old bard, when he published his Foure letters confuted, 1593: "Shores JFz/Hsyong, said he, though "you [Churchyard] bestept in yeares; in her, shall w you live, when you are dead." The bard felt this cheering effusion of Nash: and, in his Pleasant Con- ceite, he thus cried out ;
" No writer, now, dare say the crowe is blacke ; " For cruel kytes will crave the cause, and why? " A fair white goose bears feathers on her backe, " That gaggles, still, much like a chatt'ring pye : " The angel bright, that Gabriel is in skye, " Shall know, that Nashe I love, and will do still, " When Gabriel's * words scarce wins our world's good will."
Such was the warfare of the wits, during those good old times ! Churchyard, at length, concluded his Pleasant Conceite, " this work, I send, till greater " books come out." In 1594, he intimated, that his next work should be, The second Part of the Worthines of Wales, which, by God's grace, shall be dedicated to the queen's majestic: but, this second part never came. In the same year, 1594, he published The
# Gabriel Harvey. Richard Harvey, his brother, even before 1563, had printed in a broadside, a decree (in verse), betwene Churchyarde and Camel.
44 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
Mirror and Manners of Men, a poem, which he had written, he says,Jifty years before*. In 1594, he also published Giacomo di Grassi his true art of defence, &c. englished ly J. G. gentleman, with a dedication, by Churchyard, the publisher, to the lord Burrow, the governor of the Breilf . In his Mirror and Man- ners for Men, he had said, " All the other books pro- " posed comes out, shortly, wherein to take my leave " of writing"
Yet, Churchyard may be said, literally, to have died with his pen in hand. Like other men, who had written much, he continued to scribble, while he could hold his quill. In 1595, he published A mu- sical Consort of heavenly Harmonic (compounded out of many parts of musick), called Churchyard's Cha- ritie^. This curious, and rare work, he dedicated to the earl of Essex : in this, he was very prudently more attentive to the father than to the son. He apologized, for the subject, and title of his book, on the Coldness of Charitie; because a great nobleman told me, this last wet summer, " the weather was too tf cold for poets." And he again mentions that, by
* Herbert, p. 1813 ; in the enumeration of his works, which was prefixed to his CHALLENGE, 1593, he states a book, that he had published, in king Edward's days, The Mirror of Man. [ib. 1806.] In that reign, also, he penned, Shore's Wife.
f Ib. 826.
J Herbert, p. 1808 : Censura Literaria, iii. No. xiii.
the Author."] CHIPS. 45
reason of his great age, his wits, and inventions, were almost wearied, writing books, (this being one of the last) I took this task in hand, to dilate somewhat of Charitie. He concludes his well meaning, but de- sultory work, with the following stanza, which must be allowed to be written, like a poet, wet as the sea- son was :
" The wise, well won, weighs each thing as it ought, " Mistakes no term, nor sentence wrests awrie ; " The fond will read awhile, but cares for nought, « Yet, casts on each man's works a frowning eie : " This neither treats of matters low, nor hie, " But, finds a mean, that each good meaning might, " In all true means, take Charitie aright."
Churchyard, according to his wonted practice, an- nexed to his work on Charitie, a poem, in praise of Poetry e, with some notes, drawn out of the dpologie of the noble-minded knight, sir Philip Sidney. Of this poem, in which the author changed his measure, with great facility, it is said, by a competent judge, with great truth; " I much doubt, whether any of " our elder bards have transmitted a more curious " relique, or have afforded a more pleasing testimony " of liberal attention to the professors of the art they " cultivated*:" in this poetical effusion, the author displays more reading, and more acquaintance with
* Censura Literaria; by T. P.
46 CHURCHYARD'S [The Life of
ancient lore, and more knowledge of the then recent poets, than could have been expected,from an author, who, plainly, had but a very irregular education; and who, as a soldier, had trailed the pike, during thirty years of his life, abroad. In speaking of the Scotish poets, he instances Davy Lindxey, and >Buckananus ; yet, Buchanan was not an adequate example ; as he has left no poetry, in the vernacular language of vul- gar use : and, Churchyard seems not to have been acquainted with Dunbar, the great poet of Scotland, in the Scotish speech.
Notwithstanding Churchyard's complaints of his age, and infirmities, he continued to write, for the booksellers, and to contribute complimentary verses to his literary friends, who considered our poet's praise, as of considerable effect *. He endeavoured to cultivate the patronage of Essex, even after it had ceased, to be of any value to his votaries. The glare of Essex seems to have dimmed the aged eyes of Churchyard, who saw not, that this meteor might, ere while, plunge its followers in a bog: and our poet seems not to have then observed the ascending star of the younger Cecil, the first earl of Salisbury, who was then rising fast into his father's influence, with, perhaps, superior talents. The difference, in the ages
* See the Fortunate Farewell to the most forward earl of Essex , 1599; and his Welcome Home to the earl of Essex, in the same year.
the Author."] CHIPS. 4-7
of the two characters may have contributed to have kept them asunder. In 1600, Churchyard published, The History of the Civil Wars of France*', but, when he attempted, in the subsequent year, to translate the work of Meteren, on the civil conflicts of the Nether- lands, he failed: and as he avowed, in his dedication, to the earl of Hartford, " often falling sick, and like " to pass from the world, I called unto me one Richard " Robinson, a man, more debased by many, than he " merits of any; being one, whom I might command, " and kept a long while, for this purpose f ." The can- dle, we thus see, was now burnt down into the socket, sometimes blazing up, and otherwhiles glimmering in opacity, till it disappeared, in smoke.
When the age, and infirmities, the cares, and com- punctions, of Elizabeth, deprived her of life, on the 27th of March 1602-3, we do not perceive, that Churchyard followed her with an epitaph: we are told, however, that when James made his entry to London, during the same year, our aged bard offered
* Herbert, 1197.
f The above work was published, under the title of A true Discourse historical of the succeeding governors of the Netherlands. Translated, and collected, by Thomas Churchyard, Esquire, and Richard Robinson. Imprinted for Lownes, 1602, 4to. It is in my library. The above was=, no doubt, the same Richard Robinson, citizen of London, who compiled The Reward of Wick- edness, &c. Ritson's Bibl. 311-13; and see the Censura Lite- rariat iv. 36-9.
4*8' CHURCHYARD'S {The Life of
him A Pcean Triumphal*-, and, in 1604, his muse contributed A Messed Balm, to search, and salve Se- dition^. There could be no motive, at the com- mencement of a new reign, for taking, from such an aged warrior, and bard, the pension, which the late queen had given him ; at least we hear of no com- plaint of such harshness, from a king, who, from descent, was good-natured, and from habit profuse. Arrived, at length, at the advanced age of eighty- four, Churchyard died, in Westminster, about the 1st of April, 1604, and was, certainly, buried, as the parish register evinces, on the 4th day of the same month, in the quire of St. Margaret's church, near his favourite Skelton, and not in the church-porch, according to a ludicrous epitaph, in Camden's Re- mains. He left no will, and there was no admini- stration on an estate, that did not exist; as we learn from the proper record. He left no children ; and what became of his wife, after 1579, does not appear. This memoir may, perhaps, be fitly concluded, with his own Alexandrine couplet :
" The chiefest jewel of our life, is virtue's laud well
won, " Which lives, within the other world, when fame of
this is done."
* Harleian pamphlets; Ritson's Poets, 1581. fid.
the Author.'] CHIPS. 4-9
A LIST of the WRITINGS of CHURCHYARD.
IT is said, Mr. Malone somewhere, calls CHURCH- YARD a, poetaster, though he had surely some merits above those of a poetaster*: but, it is, elsewhere, shown, that the opinions of the ingenious critic, be- fore-mentioned, were not always founded in fitness. On the other hand, F. Meres, M. A. of both the uni- versities, hath observed, in his Wits Treasury : "As " the following are famous, among the Greeks, for " Elegie; Melanthus,MymnerusColophonius,Mysius, " Parthenius Nicaeus, Philetus Cous, Theogenes Me- " garensis, and Pigres Halicarnassaeus ; and the fol- " lowing, among the Latins, Mecasnas, Ovid, Tibullus, " Proper ti us, T.Valgi us, Cassius Severus,and Clodius " Sabinus : so, the following are the most passionate, " among us, to bewail, and bemoan, the perplexities of " love: Henry Howard, the earl of Surrey, sir Thomas " Wyat, the elder, sir Francis Brian, sir Philip Sid- " ney, sir Walter Raleigh, sir Edward Dyer, Spenser, " Daniel, Dray ton, Shakespeare, Whetstone, Gascoyne, " Samuel Page of C. C. C. Oxford, CHURCHYARD, " Bretton." We now perceive, that the poetaster of our critic was honourably ranked, by a competent judge, among the great poets of his age ; among some such poets, as have not often been equalled,
* Ccnsura Literaria. E
50 CHURCHYARD'S [The Writings
and will not soon be surpassed. If from the ele- vation of Meres, we bring down Churchyard to the standard of Fuller, we shall find, that, as a poet, " he " may run abreast, with any of that age, writing in " the beginning of Elizabeth's reign." The contri- butor to the MIRROUR FOR MAGISTRATES, which occupies the annals of English poetry, from Surrey to Spenser, must have run abreast with the poetick authors ; with Sackville, with Baldwin, with Ferrers, and the other poets, who published the metrical ma- terials of that elaborate miscellany*. Many things, in the booke of songes and sonettes, which was then printed [Surrey's Poems, 1557] were of my making, said our poetf. But, whether Churchyard's goods can be so distinguished, as to induce Dr. N. to part with them, I very much doubt. Churchyard, also, contributed something to the Paradise of dainty De- vkes, 1576. But, the very intelligent editor of the late republieation of that elegant work, seems not to
* In the Prologue, fol. clvi. a. Baldwin says, he was exhorted [by Sackville, no doubt] "to procure Maister Churchyarde to " undertake, and to penne, as many of the remainder, as myght " be obtayned, &c." His Tragedie of Shore's Wife, alone, evinces , how well he merited that solicitation. " Shore's WifeAs young," says Nash, " though you be stept in years ; in her shall you " live, when you are dead." Ritson's Bibl. 165. In his Pleasant Conceite, 1593, Churchyard repaid the civility of Nash, as we have, already, seen.
f Ritson's Bibl.
of the Author.'] CHIPS. 51
have adverted, that Ritson had specified the very ar- ticle, which belonged to Churchyard : and it stands No. 19, without any name, or initials, or mark, which would enable the curious inquirer to recognise the object of his search. Churchyard's ode is in p. 18 ; whereby he persuadetk his friend, from the fond effectes of love :
" Why art thou bound, and maist go free,
" Shall reason yeelde to raging wyll ?
" Is thraldome like to libertie ?
" Wilt thou exchange thy good for ill ?
" Then, shalt thou learne a childishe play ;
" And of eche part to taste, and prove,
" The lookers on shall judge, and say,
" Loe ! this is he, that lives by love.
" Thy wittes, with thoughtes, shal stand at stay, " Thy head shall have but heavie rest ; " Thy eyes shall watche for wanton prayes, " Thy tongue shall show thy harte's request ; " Thy eares shall heare a thousand noyse, " Thy hand shall put thy pen to pain ; " And in the ende, thou shalt dispraise " The life so spent, for such small gaine.
" If leve, and list, might never cope, " Nor youth to runne from reason's race ; " Nor, yf strong sute might winne sure hope, " I would lesse blame a lover's case :
E2
52 CHURCHYARD'S [The Writings
" For love is hotte, with great desire, " And sweete delight makes youth so fond, " That little sparkes wyl proove great fyre, " And bring free hartes to endlcsse bond." This elegant poem would alone justify the standard of Fuller, that Churchyard's muse might run abreast with the noble coursers, which tried their speed over the delightful downs of the Dayntie Devises. If other proof were wanting, it might be found, in the many commendatory verses, which Churchyard supplied to the numerous works of poetry, or of learning, throughout the long reign of Elizabeth.
We have thus seen, that the poetical antiquaries would, necessarily, find it no easy task to form a corn- pleat list of Churchyard's various writings, which were often temporary, and sometimes obscure. Much has been done, during recent times, to make A. a' Wood's catalogue more perfect. And I have now made one more effort, to ascertain the chronological collection of the literary labours of a man, who wrote, during seven-and-fifty years of woe, and wretched- ness, still more full, and precise.
The earliest works of Churchyard were, obviously, the poetical pieces [many things] which he gave to lord Surrey, while the poet lived with him, from 1537 to 1541; and which were published, in Tote?* Miscellany, 1557 ; and reclaimed, by the true au- thor.
of the Author.'] CHIPS. 5S
During the reign of Edward VI. he published, in 4to., A Mirrour for a Man, wherein he shall see the miserable state of the world. Tanner.
In the same period, Churchyard says, that he wrote a book, named Davie Dicars Dream, in verse, which one Camel wrote against, whom I openly confuted*. Ritson's Bill. Herbert, 1806. Shores Wife, he penned in that season, says the author.
In queen Mary's reign, a book, called, A New Years Gift to all England-, which book treated of re- bellion. And many things, in the booke of songes and sonnets, printed then [Surrey's Poems, 1557], were of my making, said the author. Ritsoris Bill.
* The controversy, between Churchyard, and Camel, brought
out the following tracts, as we may learn from Herbert : 1. The
Debate, between Churchyard and Camel]. 4to. Herbert, 1571 j
2. Camell's Rejoinder to Churchyard; or Camell's conclusion,
&c. in verse. Ib. 845, a broadside ; 3. A playn and final conftu
tation of Camell's Corlyke Oblatracion. A folio sheet. Ib. 923.
This controversy took place in 1551-2 j 4. A Decree, between
Churchyard, the poet, and Camell. A broadside. Herbert, 1312.
" A decree upon the dreame, made by Davy Dicar,
" With answer to Camel, whose taunts be more quiker."
5. Western Wyll, upon the debate, between Churchyard and Camell. With David Dicar's Dream. In six-line stanzas. 4to. Herbert, 739. 6. The contention betwixte Churchyard and Ca- mell, upon David Dicar's Dream, sett out in such order, that it is bothe wyttye and profy table, for all degrees, 1560. 4to. Herbert, 1789. There seems to have been another edition of this, in 1565.
54- CHURCHYARD'S [The Writings
The booke, called, The Golden Nut; which was dedicated to queen Mary.
1559. IntheMzYrowr/or Magistrates, 1559, Church- yard has the legend of Lord Mowbray. In subse- quent editions, Shore's Wife, and other tragedies were inserted.
1562. A Commendation of Music was licensed to Griffeth, in 1562, by Churchyard.
1565. A Farewell; or Churchyard's Farewell, from the Court to the Country, 1565. Herbert, 924.
1565. The Firste Part [there never was a second part] of Churchyardes CHIPPES; contayninge twelve severall labours. Devised and published onlye by Thomas Churchyard, gent. 1565, 1575, 1578*. 4to.
1566. The Lamentation of Churchyarde's Friend- shippe. A ballad, between July 1565 and July 1566. Herbert, 1312. The Courtier and the Carter, a bal- lad, il.
1568. Commendatory verses prefixed tojthe Workes of Maister Skelton, poete laureate. Printed by JMarsh, 1568. 12mo.
* The Chips are, 1. The Siege of Leeth; 2. A Farewel to the Woride ; 3. A fayned Fancie of the Spyder and the Gowte ; 4. A dolefull Discourse of a Lady and a Knight; 5. The Rode into Scotland, by Sir Will. Druery, Knight; 6. SirSymond Bur- ley's Tragedie j 7. A tragicall Discourse of the unhappy Man's Life; 8. A Discourse of Vertue ; 9. Churchyard's Dreame; 10. A tale of a Frier and a Shoemaker's Wife ; 11. The Siege of Eden- borough Castle; 12. The whole Order of the receiving of the Queenes Majestic into Brisiow,
of the Author,] CHIPS. 55
1569. A Dyscourse of Rebelles drawne fourth to warre, 1569-70, for Griffeth. Herbert, 924.
1572. Commendatorye verses, by Churchyard, to Huloet's Dictionarie, newlye corrected, 1572. Her- bert, 861.
1572. Commendatory verses, by Churchyard, to Jones's Bathes of Bathes Ayde, 1572. Herbert, 1008-
1574. Commendatory verses, prefixed to Lloyd's Pilgrimage of Princes. 4to. 1574. il. 1319.
1575. The second Edition, 1575, of the first part of Churchyard's Chips. The contents are enume- rated, in Herbert, 864.
1574-5. The Booke given to her Majesty at Bris- towe, when I made the whole Device, 1574-5.
1576. Commendatory verses, prefixed to Car- danne's Comforte, translated into English, byBeding- feld, 1576. 4to. Herbert, 865.
1576. A Persuasive from Love, which he contri- buted to the Paradise ofDaintie Devices, 1576.
1577-8. The thre first Bookes of Ovid de Tristi- bus, translated by Churchyard, for Tho.East, 1577-8. Herbert, 1799.
1578. Commendatory verses to Barnabe Riche's Allarme to England, &c. ib. 1079.
1578. A lamentable and pitifull Description of the wofull Warres in Flaunders. 4to. Herbert, 906. There seems to have been another edition, in 1579. British Museum.
56 CHURCHYARD'S [ The Writings
1578. The Book of receiving the Queen at Nor- wiche, Aug. 1578. Nick. Progresses. Herbert, 666.
1578-9. The Book of the Queen's Entertainment in Suifolke, and Norfolke, 1578-9. Herbert, 983.
1578. A Prayseand Report of Maister Forboisher's Voyage to Meta Incognita, 1578. Maunsell, 4to. Herbert, 1135.
J579. Churchyard's Choise, 1579*: dedicated to sir Christopher Hatton, Vice Chamberlain, and Cap- tain of the Guard. 4to. 1579. Herbert, 1200. It is in my library.
1580. A Warning to the Wise, a Feare to the Fond, a Bridle to the Lewde, and a Glasse to the Good: written of the late Earthquake, chanced in
* The contents are: 1. A generall Rehnearsall of Warres, in the Netherlands, in Scotland, in Ireland, and at Sea, which comprehend one half of the volume; 2. An Abstracte of the Auc- thoritie, and Entertainemente, that was given and committed by the Hon. Sir Henry Sidney, Knight, Lorde Deputie of Irelande, to Sir Hunifrey Gilbert, &c. (in prose) ; 3. A Mirrhor for Re- belles to looke into, where the death of one Roorie Oge, in Ire- lande, (whose life was alwaies without order), doeth shewe, that the reward of vice is ever open shame, and a fouleende; 4. A small Rehersall of some special Services in Flaunders of late, part whereof were in the ty me of Don Jhon's government, and the reste beyngdoen in the present service of the Prince of Parma, now go- vernour of Flaunders; 5. A Description or Discourse, that de- clareth how,thatby tastyng of miseries, men become happie, &c. 6. A pitefnll Complaint, in manerof a tragedie, of Seignior Aotho- nio dell Dondaldoe's wife, somtyme in the Duke of Florence's
of the Author.] CHIPS. 57
London, and other places, the 6th of April, 1580; set forth, in verse, and prose, by Thomas Church- yard, gent. 1 580. 8vo. Herbert, 891.
1580. Churchyard's Chance, containing Fancies, Verses, Epitaphs, &c. Lond. 1580. 4to. JRitsons Bill
1580. The Services of Sir William Drury, Lord Justice of Ireland, in 1578 and 1579. Lond. 1580. 4to. Herbert, 1654. Additions to the writers of Ireland, 363.
1580. A light Bondel of livelie Discourses, called Churchyardes CHARGE, presented as a New Year's Gift to the Right Honourable the Earle of Surrie; in which bondel of verses is sutche varietie of mat-
courte; translated out of Italian prose, and putte into Englishe verse. This covertly relates to the misconduct of his own wife, and his own misery; 7. A heavie Matter of an Englishe Gentle- man and a Gentlewoman, in manerof a tragedie : whicbe gentle- woman called her freende the wanderyng prince ; (relating, per- haps, to himself, and his froward wife); 8. A Pirate's Tragedie, beyng a gentleman of a verie good house; made at the request of Maister Peter Caroe [Carew] Capitaine of Laughlin in Ireland, and sette out to shewe the miserable life of a rover, whose wretched desire of other men's goodes bringes open shame, and a violente death ; 9. A Letter sent from the noble Erie of Or- monde's House at Kilkennie, to the Honourable Sir Henry Sid- ney, then Lorde Deputie, and liyng at Korke, in Irelande (in verse); 10. The Epitaphe of the rare vertuous Prince (and to- wardes impe of grace), Kyng Edward the sixte; 1 1. The Epi- taphe of the worthie Erie of Essex (the father).
58 CHURCHYARD'S [The Writings
ter, and several inventions, that maie bee as delight- full to the reader, as it was a charge and labour to the writer, sette forthe for a peece of pastime*: printed by Kingston, 1580. 4to.
1580. A true Report of a dangerous Service, at- tempted and brought to pass, by Englishmen, Scots- men, and Walloons, for the taking of Machlin, in Flanders: dedicated to Lord Norrice. Lond. 1580. 12mo. Tanner.
1580. His Wonders of Wiltshire, and the Earth- quake of Kent. 1580. 8vo. Tanner.
1582. A pleasant and delightful History of Gale- sius, Cymon and Iphigenia, describing the fickleness of fortune in love: translated out of Italian into En- glish verse, by T. C. Gentleman. Lond. by N. Weir, without date. 4to. 1582 ? Wyer, also, printed a bal- lad, intituled, " The Lamentation of Churchyard's Friendship."
1582. The right pleasant and variable tragical History of Fortunatus : first penned in the Dutch
* The contents are: 1. A Storie translated out of Frenche; 2. Churchyard's Farewell from the Court, the seconde yere of the Queenes Majestie's reign; 3. Of a mightie great Personage ; 4. Of Beutie and Bountie j 5. Of one that by dissembling fed his Desire; 6. Of Stedfastnesse and Constancie j 7. Of one that found Falshed in Felowship; 8. Written to a virtuous Gentle- woman, whose name [Damport] is in the verse; 9. A Farewell to fondlyng; 10. Written to the goode Lord Maior of London, now in office, called Sir Nicholas Woodroffe, Knight.
of the Author.'] CHIPS. 59
tongue, hence abstracted, and now first of all pub- lished, in English, by T. C. Lond. 1682 ; but cer- tainly printed before 1600 Ritsons Bill. 169.
1583. A Praise of the Bowe, and Commendation of Robinson's ancient order, &c. of Prince Arthur, 1583.
1584?. A Scourge for Rebells; whereby are many notable services truely set out, with every particular point, touching the troubles of Ireland, as farre as the painfull and dutifull service of the Earl of Or- mond. Lond. for Cadman, 1584. 4to. Herlert, 1223. It is hi the Brit. Museum.
1587. The Worthines of Wales; printed by Ro- binson, for Cadman, 1587. 4-to. Herlert, 1237, It is in my library. A second part was intimated ; but, it never appeared. The first was reprinted, in 1776.
1587. Commendatorie Verses in Praise of Gas- coigne's Posies, prefixed to the whole Woorkes of George Gascoigne, Esquire: newlye compyled into one volume. Lond. imprinted by Jeffes. 1587. 4?to.
1587. An Epitaph of Sir Philip Sidney, Knight, lately, Lord Governor of Flushing. Lond. by Robin- son, without date, in one sheet, 4-to. (1587.) In a volume of old tracts, in the Bodleian. Athence, the new edit. 734?.
1588. A Spark of Friendship and warm Good- will, that shows the effect of true affection, and un- folds the fineness of this world: whereunto is joined
60 CHURCHYARD'S [The Writings
the Commodity of sundry Matters rehearsed in the same: with a Description, and Commendation of a Paper Mill, now of late set up (near to the town of Dartford) by a High German, called Mr. Spilman, jeweller to the Queen's most excellent Majestic. Lond. 1588. 4to. Earl. Miscell. iii. 249. Herbert, 1681.
1588. A Rebuke to Rebellion. Nic. Progresses, ii.
1592. A Feast full of sad Cheer, being Epitaphs on the Earl of Worcester, Sir James Acroft, the comptroller of the household, Sir William Winter, Sir William Holstock, comptroller of the navy, Dr. Underbill, the bishop of Oxford, &c. Lond.' 1592, 4<to. In the Bodleian.
1593. Churchyard's CHALLENGE: Lond. by Wolfe, 1593. 4to. It is in my library *. It was dedicated
* This copy had belonged to Thos. Hearne in January, 1730, as we know, from his autograph; of the gift of James West; and Hearne says, with some satisfaction, Mr. Wood never saw this book, nor Mr. Ames. The contents of Churchyard's Challenge are: 1. The Earle ofMurton's Tragedie; 2. Sir Simon Bnrlei's Tragedie; 3. The Man is lut his Minde, dedicated to his good friend, Sir John Skidmoer; 4. A Discourse of true Manhoode, dedicated to Sir Edward Dimmocke, Champion, by birth, to the Queene's Majestic; 5. A Warning to the Wanderers abroad, that seekes to sow dissention at home (in verse), dedicated to Sir Michael Blouut, Lieutenant of the Tower ; 6. The honor of a Souldier, dedicated to Sir George Carew, Lieutenant of the .Ordnance j 7. A Discourse (in verse) of Gentlemen lying in
of the Author.'] CHIPS. 61
to Sir John Wolley, Knight, Secretary for the Latin tung, to the Queen. Herbert, 1806.
London, that were better keepe house at home in their countiey, dedicated to Sir John Savage; 8. A Discourse (in verse) of an old Souldier and a young, dedicated to Sir Henry Knevet; 9. A Description, or Discourse, that declareth how that by tasting of miseries, men are become happie, dedicated to Sir William Hatton; wherein he deplores the death of Sir Christopher Hat- ton, and the great sums of money, Sir William was, by that ac- cident, left to pay; 10. A Commendation to them, that can make Gold, shewing that many heretofore hath found out the Philosopher's Stone ; dedicated to Sir John Russell ; 1 1 . The Tra- gedie of Shore's Wife, much augmented with divers new addi- tions, dedicated to Lady Mounteagle and Compton ; 1 2. A Story (in verse) of an Eagle and a Lady, excellently set out in Du Bartas; 13. A tragical Discourse (in verse) of the haplesse Man's Life [the author's life]; 14. A Dreame; 15. A Poem on himself, dedicated to Lady Puckering; 1 6. A few plaine Verses of Truth against the Flatterie of time, made when the Queen's Majestic \vas last at Oxenford, dedicated to Lady Anderson; 1 7. Verses of value, if Virtue be scene, madeof aPhenix.aKing, andaQueene, when the Queen lay at Hampton-Court; 18. Verses taken out of Belleau made of his own mistress; 19. Verses, translated ont of French, for one that is bounde much to Fortune ; 20. A Fare- well, when I went to studie, written to the World; 21. A tra- gicall Discourse of a dolorous Gentlewoman, dedicated to all those ladyes, that holdes a good name precious, (in verse); this discarded gentlewoman, he adds, went a walking twentye yeares, and yet cannot finde the waie home to her husband [Church- yard?]; 22. A dolfull Discourse of a great Lorde and a Ladie, translated out of French into English (verse).
62 cHURCHYAfcD's [The Writings
1594?. The Mirror and Manners of Men, 1594* 4to. ( Written, he says, fifty years before, ) Recently reprinted, by Mr. Boswell's munificence.
1593. The Booke called A pleasant Conceit, and New Year's Gift to the Queen's Majestic, 1593. In Nichols's Progresses.
1594. Giacomo di Grassi, his true Art of Defence, &c. Englished by J. G. gent, was published by T% Churchyard. Lond. 1594, 4to. with a Dedication, by the Publisher, to Lord Burrow, the Lord Governor of the Breil, &c. Herbert, 826.
1595. A musical Consort of Heavenly Harmonic (compounded out of many Parts of Musick) called Churchyard's Charitie. Lond. printed by Hatfield, for Holme, 1595, 4to. Herbert, 1808; Centura Li* teraria, Hi. 327.
1596. A Praise of Poetry : some notes thereof drawn out of the Apologie, the noble-minded knight Sir Philip Sidney wrote: printed with the former, and reprinted in Centura Literaria, iii. iv.
1596. A sad and solemne Funeral of the Right Hon. Sir Francis Knowles, Knight, &c. Dedicated to Lord Delaware. Four leaves, 4to.
1596. The Honor of the Lawe: written by Thos. Churchyard, gent. 1596, 4to. Herlert, 1213.
1596. A pleasant Discourse of Court, and Wars, 1596, 4to. Tanner.
1597. Commendatory Verses prefixed to the whole
of the Author.'} CHIPS. 63
Course of Chirurgerie, &c. by Peter Lowe, Scots- man. Lond. 1597, 4to. Herbert, 1002.
1597. Choice Mirror of Honour. Tanner, 180.
1598. The wished Reformation of wicked Rebel- lion. Id.
1509. The fortunate Farewell to the most forward and noble Earl of Essex, &c. Lond. 1599, 4to. Her- bert, 1808.
1599. The Welcome-Home of the Erie of Essex: entered forward 1st October, 1599. From the edit. of Bolefont it was reprinted in the Progresses.
1600. The Devises of Warre, and a Play at Aws- terley, her Highness being at Sir Thomas Gresham's.
1600. The History of the Civil Wars of France, by Churchyard. Lond. 1600, 4to. Herbert, 1197.
1602. A true Discourse historical of the succeed- ing Governors, in the Netherlands, and the Civil Wars there begun, in the Yeare 1565, &c. By Thos. Churchyard, and Rich. Robinson. Lond. for Lownes, 4to. In my library.
1602. The Wonders of the Air, the Trembling of the Earth, and the Warning before the Judgement- day. (In prose.) Inscribed to Doctor Caesar. Lond.
1603. A Paean triumphal upon the King's Entry to London from the Tower. Ritsoris Bill.
1604-. Churchyard's Goodwill, sad, and heavy V«rses, in the nature of an Epitaph, for the loss of
64 * CHURCHYARD'S [The Writings
the Archbishop of Canterbury. [ Whitgift d. 29 Feb. 1603-4.] Lond. by Stafford. Four leaves, containing six stanzas of ten lines, 4to. Inscribed to Bancroft, the Bishop of London. Reprinted by Mr. T. P. in the Heliconia, 1809.
1604. A blessed Balm to search and salve Sedi- tion, 4to. 1604, in verse. Id. On account of the plot, in which the two priests, Watson, and Clarke, were implicated.
To the foregoing list, long as it is, must be added : " These works following were gotten, from me," said Churchyard, " by some noble friends, as I am loath " to offend. ^Eneas Tale to Dydo, largely and truely " translated, out of Virgill, which I once showed the " Q. M. and had it again. A Book of the Oath of a " Judge, and the Honour of Law, delivered to a " stationer, who sent it to the 1. cheefe baron, that " died; [recovered, and printed, in 1596.] A book of a " sumptuous Show in Shrovetide, by Sir Walter Raw- « ley, Sir Robert Carey, Mr. Chidley,and Mr. Arthur "Gorges, in which book was the whole sarvice of my " L. of Lester mentioned, that he, and his train, did " in Flanders; and the gentlemen pensioners, proved " to be a great piece of honour to the court: all which " book was in as good verse, as ever I made: an ho- " nourable knight dwelling in Blackfriars, can witness " the same; because I read it unto him. A great piece
o/ the 4uthor.~] CHIPS. 65
" of work, translated out of the French poet, Seignior " Dubartas, whic^york treated of a lady and an eagle, " most divinely written on, by Dubartas ; and given " by me to a great lord of this land, who saith it is lost. " An infinite number of other songs, and sonnets, given " where they cannot be recovered, nor purchase any " favour, when they are craved." " My next booke," says he, at the end of his preface to the Challenge, " shalbe the last booke of the JVorthines of Wales. And "my last booke, called my Ultimum Fale, shalbe (if " it please God) twelve long Tales for Christmas, de- " dicated to twelve honorable lords," which, if suc- cessful, would have proved a tolerable Christmas-box. In the dedication to Sir John Wolley, he thus ex- presses himself: " The long travell, and tracing out " of life, in this wearisome pilgrimage, having brought " me now almost to the ende of my journey, makes " me glad to be rid of the burdens of my minde, and " the labours of my body, the one never free from " studie, and the other seldome voide of toyle ; and " yet, both of them, neither brought great benefite to " the life, nor blessing to the soule; in which small " rest, and unquietnes,^many sorrowfull discourses, " in my dayes, I have written, and numbers of bookes " I have printed. And because, they shall not be bu- " ried with me, I challenge them all as my children, " to abide behinde me in the worlde, &c." [Ritson's Bill. Poetica, 166-8.]
F
66 CHURCHYARD'S {The Writings
The three following MSS. are printed herein, from the originals, in the British Museum :
1. Churchyard's Letter to Sir W. Cecil, from Bath, the 24th of May, 1569. [From the Lansdowne MSS. Vol. xi. No. 56 ]
2. A Letter from Lord Hunsdon, Governor of Ber- wick, to Secretary Walsingham, from Berwick, -the 28th of June, 1581 : conveying Churchyard's State- ment of the Message., which the Earl of Arr an charged him to deliver to Lord Hunsdon. [From the Harley MSS. No. 6999.]
3. Several Papers, concerning Churchyard's being security for a debt of Edward, the Earl of Oxford, Lord Great Chamberlain of England, to Mrs. Juliana Pen, [From the Lansdowne MSS.VoUxviii.No.l 13.]
CHURCHYARD'S LETTERS.
No. 1. To Sir W. Cecil, from Bath.
DUETY don moest honorable, I am boeld because I toek nott my leave ( whear I found sutch favor and forwardnes towards my suett) to wrytt thys letter
of the Author.'] CHIPS. 67
whearby I hoep my eskues* is not only maed, butt also I contynue in the good opynyon off your hono'. and to encreace the saem I do advertyes your honor off such thyngs as I have seen suspycyosly handled among the papysts whoes practyses dry vs me to pre- suem thatt they have, or may pas thear compas wyth som prowd attemptt or folly ; and suerly the unbrydled brayeng and talk off Bonnar^s dyssypulls doth argue som cuerles corrsyf is closly crepttin thear cankred mynds, the trbeth is, moest honorable, havyng oc- casyon to lye in Baeth xx dayes I sawe sutch as- semblee and company off gentyllmen as maed me to muessej off so great a repayr and wayeng thear callyngs and Crystyan relygyon, I fownd by good proeff and tryall thatt all the hoell trowpp in a man- ner wear hyndrars off God's word and hys Gospell, syr Jhon Sowthworth off Lankesheer, a leadar off thatt ryng, I fownd in a corner butt nott wyth Siradlyng, who in theas partyes is no lyttell doar ; and remayns in greatt admyracyon among thys af- fynyte. Other gentyllmen off dyvers naems wear heer in lyk sortt, and syr Jhon Sowthworth dyd att som oen season seeke conference wyth them, but in verey deed heer is an Italy an called Jacofyen, a laem man, whoes abydyng is moest in Sowthampton, and thys is the man thatt may do mutch hortt, for as- suredly hys relygyon and lyeff is amys and dayly he * excuse. f cureless corrsy. J muse.
F2
68 CHURCHYARD'S [The Author's
haeth som intellygence boeth from Flawnders and Spayn, he wantts no wealth nor spaers for no chargys to gayn aquayntance for hys porpos, the moest off all Bonnars bloed and kynsfolk aer dwellyng in thys town, and undowttedly under the collor off comyng to the Baeth many madd meetyngs thear aer, I dys- chargyng my consyence and duetty to the advance- mentt of God and hys glory thoghtt hytt good to talk wyth my lord byshopp off Excetor whoes hand in thys behalff I have procured to my letter, dowttyng nott, butt my honest hartt and meanyng heerin shal be so well acceptted thatt heerafter I shall have thanks for my labo1 and hoepyng wythall thatt the neast off wasps whearsoever they may be fownd shall have thear styngs taken from them and be lernd a nue lesson, and God doth knoe and hys church doth wyttnes, moest honorable, thatt in all theas contreys is sutch lyberte off speetch as may be lamented, yff dutyfull earrs durst rebuek thatt they heer, thus beyng over bold in juegging moer than becoms me, I treble your honor no further, wyshyng youe long lyeff, encreace of grace and a blessed end. From Baeth the xxiiij of May, your honor's duryng lyeff att co~mandment.
Youres honor's most huble to co"maunde W. EXON. THOMAS CHURCHYARD.
I have byn heer syk off an ague sens I maed thys letter, whych haeth byn a lett for the delyuery
Letters.'] CHIPS. 69
thearoff, butt I hoep as God gyvs me health to re- payr to the cowrtt and so to requyr att your honor's hands the packett off letters to my lord embassador> for my mynd gyvs me thatt I shall never dy tyll I heer and se the gospell advanced to the uttermoest."
(The above is written in Churchyard's hand on the hack of the last leaf of the sheet.)
(Addressed on the outside)
" To the ryghtt honorable Sr Wyllyam Cycyll Knyghtt, cheeff Secretary to the Queen's Ma- jeste, and oen off her Hyghnes Pryvey Cown- cell delyver theas wyth all possyble dyllygence."
No. 2.
An Abstract of the Letter, from Lord Hunsdon, Go- vernor of Berwick, to Secretary Walsingham.
He writes in a very pettish, and bad, humour with the Scotish court, and people; and as his advice had been neglected, he states his resolution not to interfere any more, in their affairs; he complains of their insolent carriage, and speeches, to English- men; and recommends a total exclusion of the Scots, from any intercourse whatever, with England, or En- glishmen; as the best means of curing their insolence, without going to war with them. After stating, that lord Scrope's servant, who was sent to Edinburgh, to intimate the arrival of Angus at Carlisle, was exa- mined, and imprisoned, he relates the case of Church-
70 CHURCHYARD'S \_TheAuthors
yard, as follows : — " Poore Churchyarde, who went thither, for succor and was well used theare, for a tyme, hathe not only bene despightfully used, with speeches of a notnber, but was shott att and hitt twise, in one daie, with a stronge bowe and a leaden pellet, which would have killed him, if hee had bene hitt either in the face, or anyparte of the heade ; wherof he complayned to the kinge, but the doers could neither be founde, nor hearde off, though they were knownewell inoughe, and oute of whose wyndowe they were shotte. k
" And the next daie, hee was shotte att with a har- quabuse and myst very narrowly, wheruppon he askt leave of the kinge to come awaie, which was easly and quickly graunted unto him; wheruppon being at Aymouthe hee wrote to me, to desier my favour, for the remayning, in this towne, or in any other place, in th'est marches, untill hee might by freinds, procure her majesties gracious pardon, for his late facte, committed by chaunce, and against his will, which I graunted unto him; and so he is here at this pre- sent. Att his coming out of Eddenbrughe, the erle of Arran mett him, in the street, as hee was ryding to Dawlkeith, and askt him, which waye hee ment to goe into Englande, who awnsered, that hee meant to goe, by Barwick, yf I would licens him so to doe i wher- uppon the said erle of Arran requiered, and willed him, and conjured him, as he profest to be a soldier, that hee would do a messuadge to me from him ; and that if hee would not graunt to do it hee would
Letters.] CHIPS. 71
saye yt oppenly before all that presens, being two or three hundred about them : Churchyarde aunserid him, if it were a messuadge, that no waye toucht her majestic in honour, nor offended me, in the doing of yt, hee would shewerly doe yt ; wheruppon the said erle used theis speeches to Churchyarde, which hee hathe sett downe under his owne hande, which I sende you herwith."
Lord Hunsdon then proceeds, to charge the Scot- ish king, with some shuffling, about sending an am- bassador, and asserts that he was a most notori- ous dissembler; as Scotchmen themselves acknow- ledged, &c. &c.
The letter is dated " At Barwick this 28th day of June, 1581."
Churchyard's statement of the message, which the earl of Arran charged him to deliver to lord Hunsdon: — " Churchyard, said my lord of Arrain, iff thow go to Eangland shaw my lord of Honsdon this I speak off for the tranquilyte and peace of boeth the realms, thatt thear repeirs to the lord governor's presens a man*, who was at the murther off the king's
* The person alluded to is the notorious Mr. Archibald Doug- las, who was received, and protected, by lord Hunsdon, at Ber- wick, and lord Scrope, at Carlisle, and had been acting in concert with Randolph, to stir up mischief. The above earl of Arran was not the noble person, who was offered to Elizabeth, for her husband; but, the favourite of James VI., who was, originally, known, by the name of captain James Stuart.
72 CHURCHYARD'S [The Author '9
majestie's father, which man I wold not shuld be abowt a man of honour, as my lord is, for fear of the infection might be taeken thearbye. And further, said the lord Arrain, evell taells, and men of sedicios minds, have allwayes byn a hyndrance to the common quiettnes off boeth the realms off Skottland and Eangland, which, said he, I daer proue in any law- full manner, yff I be challenged ; allwayes thynking, as he said, thatt the lord gouernour of Barwick and espessally the queen's majeste was ignorant off thes practyses, nottwithstanding, said he, Eangland is a receptacull off all thoes thatt offends in Skottland, either in treasons, or murthers, which he thoghtt yff my lord gouernour understoed wold nott be suffred; and so he charged me openly and as he wentt to his hors (towards Dawlkeeth) to sho my lord gover- nour, whearon I promesed yff my lord (under pardon) accepted me I wold do whatt I thoghtt nessesary thearin, and so I toek my leave. This being all( shorte- ly gathered) thatt I hard off my lord off Arrain, att thatt tymef or any other tym, towtching that porpos.
T. CHURCHYARD.
No. 3.
The Correspondence of Churchyard, and Mrs. J. Penne,
about the Earl of Oxford.
" GOOD Mrs. Pen I have lovyngly and truelly 4ealtt w1 youe for the earll off Oxford, a noble man
Letters.'] CHIPS. 73
off sutch worth, as I wyll employe all I have to honor hys worthynes, so towtchyng what bargayn I maed and order taken from hys L. own mowth for takyng som rowlms in your howse by quartter, affter the raett off a howndreth pownds a yeer, (wyth sutch nessesaryes as I can naem) I stand to thatt bargayn, knowyng my good lord so noble, (arid off sutch greatt consitheracyon) thatt he wyll perform whatt I pro- mesed, in the hyghest degre off hys bownty and becawse I allways am syckly and reddy to partt from thys vayn lyeff, wold neyther quyck nor dead se youe a lozar by any off my dryifts bargayns or doyngs, I absoluettly heer for the love and honor I owe to my lord, bynd mye selff and all I have in the world unto youe, for the satyesfyeng off youe for the fyrst quar- ters rentt off the rowlms my lord dyd taek, and further for the coells, bylletts, fagotts, beer, wyen, and any other thyng spentt by hys honorable means, I bynd myself to answer, yee confessyng thatt na- pery and lynnen was nott in any bargayn I maed wyth youe for my lord, whych indeed I knoe my lord's nobullnes wyll consyther, so Mrs. Pen to sho myself honest in all my accyons, I yeld my bodye goods and lyberte freely unto youe whyells youe do lyue, to use by lawe and ryghtt as reason is tyll my good lord do sytyesfye youe in all resonable poyntts and demands heerin, in wytnes off thys my true meanyng I putt to my hand and seall to thys myen
74; CHURCHYARD'S [The Author's
own wryttyng, the syxtt off January e ensuyng* the enttry and commyng off my lord off Oxford into your howse.
By me THOMAS CHURCHYARD.
(The seal cut off.) (On the hack.)
(< Maed and wrytten the syxtt off January, and delyvred as my deed, in the presens off Mr. Somnar off the Temple, Mr. Harry Rus- sell off London, and Mr. Babtyst Hycks off Cheapsyed."
(Along with the preceding there is on another half sheet of paper the following.)
No. 113. is a formal bond, by Thomas Churchyard of London, esquire, to Julian Penn of London, widow, for the payment of 50/. lawful money of England, dated the 24th December, in the 33d of Elizabeth f.
/The condition of this obligation is such, that if the above bounden Thomas Churchyard pay to the said Julian Penn the sum of 25 pounds, lawful money of England, on the feast of the Annunciation of our Lady the Virgin next ensuing, at the dwelling-house of the said Julian, on St. Peter's-hill in London, with- out fraud or delay, that then this obligation be void and of no effect, otherwise to stand in full force.
This is subscribed by " Henry Russell," but not
» (1590-1.) f (1590.)
Letters.'] CHIPS. 75
by any other person, and seems never to have been executed by Churchyard.
No. 114. is an original letter, without date, from " Julyan Penne" to my lord of Oxford; expostulating with him, for not paying the rent of his lodgings, in her house, and the necessaries furnished him, and his servants, who had every thing, which they wanted : she states her great grief, and sorrow, at his unkind dealing, in this, and that she trusted to his honour- able payment, and had never sought any assurance at his lordship's hands, " butt Mr. Churchyard's band " weche I wold be lothe to trobyll hym for your ho- " nor sake." She calls upon him to deal with her in courtesy, as he would have to answer, and give an account of all his doings, at " that dredfull day" (of judgement.) &c.
No. 115. Good Mrs. Pen I never dezarved your dyspleasuer, and have maid her Maie understand off my band, towtchyng the earll, and for fear offrestyng I lye in the sentuary, for albeit youe may favor me yett I kno I am in your danger, and am honest and true in all myen accyons, I fynd in cowrtt cawses to forsaek it, and the realm to, yett wold ear I goe se youe and all my frynds well pleased, as knoeth God, who bles and prezarue youe to hys pleasuer. Yours in all as becometh me att confandment lovyngly
(No date.) T. CHURCHYARD.
76 CHURCHYARD'S [Scotish
In the same Vol. Ixviii. No 92 *, there is a letter from the same Mrs. Pen to the earl of Kildare, reproach- ing him bitterly, for his dishonourable conduct, in not paying her what he owed her, as he had promised, and sworn in the most earnest manner to do. She says, she would be no longer a suitor to him for it, as there was no truth or honour in him, &c. And that had it not been for the love she bore to the lord admiral (ammerell), and the earl of Kildare's lady, she would have ended her suit and complained to the queen, who had promised her, that she should receive no wrong at man's hand.
There is no date to this, but there is along with it, (No. 92.) a letter from the earl of Kildare to Mrs. Penn, dated from Greenwich, 23d June, 1592, apo- logising, for the breach of his promise, in not paying her debt, that he was obliged to go to Greenwich, (a place of great charges) and there spent the money with which he should have paid her : he begs her to bear with him till the return of his man, from Ire- land, with money, which would be in a fortnight, when he would pay her with great thanks.
* (June 1592.)
Wars.] CHIPS. 77
SCOTISH WARS.
THE Scotish wars with England, during the in- fancy of Mary Stuart, arose chiefly from the corrupt designs of Henry VIII., and Edward IV., to obtain her person, and her kingdom, by whatever means. The hostilities of queen Mary against Scotland can only be traced to her war with France, in favour of Spain *. The sad effects of the inroads of Henry, and Edward, are still remembered from the notices of history : but, the warfare of queen Mary, against Scotland, are scarcely known, as they are little, if at all mentioned, by the Scotish historians. It is of some use, then, to republish the following narratives from Churchyard, and Cox.
From Churchyard's Choise.
THIS was but a peece of the seruice, that capitaine Read was at in his daies: for his moste paines hath been taken aboute the warres of Scotlande, and roades made into that countrey : where he hath borne hym-
* On the 7th of June, 1557, Mary declared war against France, in which she lost Calais, and Guisnes.
78 CHURCHYARD'S [Scotish
self so well, and that a long season, that all those who knowes the same (or can call the seruice to memorie) giueth good reporte thereof, and speaketh muche to the aduauncement of his good name.
And seeyng that in his praise and others, my penne hath gone so farre, I wil a little touche the seruices of sir Willyam Winter, who bothe by lande and sea, hath often been emploied. And in the rehearsall of some parte of his doynges, I will as I maie make mention of sir Willyam Drewrie, Sir Humfrey Gil- bart, sir Willyam Morgane, capitain Barkley, capi- taine Morgane, capitaine Chester, capitaine Bing- ham, and sondrie that of late daies hath been in diuers places of daunger, and good seruices. But this is to bee looked for, that the honourable sir James Croftes (now controller of the queenes maiesties houshold) sir Jhon Walloppe, sir James Wilfforde, and sir Jhon Bellyngame, bee not forgotten, and that euery one of these, as remembrance shall serue me, be breefly spoken of. For if at large I touched some of their noble exploites, (that laste I haue made mention of) I should make a greate volume of the same, and so seeme to write a chronicle, that meanes but to treate of a fewe passages, for the passyng of the tyme, and the pleasuryng of my freendes.
The seruices of sir James Croftes, maie well bee vnderstoode, if you loke into the siege of Bullein : the warres of Scotlande, and the troublesome affaires
Wars.] CHIPS. 79
of Irelande, where he was lorde deputie. And who that looketh depely in the mannagyng of those mat- ters, shall mstely of hymself, yeelde due honoure to the persone that hath taken these paines, without the reporte of my penne, or further publishyng of the same.
If neuer any seruice but the siege of Haddyngton were spoken of, it were sufficient enough, and a wit- nesse greate to shewe the greate mynde, and manly courage of sir James Wilfforde. For he beeyng there as generall, helde out the force of Fraunce, and power of Scotlande: the queene mother lookyng and liyng at the siege, and the toune was so battered and beaten, that men on horsebacke might have rid- den ouer the breache. Yet notwithstandyng, besides a nomber of other greate causes, to make men rander a forte, sir James Wilfforde kepte the enemies out : and did so noblie euery waie, neither scarcitie of victuall, nor want of pouder could moue his inuin- cible mynde. For the more was the miserie, the greater grewe his harte, and hope to haue good fortune: for the whiche assured fortitude and de- terminate purpose, he purchased euerlastyng re- nowme. And Hues at this daie in as freshe me- morie, as he were seen presently before the eyes of the people.
In that season was a place called Donglasse at our deuotion, where one maister Aston was placed, and
80 CHURCHYARD'S [Scotish
an other fort beyonde Fiffeside called Broghttie Cragge, where sir Jhon Luttrell did serue verie val- liauntely a longe tyme. And at a toune nere the same forte called Dondie, sir Willyam Winter and others, did a greate peece of seruice, worthie the rehearsall. But for that Broghttie Cragge was at the length loste, for lacke of succour out of Englande, I leaue out muche matter, that otherwise I had written. After the siege of Haddyngton was raised, and the Frenche had withdrawen their batterie, and the old erle of Shrewesburie was come with an armie, and laie at a place called Abberladie. The earle of Link- colne that now is, beeyng lorde admirall, landed a greate companie of soldiours at a pile called sainct Minins, where our fortune was but frowarde: and for that I was taken prisoner there, and our people had no greate good happe : it shall remaine unjtouched any further.
A little before this, betwene Tom Tallent and the Basse some Frenche gallies were placed, and three of our shippes liyng in vewe of theim, (the Anthe- loppe, the Harte, and the Grand Mestresse, so were the three shippes called) hoissed vp sailes to feight with the galleis, whiche were twoo and twentie in nomber: but there befell suche a misfortune by cast- yng aboute to fetche aborde, that our shippes fell one in others takell, and were so harde clasped together, through meane of misehaunce, that thei might not shoote at aduauntage, to annoye the enemie. Who
Wars."] CHIPS. 81
espiyng this oportunitie, came orderly forward, and shot many shott of cannons emong vs, breakyng doune a maste or twoo, and killing a fewe persones. But in the ende the shippes were set free, and my lorde admirall had sent to our succours, and the calme was gone, in so muche that the gale of wynde blewe our shippes full vpon the gallies, whiche the French beeyng in feare of, drewe apace towardes the shore, and ranne their gallies on grounde. But ere thei could departe out of our daunger, wee were so nere them, that our bowemen shot into their gal- lies, and our cannons made a great murther, and hauocke emong the poore slaues, whose leggs, armes, and ores I sawe flie about, as the force of our shotte might attaine them.
These gallies hopyng tokeepevictuallfrom Broght- tieCragge, crepte along by the shore, and encountred a shippe wherein was capitaine Peers (now seruyng in Irelande, and then a venterar) and laied so sore to his charge that thei shotte his ensigne through and through, and were like to haiie bouged the shippe, but he mindyng more his reputation, then regardyng the hazarde he was in, plied the gallies so well, that thei durste not approche ouer nere, and so in the meane while came a lustie gale of winde, and sente capitaine Peers from the Frenche gallies, to his greate safetie, and the comfort of his freendes and countreymen.
82 CHURCHYARD'S [Scolish
Our shippes manned furthe boates, and set vppon diuerse sailes that laie in Bornte Ilande, and so spoiled them, and lefte them on a flamyng fire : and thereon rowed towardes a mightie greate carrecke, that laie vnder the succoure of Ynchskeeth, and boorded the same carreck, and so burnt it: the fire whereof discharged many greate shotte in the said shippe, before our menne could come aborde againe, but that shotte did little hurte at all: and our nauie in the meane season, laie in the mouthe of the Frithe, not farre from an ilande called the Maay.
Within a short while after, was there a lustie gen- tilman (and a seruiceable) sent to take Ynchskeeth, his name was maister Jhon Cotton, a capitaineof good account, he landed and valliauntly tooke the ilande, but when our shipps departed from the Frithe, the Frenche and Scottes menne entered the ilande againe, and recouered it to our greate discontent: in whiche furie and fight capitain Cotton was slaine, albeeit he did what became a man of stoute harte and courage, and fought it out to the laste man in his companie : whiche made the enemies maruaile, consideryng thei were voide of hope to be succoured and releued.
The Scottes and Frenchemen takyng a greate de- spite, to goe without Haddyngton liyng so long be- fore it, determined in a mornyng to assaile it man- fully, and to trie what fortune and force of menne might compasse. So the Ryngraue and nombers of
Wars.] CHIPS; 83
the Frenche side, came priuelie from Edenborough, and set vpon the base courte of Haddyngton, and in verie deede were likely to haue distressed the toune, if goodwatche and circumspection had not preuented their approche. For the enemies were in the base court, andbeganne to glorie muche of their conquest, but one gaue fire to a greate peece that stoode full of haileshotte, at the enterie of the gate, and slue diuerse of the enemies, whereat our men issued and dealt so valliauntly with the enemie that thei retired, and loste all their labour. At this tyme either sir James A Croftes was generall there, or anone after. For sir James Willfbrde was either before taken pri-* soner at Donbarre, or within a shorte season after, But how so euer that cace standeth, the soldiours of Haddyngton kept the toune, and wanne suche fame thereby, that to this present age thei are spoken of and honoured.
Whiles these thynges were in dooyng, tyme roulled on, and produced further matter. For the wheele tourned, and fortune so frouned at our prosperitie, that the worlde began to fall to declination, and so Haddyngton was rased, and left to those that would possesse it, and the Frenche hauing some hope, to recouer what thei loste before, tooke occasion offred by some sodaine alteration, and common course of worldlie affaires, and therevpon thei besieged Bullein Barke, the old Man, and many other members be-
S4t CHURCHYARD'S [Scotish
longyng to Bullein, and a greate capitaine called Mounsire de Termes was in Scotlande, preparyng to besiege Lawder Forte, where sir Hugh Willoughbie had gouernment, with whom was capitaine Colbie, capitaine Maneryng, capitaine Haeles, capitaine Whit^ ton, capitaine Colliar, capitaine Knapp aud others, whose names I haue forgot, albeeit I was then there newlie escaped out of Scotlande. The saied Moun- sire de Termes laie a long mile (with his whole campe) from Lawderfort, and wee to make hym sport, de- uised that some lustie gentlemen, should clapp on. white scarffes, and so ride like Scottes men into the enemies campe, whiche we performed, and slue di- uerse in the markette place, and came awaie vn- touched. And not contente with this little attempte (for emong our companies were soldiours of Had- dyngton) wee daiely offered to skirmishe, when in the feelde was alwaies to encounter vs fiue to one of as good soldiours, as then were to bee founde in Fraunce. But our hope and forewardnesse was suche, that euery seconde daie, we did somewhat worthy the meetyng: and at this seruice came one Jhon Carr of Warke (a valliaunte olde capitaine, and a spe- ciall soldiour in those partes) and brought harde cheese and pouder to vs. For the eatyng of horses did argue, harde cheese was as welcome as pouder : yet none of them bothe might be spared in that ex- tremitie.
Wars.~\ CHIPS. 85
Mounsirede Termes beyng desirous of victorie, de- termined to come with ladders, and so to scale the fort, wherof we had woorde, and prepared to receiue hym with an vnfreendly welcome: and for that we founde he brake his daie, and would waxe wearie of rest, by long liyng idle in a place, the generall caused all the greate ordinannce of the fort, to bee bente fullie vppon De Termes his campe (capitaine Manneryng in deede putte that deuice in hedde and practise first) and early in the mornyng on an Easter daie, the whole greate artillerie was discharged on De Termes his campe, whiche slue diuerse, and so vexed the campe : that as you see a nomber of crowes flie out of a wood, when a harkaboize is shotte of, so the Frenchemen came out of their hiue, that yeeldeth no honie, and gaue vs a sower and sharpe encounter. For in a small season thei draue vs out of the feelde, and gaue an attempte to winne the base courte, where wee attended their commyng, and stroue with them so stoutly, that in that struggle wee were ioyned, and wrastled together, as daungerously as any man liuyng maie imagine, but in suche order, that the Frenche were forced to retire a little, and we were faine to recouer the forte: and yet the Frenche so valliauntly handled their busines, that thei laye under the rampire of the base courte, and slue sondrie of our soldiours, that could not in due season come in. Emong the cheef capitaine Manneryng had hisdeathes wounde, and fell doune in the dike before the gate :
86 CHURCHYARD'S [Scotish
whose bodie we recouered with very little losse, but he died within three daies after. And the Frenche missyng that thei sought, retired that presente night to their campe; where thei abode not tenne daies, but a peace was concluded, and we marched all to-* wardes Barwicke.
From Concquet there was appoincted seuen sailes of shippes, to goe to my lorde of Sussex, then lorde deputie of Irelande: the names of whiche shippes followeth, the Hue Willoughbie, in whiche was sir Thomas Cotton, admirall for that seruice. The Gear- faucon, in whiche was maister Tornar of the garde. The Newbarke, where was Souther wicke of Douer. The Saker, at the commaundement of M. Peter Kil- legrey. The Barcke Caree, vnder the charge of M. Gregorie Carie. The Jhon of Plimmouthe, in the whiche was maister Richard Bingham : and all these attended my lorde of Sussex at Daulky, who noblie sett fbrwarde and bornte Kynteer (James Mackono beeyng in the countrey) and raized twoo of Mac- konoes cheef castles, tooke diuers of thei galleis, and executed many of their men.
My lorde also burnt the ile of Butte, the ile of Combra, and the ile of Lam-lashe, with diuers other places in that iourney*.
* On the 15th of September, 1558, says sir Richard Cox, the lord deputy, [earl of Sussex] shiped his army at Dalky [in Ire- land] and sailed to Rachline; and though he lost one ship, in
Wars.] CHIPS. 87
And at this seruice was sir Willyam Fitz Willyams, maister George Delues, capitaine Colliar, maister Tho- mas Masterson, capitaine Warren, capitaine Peers, sir George Stanley, maister Edward Stanley, who was there made knight. And a nomber of other lustie gentlemen, that presently I make no mention of.
the storm ; yet he pursued his design, and took the island, and placed a colony, and a small garrison in it: and thence, he in- vaded, and wasted Gantire, in Scotland. Nor, did the islands of Aran, and Camber (Cambeyes) escape the like desolation; and he intended as much against the isle of Ila: but, he was by ill weather forced to put in at Carrickfergus; and so, having burnt many villages, which were possessed, by the Scots, in Ul- ster, he returned to Dublin, on the 8th day of November [1558. Hist. Ireland 307.] Here, then, is a hostile passage, in the An- nals of Scotland, letrieved, which is unknown to the Scotish historians.
88 CHURCHYARD'S [ The Siege
THE SIEGE OF LEITH, 1560.
LEITH has, for ages, been deemed the sea-port of Edinburgh. It was first fortified, by the French, who came in aid of the Scotish government, during the campaign, 1549, by the skilful foresight of Mons. Desse. The Scotish insurgents, during the admi- nistration of the regent queen, were too little ac- quainted with the military art, to be able to take Leith, whatever may have been their bravery. They solicited the aid of Elizabeth, in 1559, who did not require much persuasion, to send a body of troops, under lord Gray, the late governor of Guisnes, to besiege this fortress, in April 1560. The besiegers were so confident, in their own prowess, that they did not expect such scientific resistance. The siege was raised, in July 1560, in pursuance of a treaty, which stipulated, that both the French, and English, should consentaneously retire from Scotland.
Churchyard accompanied his old commander to this siege, which evinced, by its difficulties, that suc- cess cannot, always, be expected by the strong : The Dowager Queen, who is mentioned, in The Siege, died pn the 10th of June 1560.
of Leilh.~\ CHIPS. 89
THE SIEGE OF LEETH, more aptlie called
the Schole of Warre, (the Lord Gray of Wilton
Generall thereof) in the second Yeare of
the Raigne of our Soueraygne Lady
Queene Elyzabeth. Anno. 1560.
As Marche did ende, so Mars began his raygne, Whose men I saw to bluddy warres were bente : From Barwick wals, they marched through the playne, Wyth banner splaide, with carriage haell, and tente, All fitte for warres, to Leeth this army wente, And as I know, the number was so small, Sixe thousande, and fiue hundreth men were all.
And most of those, not trayned for the field, More rawe then rype, vnready out of vse : And some men say, ech leader was not skild, But what of that? I write not of abuse; If faultes there were, I ought to make excuse : First do wee creepe, and after learne to go, All hitts not white, that shooteth in the bow.
Amonge theese men, were souldiours of ech sorte Both old and yonge, what should there more bee sayde : And some that sought, to get a good report To haunt the warres, did holde them well apayde : Of cannon shotte, they seldome stoode afrayde,
90 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
They knew the crake, and horlinge in the eare, Was halfe the harme, and most of all the feare.
Sutch men declarde, they had a debt to pay, And still they wisht, in countreyes cause to dye, They praysde that man, that serude his prince a day ; They were a feare vnto the enmyes eye, They beautifyed theyr bands with brauery : They bare the blowes, and brought the yonglinges on, And gaue the charge, when others lookt vppon.
As erst I saide, this campe so furnisht out ;
Lord Gray the chiefe, lord Skrope the marshall than,
Of knightes, and squires, if heere I went about
To show their names, as if I list I can,
Time should I loose, and weary many a man,
To read their stiles, wherefore your leaue I craue,
To write sutch thinges, as in my head I haue.
The maner thus, before Dumbar they past, " Where issued out, the French, a silly band, On horse and foote, and not requiringe fast To take, mee thought, the skirmishinge in hand : And thus a while, both parties still did stand, Till cankred hate, had kindled malice newe, And badde our men, in field their foes pursewe.
But in the ende, a fewe were hurt, or slaine, They driuen in, and none that skirmishe would,
of Leith.'] CHIPS. 91
Thecampe marcht through, and did no while remayne Before Dumbar, the troth thereof is tould : The rest my penne, shall soone to you vnfould So that you do, my tale in order marke, And as you ought, geue credit to my warke.
At length in sight of Leeth our army preast,
I had forgot, how they the Scots lords met,
Who brought with them, two thousand men at least
Few more I gesse, that were in order set
But still in hope, a greater power to get
They put vs in, so thus wee ioynde in on,
I may not longe, this matter rest vppen.
But as I sayd, when sight of Leeth wee had Like as the bore, his brissels ginnes to shake When hee is chafte, and fares as hee were mad ; Or as the wolfe, that newly is awake, In fury runnes, the silly sheepe to take So did our men, the French full fast pursue Where soone was scene, the warres began anew.
They had no minde, on peace proclaimde in Cheape, The leage was broake, they thought in London made ; Out goes the pikes, the souldiours ranne in heape, The scabberds falls, and forth was drawen the blade, Some shotes a pace, the others chardge, and lade, But ere the heate, of this great skirmishe grew, The Dowager, with trumpet tooke a trew.
92 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
This stay of warre, made many men to muse ; How bee it was, deuised of theyr queene, Some say by crafte, our captaines to abuse, And so it proude, none other as I weene : For heere and there, the Frenchmen lay vnseene, As though were ment, no harme on either side, As fire lyes hid, vntill the smoake bee spide.
Our campe came on, and sought their tentes to pitch, The Frenche drewe neare, to view our maner throw ; Whereat lord Gray, was discontented mitch, And sent them word, they should retyre them now: Wherefore (quoth they,) wee vnderstand not how Wee should geue place, or any way bee bounde, To part from hence, and leaue our maisters grounde.
Yees (quoth my lord), were not for promise sake, Of truce a while, wee should not reason longe : Full stoutly than, the French in braury spake, Do what you dare, wee will not take a wronge, Wherewith in haste, they sange vs sutch a songe Wyth curriar shotte, that had not hap bin good, They had soone shed, some of our worthist blood.
For as our cheefe, and leaders of the field, In daunger stoode, vnder the league wee had, They vsed sutch warres, as had bin seene but seld, Full in our face, they shotte as they were mad : A tricke of Fraunce, a bluddy parte too bad ;
of Leith.] CHIPS. 93
But, as God woulde, the skath they did was smale, It was but one, on whom the harme did fale.
Our rage was great, our bloudes began to rise, Our stomackes storde, as wee did this beholde, Through out the campe, the noyes ran to the skies, At brute whereof, the coward waxed bold, The valiaunte man, had courage doubble fold ; So that a lowde, a chardge, a chardge, they cride, They taried not, and looked for a guide.
But as by chance ech one his marrow mette They skirmished, as thicke as bees they swarme : Some lost their Hues, and paied the earth his dette, Some were sore hurt, and had no further harme. I you assure, this skirmish was so warme, That as the hailles commes down like rayny teares The curriar shotte, did ring about our eares.
If Barwick bandes had absent ben that day, A present plague, was like on vs to lyght, Uppon our foes they ranne and ledde the way, And stil they put, the French perforce to flight. But yet I prayse some other men of right, That serud full wel whose names if I should show Some here might say, the men we do not know.
A further cause that stayd my pen herein, All haue not fame that worthy are therfore;
94 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
Some gets great thankes, that seld in wars hath bene: Some serue so longe their names are cleane out wore: Some haue ill frendes, ill hap, and that is more : So that their actes lye dead and little worth, For that no man theyr deedes dare wel set forth.
I leaue this case and to my matter cumme,
That day was hot, and hard for to indure,
The shot was such, ther could no sound of drumme
Be easly heard the tyme I you assure
On both the sydes they put their foe in vre:
And if I shal not lye for fauours sake,
The Frenche that whyle serud wel I vndertake.
Ful wise and ware, they were in al their wayes And valiantly they did themselues defende. But as I do, their skil and manhode ^rayse, So here I must, their boldnes discommend : For had we sene what hapned in the ende Or knowne the ground, as reason did require, We had ful soone, compeld them to retyre.
Retyre good lord, so wel it had not bin
They had bin slayne, or taken euery man :
But, who can tel, who shal the victry win,
When men do meete, no more we knew not then,
Until in deede the heate of this began,
Where lay their rewen, wher our good fortune was :
For battailes are as britle as the glas.
ofLeith.'} CHIPS. 95
Now conquest seemes, that ouerthrowes appeares, Now seemes it good, that after proues starke nought : Now is hee free, that hapneth in the breares, Now men deuyse, now all is out of thought : Now much is spoke, and little thinges are wroughte, This is the course and custome of the warre, Wher wisdome biddes, no man to go too farre.
The soth to shew, if men before had knowen What vauntage great, to vs that day was due, We had in deede, the Frenchmen ouerthrowen, With little losse : and yet I say to you, It hapned well, as forth then matter grue : Our horsemen came, and gaue a charge ful wel, In whom then lay, the seruice euery del.
Their names that chardg'd, I thinke vnfyt to wright*, Who serueth wel, at length must nedes haue fame ; Let no man think, their deedes be buried quight, Although not here, the persons do I name, I nil for that, my worke put out of frame. To them I leaue, at large for to disclose That after shal this iourney wryte in prose.
Right hot awhyle, the enmyes shot enduerd, But sone was coeld the terrour of the same ; The horsemens force, in fyne the French procuerd
* Sir Harry Knivct hurt oiaufully at the charge.
96 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
For to retyre, nay runne away with shame : But yet I may, not much theyr doynges blame, Tn order stil, their battel stood me semde, Fyue.hundreth pykes, they were as wee estemde.
But, what should more be sayde, they shronke asyde, And to their towne, they trotted as they might : But euery band had not with him his gyde, They bode the brunt, on them the bloes did light. And as I harde and saw there compted right Twelue men of name were slayne, and prisonners fiue, We tooke that day, and brought away alyue.
Of common sort of souldiers good, and bad,
Ful seuen score of them we put to sacke,
And some sore hurt, into their towne they lad r
Of ours in dede, a very few did lacke
Some hurt some slayn, our enemyes put a backe,
And as in dede, the manner is of sortes,
The towne seyng this,agaynst them shut their portes.
Wee hard therof, when al this broyle was donne; But, who could say, he saw the same the whyle, Each man can talke when that a thing is wonne, And with conceits, his fancy oft begyle, Runne throw the hedge and after leape the style, This should be done our after wittes can say, But few at first, findes out the ready way.
of Lath.] CHIPS* 97
Wei let that passe, we drew vs to our rest, And euery man, made myrth as cause he found, This bickring duerd, foure hours and more at lest. Men wil be glad when trumpe retrait doth sounde, That weary are in trauesing the ground : So doubt I not, it did both partyes please When they had founde a tyme to take their ease.
In shot of Leeth, within Lastaricke than We pitcht our campe, where canons cabins brake And oft by chaunce, it kild a horse or man, But no man would the campe therfore forsake : Sutch tennis balles did kepe our men awake, And quicken those that were dul sprited soules, And made some ladds to digge them depe in holes.
To saue the ward from harme of enmyes shot Ful many a trenche did Pellam cause be wrought Loke what was meete there was few thinges forgot Our power so small, by euery way we sought To kepe the same: but that auailed nought, Some were so rude they ran their death to seeke So thus decreast, our number euery weeke.
A bishop came from Fraunce to treat a peace * Muche talke there was, which tyme consumed still, But all this whyle the wars did nothing seace,
* The bishop of Valence. II
98 CHURCHYARD'S [TAe Siege
To hurt oiir foes, we neuer wanted will : At length vppon a rocke, a craggy hill We plaest a pece, and in a trench beloo Was other store of smaller shot also.
Forget not here the weather on the seas
Would not permit the canons for to lande,
The longer here we laye to our disease,
For lacke therof, which few do vnderstand :
I would demaunde how we should take in hande
To lay a siege, or els our campe remoue
When most thinges lackt, that was for our behoue.
Among our men, might Scottish vitlers haunt WTho with the French a treason tooke in hande A wyfe, a queane, did make the French a graunt Upon this rocke in sight of Leeth to stand : And there to make a signe to Dozis band, When that the ward wer careles and at rest Which she did kepe, her selfe the same confest.
The French came on as they thus warned were Lyke men of warre they chose their tyme ful well, Our men start vp amasde with sodayn feare But what was best to do they could not tell Some louing fame, his lyfe did dearly sell Some hating death, did sone from daunger shpnne Some past all shame, ful fast away did runne.
of Leith."] CHIPS. 99
Some made defence, but stil they stroue in vayne Once order broke, farewel the fight that howre So in this heate was many a souldier slayne, There was no helpe they were orelayd with powre ; Thus haue you hard how fortune gan to lowre Uppon our men, the chaunce of warre is suche A man may not, at no tyme trust it muche.
But at this cyde, ful many a one was there Deserued prayse, that are vntouch for mee And most of those that did them stoutly bere Were mangled than, mine eies the same did see But for they are of meane and base degree I leaue them out, it is sufficient here If in the boke of Fame their names appere.
Ye know when that the waspe within his nest Is sturd with sticke or any other thing Assone as he is troubled from his rest He crepeth forth, and sharply vnder wyng, He seeketh place for to bestowe his stinge: So lo our campe that erst in quiet lay At noyes of this began a feareful fraye.
Now ran they forth and forward cryde they all * Thedrummesdidsoimd,thesouldiersmadegreatspede Unto the trench, the larum was not smal
* Sir James a Crofts led the souldiours on their enemies. H2
100 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege.
But al to late, the help did come in deede The captaynes still, their men with hope did feede And bade them march, the day is ours quoth they, At sight of whom, the French retyrd away.
Great terror made, the curriers in our face Some slaughter too by that to vs arose * But yet in spyte, the foe forsoke the place And straight to Leeth, in hast the enmy gose Abyde quoth we, ye part not without blowes Upon them rose, the boldest men we had, Al had not charge, that day the way that lad*
Undoutedly the souldiers semd the wold
In sender ryue, the rampyre with their hands
And pluckt them by the eares out of theyr hold
But as it was they slew vpon the sandes
And left sore hurt and groninge one the landes
I iudge at least, as many men ful out
Or more then we had lost haue ye no doubt
A bande of men, by this tyme to our ayde At Musselbrough, were come vnarmd I gesse Of whiche reliefe we held vs wel apayed The enmyes store therby became the lesse This done al things were put in readynes
* The lord Gray that now is was sore hurt at a valiant charge he gaue.
of Lath.] CHIPS. 101
For to dismount such peeces as we saw Upon a church, that kept our campe in awe.
A battry smal, agaynst the same was set In halfe a daye down fel therof the chefe ; Than for the siege, we found not so much let Our skirmishers, retyred with les griefe Our men might come more easely to reliefe. But marke this wel, such skirmishing J say I neuer saw, nor hard of ere this day.
The mounting larke no sooner in the skye Then we were forth : the Frenchmen wer so braue Ne night nor day they would not let vs lye In rest, for stil they did the skyrmish craue And they in holes themselues could finely saue To cause great shot to play vppon the walles As though that we wer made vnto their calles.
And this they vsde ful oft and to our harm
Until a stay our leaders tooke therin
Before in field raw men so thicke would swarme
That long we semde more like to lose then winne
By rashnes rude of such as had not byn
In warres before, but yet with exercyse
A white cote did become both ware and wyse.
And serud as wel, as any souldiour might With bow and bil such weapons as we vse
102 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
And oft therwith they put the French to flight What maruayle not, you know this is no newes : The bowe hath oft made them the field refuse The bow is fearde as farre as flyes our fame, And bowes I weene wan English men the name.
Our enemyes styl to skyrmish vs procuerd
And gald our best and oldest souldiers sore
I tel you troth, the heate of this enduerd
Ful long, wherby our men away we wore.
But God be thankt the Frenchmens losse were more
For stil they spent vpon the stocke ye knoe
When we without, had meane to come by moe.
By deepe foresight, a mounte there was deuisde Which bare the name of Pellam for the space I had forgot, how Frenchmen cam disgisde In womens weedes, like queanes with muffled face They did no acte, but soone they tooke the chace I let that passe, and of the mounte I treate Where to bee playne, the seruice was full greate.
The captayne there, one Cutbert Vaughan was And ioynd with him, there were a number mo * This mounte thus made, the campe away did passe More neere the towne, how mutch I neede not shoo This mounte to Leeth, was still a dayly foo
* Syr Aiidrewe Corbet was hecre, and other gentlemen.
ofLeith.'] CHIPS. 103
The peeces there, a longe the rampere shot Some harme they did, but what full fewe men wot.
Upon the sandes, they could no ccckells seeke But that this force might easely them anoy ; Some deerely bought their muskels eury weeke, Some sacrifisde their horse to sweete saynct Loy ; Some in their heads did take so mad a toy, They neuer spake a word, ne good nor ill Some learnde to feele the weight of our blacke bill.
A bande of horse there were to warde that forte
Which eury day did serue full worthely,
With whom the French sometimes for chaung of sporte
Would meete, and so the matter would they try :
The French full oft, I cannot this deny,
Made sallies forth, as tryme as men might do,
And so went home, with blud and honor to.
But commonly, in deede, the worst they gate Yet stil they brau'de, and bare their fortune out Their warlike shiftes, they were of sutch a traed My penne shall but ecclips them out of doute, To paynte them right, but since I go aboute To prayse them thus, I will proceede for shame And let them haue their owne deserued fame.
First all they did, was drawen by orders skill And seld they past the boundes of reasons lore
104* CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
By poynte deuise, they skirmished at will : That wee perceiu'de, they practised no more That wee feard not, and had not seene before They put in vse, thus still their heads they bende To purchase prayse, and eke the towne defende.
Great neede they had, themselues to vse full well
For all their Hues, vpon this matter lay
What should I more, vpon this matter dwell
To tier your eares, and waste the time away
There was no side, stoode idle halfe the day
But on both partes, for seruice driftes were founde
And euery howre, wee draue them from their grounde.
At Pellams mounte, by foote, and horsemen both*
This trade full longe, did there the souldiours keepe
Whose payne was mutch, and sore I tell you troth
For at no time, in quiet could they sleepe
And specialy, when day began to peepe
The shot went of, then souldiours to their toyle
And as hap drewe, they did abide the spoyle.
I nowe returne, vnto our campe a whyle That lay where shot, did dayly them salute And where the French, with many a warlike wyle Pid showe our men, of warres what was the fruite And where some get, their death by littell suet
* Maister Pellam, lieutenant of the ordinaunce,
vfLeilh.'] CHIPS. 105
A skarre, a mayme, and sutch a rude rewarde As most men findes, that do that life regarde.
J spake afore of bickrings, by the Frenche But heere the heate of seruinge might bee scene They bearded vs, and made them tnenche for trenche And shewed themselues trimme souldiours aslweene But what of that, wee came to serue the queene Though to our losse, our courage did wee vse Wee forst our foes their trench at length refuse.
And to their milles wee went and burnt them downe Slew them wee founde, where many hurt were than In seruice great, right neere before the towne Our hap was sutch, that wee the honour wan: Not onely heere, but euer when began A skirmishe, or a bickeringe any where Which as wee gesse, wee wanted seldome there.
A thondringe noyes they made when they came foorth Their ratlingeshot did pearce the clowdes mee thought, To show the truth, their corriars were more woorth Then double tolde, the peeces that wee brought And to bee playne, our shot they counted nought Yet as it was, when that our men came neere The Frenchmen bought, their comminge forth full deere.
Yet would they not, bee kept no tyme within An hundreth tymes, they issued out I gesse
106 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
And sought for death their honor for to win, What ere they lost they braud no whit the lesse If heere I should all skirmishes expresse What they haue done,what wee haue wrought likewise, Of paper sure, a quere woulde not suffice.
Unto my tale, my penne I pray thee passe What humer brought? thy reason heere so wyde You knowe good folkes in what discourse I was The campe thus plaste wee did releefe abide Mutch losse ech day, wee had I will not hide And greater harme was likely to ensue, If some had not made vp their bandes anewe.
Of watch,- and warde, our men so wery were
They carelesse stoode, of any hap at all
The nightes were fowle, the dayes not very fear,
The countrey cold, their garmentes thinne, and small
And still vpon their captayns gan they call
A saute, a saute, wee lye ore longe in trenche
Let vs go spende our Hues vpon the French.
It seemed good the towne for to assayle, Men willinge were in princes cause to fight, The battry shot, but that did not preuaile Mutch pouder spente, the charges was not light Smale skathe it did as seemed to our sight, This dare I say, so sharpe a peale so ronge I neuer hearde* but yet it durde not longe.
ofLeith.] CHIPS. 107
For this assault, lewd ladders, vile and nought The souldiours had, which were to shorte God wot. The proofetherof, with bloude thepoore men boughte Had they ben long, the towne we might haue got But looke what God assigned to our lot. We could not shunne, nedes must it come to passe That he appoyntes, as there good tryal was.
Let those thinges go, I kepe another vayne / Or this assault, the manner shew I shall* First were our men, in battail raunged playne And garded wel, with horsemen were they all, The rest in trench did stand as did befal Til warning made of Randal maior there At which they past to Leeth withouten fere.
The drommes did sound, the trompettes blew alowde. The canons shot, the bowmen stode not still The smoke was lyke a fogge, or misty cloude That poulder made, our souldiers lackt no wil To clyme the walles where they receiue much ill. For when they layd ttyeyr ladders in the dyke They were to short the length of halfe a pyke.
The flankers then in murdring holes that lay Went of and slew, God knowes stout men enow, The harquebuz afore hande made foule playe * Captayne Randal gaue warning whan thassault shuld begin!
108 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
But it behoud our men for to go throwe And so men sought, ther deathes they knew not how From such a sight sweete God my frendes defend For out of frame did dyuers find theyr ende.
To see poore soules, there wander in the dykes The stones wer flung, the curriers bet them down The wounded men, let fal both bowes and pykes The mangled heapes, that creped from the towne The slaughter foule, and here the woful sowne That souldyers cryes, there made, I thinke in decle Would sure compel, a stony hart to blede.
The brute of this, abasht our bouldest men And cut our combes, as al were cast away The coward sort did steal them homeward then And some in campe came neuer since that day ; Some sought discharge, some saw so great a fray They wysht at home, they had bene keping crooes Suche is the warres, wher men both winne and loose.
I leaue that case, and now returne 1 shall To those that day wer leaders in the feeld ; And for in ryme, I cannot shew it all, And wel set forth in ryme, are faltes but seeld, An4 wordes I lacke, and that I am vnskilde To seeke out termes, that apte are for that case, Jn prose, I mind, therefore the samp to place,
nf Leith.~\ CHIPS. 109
That shal I wryte, when this I draw anew Which in short tyme, I mynd at large to set But for the first, it may suffice to you This naked rime, out of my handes to get Yet if I Hue, I wil be in your det To pay you once, a better sum I thinke Then I haue yet set forth with pen and ynke.
And other mount, that Somerset was cald
Deuysed was where Somerset was plast *
This fort, ful oft, the French both slew and gald
And many a tyme their peces it defast
Here you must note, these mountes were not in wast
For if they had not held the towne in awe
We could not it besege for ought we sawe.
If that the French, with frendes that wer without Had ventred all, and stode to fortunes hap In daunger great, we had bene out of doute And likely sure, we were to fal in trap But lo our chiefe, misdouting such a clap For want of men, to seege the enmies rounde Deuysed fortes, vpon the metest ground.
In this meane whyle, there came S. Fraunces Leake To our reliefe, wherof much nede we had A greatter lacke, we had there then I speake * The earle of Worceter's brother, maister Frances Somerset.
HO CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
Of men and helpe, which made our harts ful sad But still with wordes, the councel did vs glad And sayd the duke was comminge, haue no drede, Who much desirde, for to supply our nede.
The French came forth, at midnight after this
As though they would a camisado make ;
But as God wrought, their purpose did they misse
For though some men the trenches did forsake
An other sort, defence did vndertake
And stode so sure, and shot so in their face
That there they slew a corporal in the place.
They seyng that, ful hastely retyrde
And lokt not backe theyr fellowes for to see
To turne agayne was none that them desird
Each man is glad to see his enmy flee.
A bridge of gold geue him that runnes from thee
The wyse man bids, which councel they that maye
Wil not refuse in warres I dare wel saye.
Now must you note, the Frenchmens hartes were hye And of reliefe they made a great auaunce And for they serud before their mistris eye The feats of armes, the more they vsd to haunte As though our campe, their courage could not daunt Wherfore ful late at night when sun was set They issued out, to take vs in a net.
ofLeith.'] CHIPS. Ill
Uppon our trench, and all along the sandes They came amayne, far past a marching pace, And brought abroad their braue and chefest bandes But as God woulde we met them in the face, Where lo the shot induerd a maruaylous space Some men of theirs, that whyle cryde shyrly bowes So nere the campe that vp the souldiours goes.
A larom long among them there they had,
And sundry sortes of thinges they thought thereon
But at the trench, was many a stubborne lad
Which still with shot did prese the French vppon
And left them not vntil that they were gon
Or sawe them flye, their whitcotes serud so well
I lacke but tyme, their worthines to tell.
•
Our enmyes now, became more circumspect And curtsie made, so nere our camp to come They woulde not lose, their men to smal effect Nor had no wyl to hap in whytecotes thorn They sent them in, without the sound of drumme They kepe such stur, as neuer yet I sawe And yet at first, they were but blunt and rawe.
Stil did we hope to haue from Barwicke ayde It comes this day, quoth one, it wil not fayle The fame wherof did make the French afrayde They knew they must abyde a new assayle This newes among our men did much preuaile
112 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
But in the end they saw smal hast was made Wherfore their myndes were in an other trade.
The dowager, the queene of Scottes, fel sicke This whyle, wheron, at length this lady dyed, Whose death did touch the Frenchmen to the quicke ; For sure their frend she was as wel was tryed ( And to her realme it cannot be denyed She was ful fast) a princes of hye sprete For Fraunce a perle a member apt and mete,
I had almost left out a skirmish here
Upon the sandes, where horsemen honor gate
And in despyte they rode the French so nere
That diuers French were ouerthrow therat
Although that here I partly touched that
You must not thinke, but dyuers days lykewise
The horsemen kept this common course and guise.
As tyme consumd, so stil our men did waste •*«<.'«>
And needful was for ayde or els for peace
And to be briefe, our country made no haste
From watch and warde our souldiers to releace
Greate murmurs stil among vs did encreace
But dewty bad, each souldier do his best
Til sweete reliefe should bring poore soules some rest.
From Fraunce there came, embasadours this to ende And from our queene, the like to vs was sent
of Leith.'] CHIPS. 113
Aboute the same, they did much labour spend And as you know, both partyes were content The French by sea, vnto their country went Compeld with force, they did forsake the towne To our great fame, and honor of the crowne *.
First giue me leaue, our souldiers to aduaunce That with their blud, their countryes rest haue brought Next how they serud agaynst the flower of Fraunce And last of all, did bringe their bragges to nought And more then this note here and kepe in thought They being weake did make the strong to bow And to their home, returne with conquest now.
But or I go, to farre in souldiers prayse
The instrumentes, that endid al this toyle
I must set foorthf , whose graue and sober wayes
And stoutnes both, did geue the French a foyle
They forst the French to yeld to their own spoyle
They did perswade, nay rather they compell
To part to Fraunce. as al men knowes ful wel.
Was this none act, to worke them so lyke wax That were as hard as flint or stony steele And quench the fyre that was so nere the flax
* The Byshop of Valence from Fraunce ; my lord of Bur- leigh, that now is, came to conclude this peace. f Lord Burleigh ended these broyles. I
114 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege
And ceast the plage that many one might fesle And brought vs peace, and cast al war at heele And as a man might say mawger their teeth Drew forth the French out of the towne of Leeth.
Because the brute and betle headded braynes
Can not conceiue, the depenes of this peace,
And that some thinke that we haue lost our paynes
Or that by this did further warres increace,
For that I would such fond conceipts should ceace
Here shal I showe the sum of al the same
As neare as I can put such thinges in frame.
By this wee haue, that many kinges did seeke
A perfit peace, with Scotland sure for aye
By this the French, that nestled neare our cheeke
Ful many yeares, are now dispatcht away
By this smal broile, did cease a greater fray;
By thys our realme was rid from further care
Our foes sent home, and we in quiet are.
By this our Quene hath al her owne requestes
Unfit tor you, to know therof the weyght,
By this great thinges, as yet in question restes
Til for our welth, they shalbe framed streight
By this our fame is lifted such an height
That euery wight, that throughly wais this chance
Shal say we stroue agaynst the flower of Fraunce.
ofLeith.]
CHIPS.
115
How happy are the subiectes hie and lowe Rueld by the prince, in whose tyme this was wrought Which for the zeale of her owne realme you knowe And Scotlandes loue hath set expence at nought, And in her dayes, to passe such thinges hath broughte As seldome could be compast wel with wit Wherfore the fame, therof to hir is fit.
Here haue you hard, of Leeth the order throw As far as ryme wil suffer me to wryte In prose who list, to make rehersal nowe Therof hath skope to shew in paper why te A beter way, that shal you more delight : For this was done, as this I saw it then And tyme but short, I had to vse my penne.
i2
]16 CHURCHYARD'S {The Rede
THE RODE
OF SIR WILLIAM DRURY,
Into SCOTLAND, 1570.
THE dependence, under which the earl of Murray brought Scotland to Elizabeth, was disgraceful to the nation, says the historian, Robertson: but, he might have added, that it was injurious to his country in the highest degree : for it involved the nation in the various miseries of foreign invasion, and domestic war. The death of Murray, on the 22d of January, 1569-70, by the vengeful shot of Hamilton of Both- wellhaugh, embittered all those miseries, by leaving a divided people, without a ruler, and by reani- mating the cruel efforts of civil war. The death of Murray was attributed, by the English government, and by Scotish faction, to the family of Hamilton, as the heads of the queen's party. The historian adds, but without proof, that Scot of Buccleugh, and Ker of Fernyherst, both zealous abettors of the queen's cause, entered England, the day after the regent's murder, in a hostile manner ; nor could it have happened, unless they had leen privy to the crime. 1 shall only subjoin a few notices, and dates, from CECIL'S Diary, as introductory to Drurys Inroad:
Sir W* Drury. ~\ CHIPS. 117
1570, April 15. The earls of Huntley, Argyle,&c. sent the laird of Trabroun to the earl of Sussex, to move I:im not to enter Scotland.
17. The earl of Sussex, and lord Hunsdon, en- tered Tividale : three hundred villages burnt ; fifty castles cast down: the lord Scrope made a rode into the west.
20. The duke of Castleherauld released from the castle of Edinburgh.
22. The army returned out of Scotland: the earl of Lennox went into Scotland: [17 July, he was chosen regent, according to the record of his elec- tion, in the Cotton Library.]
26. The earl of Sussex, and lord Hunsdon, again entered Scotland: and on the 28th of April the castle of Home was, absolutely, rendered; and two hundred English soldiers left for a garrison.
May 4. Fast-castle taken, by order of the earl of Sussex.
7. The end of the Consultation, about the delivery of the queen of Scots.
11. The earl of Sussex sent sir William Drury, the marshal of Berwick, into Scotland, with twelve hun- dred footmen, and four hundred horsemen, who, at Coldingham, received six hostages; viz .'Angus, Mor- ton, Mar, Glencairn, Ruthven, and lord Lindsay, [for the safe return to Berwick of Drury 's army.]
June 3. Sir William Drury returned out of Scot-
118 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
land to Berwick; he had thrown down four houses of the duke of Castleherauld, viz. Linlithgow, Kineel, Hamilton-palace, Hamilton-eastle [Cadzow.]
The following facts may be learned, from those notices: 1. The king's friends are said to have invited that hostile inroad; 2. Who they were may be seen in the list of the six hostages. The vengeance of Elizabeth was, chiefly, poured upon the Ha- miltons.
THE RODE made by Syr WILLIAM DRUERY Knight, into Skotlande, from the East Seas to the West (with sundry gentlemen of good calling) for the reformation of sutch causes as the Queenes Maiesty and hir Counsayle thought conuenient. In the 13th Yeare of the Raygne of our Soue- raygne Lady Queene Elyzabeth.
The Names of the Captaynes, and Gentlemen in his company.
Syr Thomas Manners. M. Michaell Cary.
Syr George Cary. Captayne Cary.
Syr Robert Constable. Captayne Caruill.
Syr lerome Bowes. Captayne Austell.
M. William Knowls. Captayne Edington.
M. Henry Cary. M. Edmond Varncy. M. Robert Knowlls.
Sir IV. Drury.'] CHIPS. 119
MY lord of Sussex, now lord chamberlayne, hauing finished two famous and notable rodes into Skotlande, which I haue written of* (as chargeable as paynfull, and of nosmal credit and pollicy) rested a season at Barwick, by reason of a sicknesse taken by ouermutch trauel of body and minde in the seruice rehearsed, and reposing himself in that towne for the benefit of health thought necessary (in the present exployts and seruice expected) to institute another generall for the execution of such matters as he himself would gladly haue taken in hande, if sicknesse had per- mitted : and because eche gentleman souldiour and seuerall bandes should dutifully obey (in all poincts and warlike order) the nue generall chosen for this purpose, my lord of Sussex made an oration in such forme and maner as throughly explayned the whole substance of the seruice, the vnsurety of the season, the difficult dealing of diuers aduersaries, and vttered the excellency of an oratour. At whose eloquence the heerers rather stoode astonyed than vnsatisfied in any poynct or parcell, wherein he opened the bowels of rebellion, the practise of enemies, and sub- borning of traytors, and earnestly persuaded euery honest minde, to be mindefull of his prince and countrey, in the liberty whereof, both life and lyuing is alwayes to bee offered, after whych oration as cus- tome is (for seruyce past, and things to come) he * My tx>rd of Sussex iorneis I set out in my second booke.
120 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
made these knightes that heere are mentioned, sir William Drury, sir Thomas Manners, sir George Care, and sir Robert Constable, and placing the ge- nerall in full authority, he committed them to God and the good conduct of the chieftayne; then pre- sently with professed obedience ech man desired to do a daies seruice, to venter his lyfe, to shed his bloud, or shewe his duety. Whereupon, and as great and weighty cause moued, my lorde of Sussex com- maunded them to martch forward, and so they did, and made that night a greater march than was looked for, and yet no lesse speede than was needeful : by which forwardnes, sodain exercises of armes, (and a brute blowen abroade of a more sooner departure) th'enemies were discouraged and hindred of their hope, and our men made maisters of the field, and possest in a maner their wish and desired hap, at the leaste taking aduauntage of the time, they preuented the push of a perillous and present pollicy, and auoyded the danger of a troublous time to come. For the enemy regardinge our readinesse and desire of encounter with them, retyred so fast backward, that all their labour was lost which they tooke in hand before. And now were they somewhat abashed that before vsed ouermutch boldnes, yet in doubtfull ballance stoode the weight of this iorney, considering tfhat followed by the finenesse or falshood of double neaning frends (beside the daungers insident to the
Sir W. Drury.~\ CHIPS. 121
hazards of fortune) our people being thought at the first to be great in number, were suffred to march where they pleased, but the enemy aduertised of our small power, not only lyke chafed boares began to pluck vp the brissels, but also bruted abroad we were taken in a pitfold, and had neede of a treble com- pany to accomplish the exploit taken in hand. And after our powre had passed Edenbrogh towards the force of the aduersaries, the secret practisiens of mischief in that town, set sodainly on our lackeis: and sutch of the trayne as could not conueniently follow the camp with expedicion, were in daunger to fal in the fury of those bloodsuckers that delighted in slaughter, who sought by suttlety to bring poore weaklings to the mercy of the sword. But this bold- nes and audatious dealings, hindred no whit the hope of our general, nor brake no peece of our purposed matter, for our camp though it was but little, tooke great regard of their safety and honour, and knew that the enemies espials slept no more than their sleights, nor nothing was kept more awaken than their common consent, for our destruction. Which made vs so vigilant and careful, that euery man was bent to beare of the brunt of this busines to the vt- termost, with the pollecy of head, perrel of body, or hazard of life: and kept themselues so fast linkked together, that it seemed a thing impossible to break their order, or daunt their corage, being resolued to
122 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
try, by sword and seruice, the worst or best that for- tune could do. And so marched onward as boldly and wyth as great a show as nothing could haue bin a let and impediment to their purposed enterprises. At the vew whereof the enemies were not only a- mazed but likewise striken in sutch feare, they wist not what was best to be don, and finding their de- uices disciffred and ouer taken, (and their force and people, but weakly guided), they inuented to cast another compas and so to frame by falshood and trea- son a readier way for the execution of their wyeles and wicked will, as hereafter you shall perceiue when I come to touch the perticulars. Our camp neither spared paynes, nor no exersies of armes al this sea- son, and so approching many places on the sodaine, they made the enimy retyre and raysed the siege of sundry townes as Glasko and others which were to long to reherse *, yet alwayes as mildly and quietly as was possible in their passage outward they behaued themselues : deferring the punishing of false brethren and deceiuable enimies, til the returne of the camp homeward again if God so should suffer. And being masters of the fielde and emboldned to march for- wards by the happy successe of their labours, they made as great speede as they might to be at Dora- brittain there to finish by fight or fauorable fortune,
* The Duke Chastilleroy was at thys seege, and went away discoraged.
Sir W. Drury.'} CHIPS. 123
the greatest hazard and toyle of this daungerous iourney. And now was it come to the vtter extre- mity that eyther the enimy must deeply dissemble and worke some treasonable train, or openly stand at defence and poinct of the sword. Whereupon they made a show and signe of great amity, and cloking pretensed mallice vnder a parle and communication of peace, they seemd to mislike no matter that was ministred. As though they agreed to haue an vnity and reformation for ciuell wars and disorder crept in the common wealth by caueling and quarellous people, and offring in a maner all security and trust for the salfe meeting of the lord Flemming, and sir William Drury, who should throughly talke and de- bate of things than most necessary and conuenient (to be amended, or at the leaste wise spoken of) so our general condessended to see what fruict this florishing frendship wold yeld, and giuing occasion of good liking and of no suspicious handling of this busines. Sir William Drury prepared himself to go apart from his power, offring to be armed or vnann- ed. Alwaies prouiding if any of the enimies had ishued out of the towne (for a trayne and false prac- tise) he had a sufficient band ready to resist al mis- chieues that might follow. So as the marshall maner is of meetings for sutch purpose, the lord Flemming and our generall preased in place: as al kinde of doubts and dangers stood voyd and clere of suspicion
124? CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
and free from all feare. But the lord Flemming con- trary to our hope and against the law of armes, by cautel and suttle sort had closly layde a bay te to be- tray syr William Drury, or caused twain of his soul- diers at the very instant of meeting, to shoofee of their pieces, and thinking by the death of the general a general disorder wold follow to further the good for- tune of the faythlesse flock and disceitful dealers : and in deed for truth, our general was no sooner in daunger vpoh trust, but this treason was put in proofe and present practise, for two seuerall shot were so- dainly discharged ful in the face of sir William Drury, and the enimies missed but a little, the only mark they shot at. Notwithstanding syr William Drury (as one resolued to reuenge iniury and falshed) stood so stoutly to his own businesse, that hee shot of both his dagges, to the discourage and infamy of this vn- lordly enterprise, and with a lowd voyce made a vow, that this lewd fact should not long escape vnreuenged. The lord Flemming like a fox to the hole, withdrew him to his hold, and our general came orderly, and without harm from this hateful hazard and vnaccus- tomed entertaynment of wars. And being retired in safety, and the matter wel disgested, a maruelous murmour and furious talke arose in our campe among the whole multitude, and euery honest heart hated this harebrayne and hasty disorder, harbored, and hatched in the bowels of a crokadil. And surely
Sir W. Drury.~] CHIPS. 125
this powder made such a smoulder and smoke, that sundry stout stomadks were slurred to anger, and set on a very flame by the heat thereof. And one of the chiefe (and best credit next the general) stept out and declared, that it was a dishonour to suffer a generall to so worthy a band (and in the seruice of so mighty a prince) so vsed and derided, and for that no such filthy fact should sleep in silence, nor passe rnpunished, he would leaue to the posterity an ex- ample thereof for euer. Wheron he earnestly desired the generals lycence, that he might send an harrold of armes, to the lord Hemming, to know the cause of this vnwarlike demenour, and further (quoth he) it becommeth better myne estate (bicause I am now vnder this generall) than the generall himselfe, to try out this quarell by combat and defiaunce of feyght. And more noble it was, that a gentilman souldiour should stand in those questions, than a generall, con- sidering his calling and office. To the which offer and good persuasion, the generall gaue this aunswere, I haue my deere frend syr George Carie, great thanks • to giue you in this behalfe : albeit for the greatnes of your minde my thanks is to to small a recompence, but it standes me vpon to search out these matters to the vttermost, and so I would, were not my com- mission and charge, as yee knowe, otherwayes to be employed; yet sence your sute is so reasonable (and the whole company and law of armes alows it) I
126 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
graunt you your request and therein do as best shal seeme to your byrth and exstimation, syr George Carey ( desirous of honour, and to see tretchery re- buked) strayghtwayes deuised a letter to bee sent out of hande, whiles things were fresh in memory, and wrote sutch matter as hee minded to stand vnto what euershoulde happen: the effect of whose letter follows word by word, as the wryter himselfe drue it out, and deliuered it to the harrolde in the presence of a number.
f The Letter of Syr George Carey.
Lord Flemming, if eyther your byrth or bring- ing vp had wrought in you a noble mynde or estima- cion of credite, hardly would you haue so mutch for- gotten, and stayned your honour, as in a parley of late with our general you dyd. At whom vildly, and vnhonorably shooting you falced that assuraunce of warre, which souldiours submit themselues vnto: and trayned him to your treason vnder trust, a thing heretofore not accustomed, nor presently to be al- lowed of. He assuredly pretending your owne and your frendes good, commodity to your countrey, and quietnesse to the state: twice abased and submitted himselfe, comming to confer with you thereof: but your pride, ioyned with a harmefull meaning to those that professe best vnto, and selfe wilfull vayne glory, without cause why, refused that which reason and honour commaunded you to haue done. Therfore
Sir W. Drury.'} CHIPS. 127
because his calling is presently with his charge bet- ter then yours, and myne not inferior, I sommon you, reasonably to excuse that fault supposed to bee yours, or els to maynetayne that trayterous acte with your person agaynst myne in fight, when, where, or how you dare. Otherwise I will baffull your good name, sounde with the trumpet your dishonour, and paint your pictor with the heeles vpward, and beate it in despight of yourselfe. In the meane time I at- tend your answere. From Glasco the 22 of May, 1570. (Subscribed.) GEORGE CAREY,
^[ The Copy of the Lord Flemmings Aunswere.
George Carey, I haue receyued your braynlesse letter, makinge mention of my false and treasonable dealing against your generall, hi shooting vnder trust, so vildly agaynst my honour and trueth, trayterously trayned him vnder my trust, which is altogether false and vntrue. And howbeit your genrall came by the house of Dunglasse, by my appoynctment, which I suffered and appoyncted one place of meetinge, sixe men of eyther party, which he refused, and he de- parted, and certayne of his company came bragging vp the riuer side towards the same, and the ground thereabouts, shooting your hargubusses against the same, I could do no lesse but present you with sutch as I had. Whereas you write of your generall s calling to bee presently better then myne, and yours not in-
128 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
ferior, when your generall challengeth mee thereof, I shall giue aunswere : and as for you, I will not be inferiour to a better then you, or any souldiour vnder your generalls charge. Whereas you sommon me, as you call it, reasonably to excuse that fault sup- posed to be myne own, or els to mayntayne that trayterous acte with my person agaynst yours : you shall wit, I haue gentlemen of honor seruaunt soul- diours to me, as you are to your generall, which may be your fellowes, shall defend the same agaynst you and your false and vntrue inuented writing, and were not the charge I present, or howe soone I can be releeued of the same, I should lowly my person, to meete you sixe English myles fro any other per- son. How be it ye be but one souldier, assure your- selfe this day forth, I will not receyue no sutch vayne inuented message, for I haue little to doe with En- glishmen, yee may rayle vpon my honourable name as yee please. You shall haue as honourable gen- tlemen as your selfe against you feighting. Take this for aunswere. JOHN L. FLEMMING.
Lord Flemming ; often the Flemmings after noone aunsweres, smelJeth more of wyne then wit. But as the common cryme, the custome of their countrey yeldeth them part of pardon: so your common ac- quayntance, with the same condition knowne to be very great, shal to me somwhat excuse your witlesse
Sir W. Drury.] CHIPS. 129
writing, wherein first you disaloow my right recitall of your trayterous dealing, by terminge it false and vntrue, for aunswere, know this, the truth my pen hath written, by the witnes of a number. And my hande I vow shall maintayne the same before the world at all times: but you in denying it, haueboth falsely and uniustly lied in your throate, and dare neyther defend nor disproue, that in deedes, which in words you haue don, whereas you write that our generall passed Dunglas. By your appoynctment which you suffred. Therein you do manifestly say vnhonorably and vntruely for that you had no know- lege of our first comming, but saluted vs with your shot, and we likewise skirmished with your men, euen at their owne strength, vntill we vewed the grounde about at our pleasure. And touching the appoynct- ment of sixe of eyther part, easely that may be known to be a playne lye, seeing wee had neyther parle nor conference with you before, to appoynct place or meeting. But where as you say you could do no lesse, but present vs with sutch as you had, therein you confesse, and acknowledge the dishonor and treason that I charged you with al, taking vpon your self that fault which I supposed to haue bin of your seruaunts, for our generall retired his company far from him. And his trumpet being with you, ap- proched himselfe alone to haue parlcd, when vnder trust you discharged two hargubusses against him, K
130 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
an act rather seemely for a cowardly traitour, then one that professeth to be a souldier, finally whereas you let mee witt that you haue gentlemen of honour, seruaunt souldiours to you that may be my fellowes, which should defend the challeng that toucheth so rieere your selfe, as with honour you shoulde not haue refused it. First, I thinke skorne to be any wayes inferiour to you, though but a souldier, to ho- nourable a name for you, being better in birth and vnstayned with reproche as you haue bin. Secondly, I haue more and a,s good gentlemen vnder my con- duct, as you haue vnder your charge, which shall aunswere as many as you can bring, if with number yee meane to combat, and will put them to that which you dare not doe yourselfe. But assure you, my quarell shall remayne euerlasting, except the proofe of your owne person against myne may ende it, and when you shall dare come out of your crowse neast, I will be ready to ride an hundreth Skottish myles, to meete with you in any indifferent place, and vntill that tyme, I shall accoumpt you deuoyde of honesty and honour, vnworthy to marche vpon grounde or to kepe company with men. From Ha- melton, the 29 of May, 1570.
(Subscribed) GEORGE CAREY.
Though many wayes were wrought by message and threatnings to moue the lord Flemming to de- fend with battaile the fault and folly committed, yet
Sir IV.Drury.'] CHIPS. 131
hee put on sutch a vizard of rebuke and shamclcs countenaunce that he faced out the matter, and shifted of the combat, by sutch silly sleights and subtelty, that all the audience might wonder at the weaknes of his courage, and the enimies clapping themselues in sauegard, gaue'an occasion to our men to lose no further time about remedilesse mat- ters. For there coulde nothing grow on this busines at that season, colde and bare skyrmishes, neyther honorable nor worthy the tarryinge for, as by tryall fell out afterwards. These things ended and order taken for our returne from Donbrittane, the camp marched homewards, and comming to Glasko where our powre reposed themselues a while, and either then or sone after they besieged Hammulton castell and tooke it, wherein there was the bishop of sainct Andros son, lord Daui, sonne to the duke Shattille- roy, and sundry gentlemen of Skotland, and this castel subdued and blowen vp was a terrour to the rest, that as yet our camp had not visited, and for the more signe of victory, the generall brought from this castell a dozen good bras peeces, which now re- may ne in England. Ech thing rendred, and put vnder the commaundement and pleasure of our ge- nerall at Hammulton, from thence the camp marched to many places of importance, and ouerthrue houses and pallaces that belonged to any notorious enimy or falsefier of promesse and fidelity. Among the
K2
132 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
rest was the dukes house brent, a stately and delicate pallace, and three or foure myles about the same, was ransackt and spoyled with flame and fier. A pyell called Netherrey, the lord Seactons house was by the enimies fortified, and yet the lady of the castell was glad to make humble peticion on hir knees for the generals fauor, and after hir sute and submission, she kissed the keyes of the aforesayd seat, and de- liured them from hir, by which humility she found fauor at the generals hand, condicionally that a ba- ron should be bound with hir that this castle should euer heereat'ter be at the deuotion of the queenes maiesty our mystresse, and so the band was made and order taken. Another place called Commernawd, the lord Flemmings cheef house, was yelded vpon great sute made to the general who tooke the like band and order therefore as was taken of Netherrey. The lady Liddington, great with child, mistrusting hirselfe (or hir husbands double dealings towards our countrey) in great feare began to flee. But sir William Drury hearinge thereof, sent hir word he came not to make warres with women, but rather to shew pitty to the weake and comfortles, and there- vpon she stayd and had no further harm, I haue kept this in store as a thing to be throughly considred, which is the comming to Lithcoe, and the vsage therof don only for a speciall poinct of seuerity, and to terrifie the stubborn stomacks and inconstantnesse
Sir jr. Drury.] CHIPS. 133
of proud people. The general hailing entred the towne called for the prouost, and commaunded him to prepare with all expedicion to receiue a iust plague and correction through the whole towne for treason, and vnpardonable offences committed. And declaring that the inhabitaunts thereof had succored and sup- ported traytors to our countrey contrary to the leagues and quietnes of the realms of England and Skotland, and for that cause he was fully resolued to ouerthrow that town and receptakul of traytors, and so commaunded ech captayne and souldiour what so euer they were vnder his charge to see due execution on that which he purposed, and taking good regarde that the goods therof should not be possest by Englishe souldiers, nor lost or cast away by vehemency of fier, hee wylled the prouost to ap- poynct a place conuenient to bring the sayd goods vnto, whych might bee employed to the Skottishmens vse and commodity *. And the generall graunted vppon hys owne curtesy eu'ry noblemans lodging, and captaynes house to be free from burning. The enimies all this season beholding a far of the successe of these matters. Thus as the day and houre ap- prochedfor this determined execution, came the earl Mortton as intercessor, to intreat and sue for pardon if fauour might be purchased, and the earle Mortton
* Prouision was made for the preservation of sicke persons, men, women, and children.
134? CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
brought before the general a multitude of wayling people, whose mourning and pittious cries was pearcing and importunate. The generall heareing their re- quests aunswered : For many causes the town ought to be destroyed, considering howe diuers enimies (whose proude practises were not to be suffered) had alwayes there a common resorte and conference, and further, quod he, the curtesie that is shewed to sutch places of repayre hath emboldned the rest of Skot- lande to vse open violence and secret villanies to the prejudice of Gods glory, hinderaunce of the weale publikand breach of good lawesand pollecies. Where- fore sayd he, to the warning of thousands, and ex- ample of many, it was fit and most meete (in that cace of exstremity) to rase out sutch monuments of mischieues, and harbor of wicked conspiracies, and especially that towne hauing crakked creadit in a bloudy action before, deserued now double affliction. Well yet notwithstandinge for all these earnest and threatninge wordes of syr William Drury, the people of all sortes so preased about him, and made sutch pytefull cryes and noyse (with children lying on the ground suckinge of theyr mothers breastes, ) that he was inwardly moued to rue on their wretched estate, and albeit in sundry seruises before diuers Skotish- men had naughtly discharged certayne shot at him, (paraduenture by the practise of some there in pre- sence) yet was he content vppon sutchxconditions as,
Sir W. Drury.~\ CHIPS. 135
hee thought good to receyue the town of Lithco to mercy. And ordayned by sure band and promesse that the prouoste and chiefest of gouernment there should follow the camp, and at all times apeere when they were called for at Barwick, and there to submit themselues, their towne, and goods to the clemency of the queenes highnesse, or sutch order as my lord of Sussex by hir consent thought necessary; to whych bands and conditions they of Lithco agreed, and for that their regent was slayne and none then instituted (to whom they had geuen fayth of alleagiance) they confessed that none might commaunde theym any way without licence of hym that bound them in this seruitude, to whom both their promesse and obliga- tion was passed, and at this day by their apparancese hath beene prooued they are not discharged of thys homage and duty : to knit vp these matters (and re- uenge some iniuries the duke Shattilleroy had offred) a house of the dukes in Lithco, was blowen in the ayre with poulder. Lithco brought in obedience, as you haue hard, vnto some other parts of impor- tance they martched, and casting the worst of mys- chieves that might fortune (consideringe their smal number, and the great practises were gon about to supplant their doings,) they thought not good to enter Edenbrough wythout standing so sure on their garde that they needed not to doubt any double or crooked measure: which sure handling of the mat-
136 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
ter did not onely shew the deuisers thereof to haue good conduct and experience, but in deede also es- chued an inconuenience as ill as a mischiefe. For the enimies had finely by fraude and cunninge, wrought sutch a feare (through the deuice of a fray to be made in the suburbes) that a great murther had burst out sodaynly, and no small bloudshed had bin set abroch by the same, if God and good guiding of the people had not auoyded these harms and emi- nent danger. And to be plaine some inward motion moued the generall so suspiciously, that he sent to the gates at their first arriuall and there preuented the purposed conspiracie, and no sooner entring the towne, but our whole powre kept themselues in order to cleere the streates and commaund the inhabitants the better *. So consuming the nyght they stoode on their garde as the cace required. And when the morning was come syr V/illiam Drury, (smelling out a pad in the straw, and a foule flame couertly hydden) demaunded Justice, and straight punishment for sutch things as he would truly lay to the charges of some of the townes men, and tolde them if remedy were not sone prouided, and satisfaction made for the fol- lies and outrage committed, he would be quickly re- uenged to the displeasure and shame of al the mayn- teyners of this mad and mischieuous presumsionj
* Syr Thomas Manners and two officers, vnder one command, of footemen, were sent before to staye the gates,
SirW.Drury.] CHIPS. J37
after which words, and whan thinges were wayed to the weyght of the cause, the towne deliuered the ge- nerall certayne rnalefactours to be executed and or- dred by his discrecion ; he seeing their submission, mercifully and frankly sent them away to their cap- taynes,and so these broyles were pacified and brought to a better frame and vniformity.
Now here is somwhat to be spoken of in the happy •uccesse of this little bande, if therein the disdayn- full misconstrued not my meaninge, and wresting troth to flattery (by consayte of enuious glorious mindes) might murmur at the vertue and valor of those who this matter touceth. Wherefore I com- mit the Judgement of this journey to sutch as hath bene or woulde bee in the lyke hazarde, and seruyce, yet minde I not to leaue out any poynct or peece that maye redound to these souldiours renoume and estimation, because I woulde haue their prayses equally distributed among the fauorers of vertue and deseruers of good fortune. I haue a little scene and somewhat red, but seldome hard and known a com- pany so vnited and knit together, so obedient to dis- sipline of warre, and so peaceable in all respects and porposes, yea surely it is to bee proued that some of good byrth and calling refused no seruiceable labour and toyle if the generall but onely made a bare signe or shewe of hys determinat minde. And throughout
the camp with a mutual loue and inclination, thev
•'
•
138 CHURCHYARD'S [The Rode of
seem'd to beare a general burthen, as euery member there had ben a naturall framed instrument to the vse of one body. And to foster and nourishe this crue of men in the marshall arte and rules of warre was there prescribed good and quiet orders, and a proclamation made that no man should take any thinge by violence, nor without pleasing the people for the same. And further, if any found himselfe greeued, he was commaunded to repayre for redresse to the generall and hys officers : whose care and study was alwayes ready to minister Justice, as their whole doings declared, and namely at Lythcoe and Glas- koe, where two English souldiers were seuerally pu- nyshed: the one in deed, by intercession of thelordes and gentlemen, was saued from hanginge, and the other was whypped, as the merites of the man did require. Nowe hauinge shewed you the maner and order of this campe, and touched lightly in briefe the substaunce of sutch matter as I think worthy the penning, I wil shew you of their marching homwards. When they had rested a while in Edenbrough, they went towards Seatton, the lorde Seattons chiefe house, where the lady of that soyle in lyke sorte (as before is mentioned) presented the keyes of that place to the generall, who made not onely a rede- lyuery thereof, but also gaue the lady the house and all that belonged thereunto, to hir great contentation and his no little good report. A jorney after this
Sir W. Drury.~] CHIPS. 139
was taken in hande to Anderweeke, with intent to ouerthrow the same also, yet on the suite and bondes of dyuers gentlemen, the place was spared from spoyle and punishment, and the offenders receyued to re- mission. And than as occasion sought to finishe their trauayle, they drue neere the borders of En- gland, spending about these things but xxiiij daies at the vttermost, a iorney to bee noted, and worthy to be regestred in perpetuall memory. Heere may you behold what a willing and valiaunt company may doe in little time, and what ouerthrowes and plagues are sent by Gods prouision, to sutch as breaketh the bounds of blessed orders, and forgettes the duety to common wealthes and Christianity. Thus in simple prose I haue drawen out this seruice, not mindinge therewith to eleuate or puffe vp with ouer- weening the myndes of any one person that this gi- ueth commendation vnto, nor meaninge to disgrace no enimy, for that' season agaynst whom this journey was made. But this is written only to set forth trufy and playnly the actes and aifayres of our time, that sutch as lyst to argue and reason thereof, shall bee the better instructed of euery doubt or certaynty be- longing to sutch a disputation. So fare you well.
140 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
THE SIEGE OF EDINBURGH CASTLE, 1573.
THE ridge, on which Edinburgh, the metropolis stands, ends, on the westward, in a precipitous rock of black marble, and of great height. From the earliest times, there seems to have been some strong hold on that rock, as its British name of Maidun, seems to import. In subsequent times, it was easy, by a slight deflection, to con vert Maidun, int6 Maiden- castle; and it was equally familiar, for fiction, to suppose, that the castle derived this last appellation, from its being the residence of the maiden daughters of the Pictish kings : Churchyard, in the following poem, has alluded to this fiction, with poetic hap- piness. This rock is on all sides very steep, espe- cially, towards the north, where it is perpendicular, for some space. The area, whereon the modern castle was founded, contains about six acres. This fortress is only accessible on the eastern side, where the entrance is not only protected, by the rock, but is strengthened, by art.
Edinburgh-castle, as it commands the city, has al- ways been of great importance, particularly, during
Edinburgh Castle.'] CHIPS. HI
the unhappy periods of domestic warfare. During the factious reign of Mary Stuart, Edinburgh-castle was supposed to be so commanding a power, as neither the skill, nor the materials of those times, nor the men, were, by any means, sufficient to besiege it. By the death of the regent Murray, the command of this castle continued with Kirkaldy of Grange, the best soldier, in Scotland: he was soon joined, by secretary Maitland, who, next to Cecil, was the ablest states- man, in Britain, and who now directed not only the councils of the governor, but those of the queen's party. Every endeavour was used to induce the go- vernor, and the secretary, to change their politicks, or to deliver the fortress. Elizabeth used all her in- fluence, and policy, to gain two men, who were of the utmost importance, in the present circumstances; but, without success: and feeling that she could not dictate, in Scotland, while the castle remained, in hostile hands, she resolved, according to an expres- sion of her secretary, Walsingham, to pull them out ly the ears. For this end, sir William Drury, who was so often mentioned by Churchyard, was sent, from Berwick, at the end of April, 1573, with an army, and artillery, to besiege the castle of Edinburgh, in order to obtain, by force, what they had failed in gaining, by treaty *. The siege began on the 2d of
* Birrel, in his Diary, 20, gives the following account of the
142 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
May, and the garrison surrendred, on the 29th of the same month, after a skillful, and gallant defence, upon terms, which were not fullfilled. Here ended the civil wars of many years. The governor was executed; the secretary died by poison; and Morton, the present regent, a few years afterwards, lost his head on the block. Such were some of the conse-
siege of Edinburgh-castle : " Upon the 2d of May, the English " cannon, which were sent, by queen Elizabeth, for the aid, and " help, of the king, and his regent, in number twenty great "pieces, began to shoute at the castle of Edinburgh, being "steillit [set, placed in battery] at four several places; viz. " five at Eyer's house, on the castle hiM ; five at the. Grayfriars- " churchyard ; five at Scot's land, near the west part • and the " other five, beyond the North Loch : they shot so hard, con- " tinually, that the second day, they had beat down, wholly, "three towers. The laird of Grange, called Kirkakly of sur- " name, who was captain thereof, would not give oveY, but shot " at them, continually, both with great shot, and small, so that " there was a very great slaughter, among the English can- "noneers, sundries of them having their legs, and arms, torn " from their bodies, in the air, by the violence of the great shot. " At last the regent continuing his siege so close, and hard, the " captain being forced, by the defend ants [the garrison] for lack "of victuals [and he might have added, water,] rendered the " same, after a great many of them were slain. The castle was "thus rendered, on the 29th of May, 1573.
" On the 3d of August, the laird of Grange, who was captain "of the castle was hanged, at the cross of the said town."
N. B. Drury was, some weeks before the siege, sent from
Edinburgh Castle."] CHIPS. 143
quences of sacrificing the constitution to domestic faction, and the queen to the guilty passion of a fo- reign sovereign*.
THE SIEGE OF EDENBROUGH CASTELL
in the xv. Yeere of the Raygne of our Soueraigne Lady Queene Elizabeth, at which Seruice Sir Wil- liam Drury, Knight, was General!, hauing at that time vnder him, these Captaynes, and Gentlemen followinge.
^ The Names of the Captains ^ The Gentlemen's
that had charge. Names.
Sir Francis Russell. Sir George Gary. Captayne Read. Sir Henry Lee.
Berwick to Edinburgh, about some feigned business ; and was allowed to enter the castle; so as to see its defences, anil the points of attack : this accounts for the skill, with which the four batteries were placed. But, what garrison, and governor can with- stand a general, who is allowed to examine their defences !
Sir William- Drury was, afterwards, sent to Ireland, as a de- puty lieutenant; and died at Waterford, on the 3d of October, 1579 : Queen Elizabeth honoured his widow with a consolatory •pistle.
* There was published, at Edinburgh, 1573, another poem, en the same siege, by Robert Semple, a noted rhymsterof that age. See it in «« Scotish Poems of the Sixteenth Century." Edin. 1801.
14-4 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
Captayne Erington, M. Thomas Cecile.
Maister of the Ordinance, M. Mighel Cary.
and Prouost Marshal. M. Thomas Sutton.
Captaine Pickman. M. Cotton.
Captaine Yaksley. M. Kelway.
Captaine Gamme* M. Dier.
Captayne Wood. M. Tilney.
Captaine Case. William Killigrue.
Captaine Sturley.
As cause fell out, and brought in matters new (And bloudy minds set many a broyle a broach) So souldiers swarmd, and lowd the trompets blew ; Whose sounde did shoe, at hand did wars approach : Than marshal men, in coats of iron and steele With great regard, did wayt on cannon wheele And in the field, a noble martch they made To practise shot, and skowre the rusty blade.
But whan the campes set fote on Scottish ground (Although the powre, and crue was very small) They shapte them selues, at drom and trompet sound With push of pyke, to giue the proud a fall The quarel good, the force redoubleth stil And bold attempt, makes way with bow and bill It is not strength alone that wins the goale Where corage comes, their fortune deales her doale.
Edinburgh Castle."] CHIPS. 145
A wonder great, to see so smal a band In forrayne soyle, to seeke for any fame I seldome heere, sutch matter tane in hand That conquest gets, and scapeth free from blame Beware I say the men whose minds are good And mark the plague, of those which sucketh bloud Gainst thorns they kick, that runs to wilful spoyle Their conscience prick, that giue iust folk a foyle.
O Neroes brode, O bloudy butchars vile
That striketh down the heds that holds you vp
O wicked snakes, O serpents ful of wile,
That nector bryngs, yet giues a poisoned cup
O Syrens false, that sweetely sings a charme
That spoyles your selues, and doth your countrey
harme.
O people vayne, that cuts the branches downe That stayes your state, and stil mainteiiis your crowne.
Your dealings rash, and wretched reuels rude With sticks did store, from hiue the quiet bees Your graceles hands, in guiltles bloud imbrued Was in sutch sort, disdaind of al degrees That needes must come, some force with mayn and
might
To take vp wrongs, and set your state aright The cut throte knife, in sheath could seldom resl Sutch mischief lurkt, and lodgd in lawlesse brest.
146 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
Ye neither sparde, the highest hed nor fote The chiefest branch, nor yet the meanest spray * But in your rage, to riue vp al the rote At fullest prime, ye sought the readiest way But he that holdes, in hand the horses rain, Wnen steede bolts out, calles bayard back again ; And so God sent, amid your retchlesse rage, A quenching cole, your fury to aswage.
Of zeale and loue, to knit your harts in peace And stop the streame, that ore the banks did run A noble queene, whose lyfe our lord encreace A stiklar was, ere greater grief begon But sturdy minds, stode stifly in their cace Till feeble force, gaue roaring cannon place Than fast in fort, they clapt themselues with speede And made defence, to saue the present neede.
A castel strong, that neuer none assayld
A strength that stode, on mount and mighty rock
A peerles plot, that alwaies hath preuaild
And able was, to suffer any shock
The enmy chose, and sure the seat was sutch
That might harme al, and few or none could tutch
And thought to be, the onely fort of fame
Most meete and fit, to beare a maidens name.
* Two regents slaine by sedycious persons ere this broyle bc^an.
Edinburgh Castle.'] CHIPS. 147
Yea sundiy kynges, with sleight did seeke her spoyl And threatned oft, to throw her in the duste But none could boast, he gaue this mayd a foyle With labour lost, he serude theyr gredy lust And still he stode, like sun among the starres (Lyke pucell pure, a pearle in peace and warres) Which would not sure, be bought for gold nor
good Nor yet well won, without great losse of bloud.
This lofty seat, and lantern of that land
Like lode starre stode, and lokte oer eu'ry streete
Wherein there was a stout sufficient band
That furnisht were, with corage wyt and spreete
And wanted nought, that serud for their defence
Or could in fine, repulse their enmies thence
Well storde wy th shot, yea sure both good and great
That might far of, at wyl the countrey beat.
The castel stode, so strongly note it wel There was no way, but one t'aproch the same And that self thing, was sure a second hell For smothryng smoke, for shot and fiery flame It skowrd the streams, and beat the houses downe And kept in awe ech lane within the towne, Ne man nor child, could stur in open sight But they were sure, vpon some shot to lyght.
148 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
With thondryng noyes, was shot off roaring Meg, And through the thickst, she thumpt orethwart the
waies ,
And where shot light, it shaued off arme or leg As though an axe had cut down litle sprayes The bullets still came whizzing by their cheekes That prowld about, and sodaine daunger seekes Here groned one, and there another lyes That went too farre, or where blind bullet flies.
The liuely flock, that dare do mutch in deede Do catch a clap, ere cause requyres the same So some perhaps, for want of taking heede Did feele the lash, as flie that falles in flame But whan of force, they must the battrie plant The souldier shewes, he doth no corage want £j) Some beate the lowps, some ply the walles with shot And some spy out, where vantage may be got.
For safeties sake, of sutch as lay abroade A trentch was made, to hold the enmye short With pouder still, their pieces fast they loade To skowre the place, where souldiers did resort ; Now might you see the heads flie vp in ayre, Now cleane defaste the goodly buildings fayre, Now stones fall down, and fill the empty dykes And lusty ladds, auaunce the armed pikes.
Edinburgh Castle.'] CHIPS. 14-9
Now cannons roarde, and bullets bownst like bawls Now through the throng, the tronks of wildefier flue Now totring towres, tyept downe with rotten wawls Now some packte hence, that neuer said adue Now men were knowne, and courage playd hys parte Now cowards quakte, and curst all souldiers arte Now ech deuice of death was dayly sought And noble fame, and lyfe was dearely bought.
Heere must you note, how they within that hold In warlik sort, a counter battry made And on their braues, began to be so bold They thought to learn our men a fyner trade (In vsing shot, and planting cannons theare) So hoping thus, to put our camp in feare They plyed a pace, their practize euery way With yron bawls, to make the souldiours play.
And grazing ones, vpon a piece we had They droue away some gunners from their place At view thereof, the enmies waxt so glad They stoutely stode against vs face to face What rule is this, quod than our general streight, Where are these lads, that slynks away by sleight He skarcc deserues, to wear a souldiers coate That hath in deede, his duety thus forgote.
150 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
But soe the brunt, of mischief was so great,
A few or none, God wot, did that they ought
He seing that, stept in amid the heat
And in his hand, a smoking lyntstock brought
And so gaue fier, to shew how corage must
His credit saue, when he is put in trust
A part well playd, a passing point of skill
That tries great minde, and blaseth mutch good will.
The gunnars than, shot off a ringing peale Of cannons great, and did sutch cunning shoe That euery man, might see what loue and zeale And good regard, they had to country thoe For in smal time, so neare theyr mark they went That streight as line, in cannon mouth they lent A shot of owrs, that ful twelue inches bears Which all to tore, their peece about their eares.
That cut the combes of many a bragging cock That broke the gawll, or gawld the horse too sore That was the keye, or knacke that pikt the lock That made some muse, that triumpht mutch before ; Yea that was it, that marde their market quite And dawnted had, their hearts in great despite For after this, they gan to step a back And saw at hand, came on their ruine and wrack.
Edinlurgh Castle."] CHIPS. 151
A litle harme doth breede a great mistrust A simple storme makes some on seas ful sick A feeble puffe of wind doth raise vp dust A litle salue full sure can touch the quick A smal attempt makes mighty matters shake A silly spark a sodaine fier doth make An easy profe brings hard mishaps to pas As this declares where al these mischieues was.
The happy shot, that brake their piece in twayne Discoragde clean, the boldnes of our foes When battailes ioyne, in field and open playne Ful sone is seene, where that the conquest goes For vnto sutch, that sure and stoutly stand Good fortune corns, in turning of a hand : Yea whan mans force doth faint and feeble waxe Downe weapons go, and streight they turn their backs.
And set the world agoing once adue
It is mutch like a streame that hath no stay
Too late comes wit, to giue them corage nue
That feare before hath taught to run away
What would you more, the Scots did hast them thence
Where first they stode, and sought to make defence
And closly kept, the castell as they might
Not willyng oft, to come in open sight.
152 CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
Yet ere these things could well be brought to pas With baskets big, and things to serue the turne A crosse the £treete, a trauers made there was Whiles for a shift, wet straw and hay did burne And for to plant, some playing pieces there A mount was raysd, which kept the foe in feare The gunners sure, their duety throughly did And at that tide was no mans seruice hid.
The enmies lokte, for succour out of Fraunce Or help at home, if matter so fell out For diuers things, might drop to them by chaunce That reason thought, were harde to bryng about For hope denyes, that hap or hazard brings Good luck is swift, as swallow vnder wings And though at first, it corns not that we craue At last some help, by fortune men may haue.
Their friends far of, and propps at home likewyse With great affaires, sore grieued were the while And Fraunce ye know (where bloud for vengeaunce
cryes)
Had mutch a doe, for wycked murthers vyle A matter straunge, that now I must skip ore Tp wryte at full, of things I spake before Thus in exstreames, theSkots did stand within More like to Jose, than yet to saue or win,
Edinlurgh Castle."] CHIPS. 153
For euery day, our men did creepe so neare And bet the walles so flat vnto the ground That in short time, there durst not one apeare To make defence, or at the breach be found Yet stoutly long, and with mutch manhod both In daunger great, they stode I tel you troth And kept their strength, as safely as they might Though all in vaine, they toyled day and night.
In euery part, they were so throughly plyde With souldiers sleyghts, with shot and sharpe assaute, That in the end, they were ful faine to hide Their heads from bobs, in hollow caues and vaute ; First did they lose the Spurre* a place ful strong Which sore anoid the towne and souldiers long And driuen thence, they were in fine right glad To keepe sutch skowp, as easly might be had :
A kind of shot, that we great bombards call Did vex theyr wits, and brought mutch feare in deede And where that huge and mighty stone did fall In weaklings braynes, it did great wonders breede A princes power, doth many a practize shoe Beyond the reach of common peoples boe ; And whan their hearts, are daunted with deuice Theyr corage thoe is held of litle pryce.
# The Sporre was a stronge peese of stone worke.
154? CHURCHYARD'S [The Siege of
And sundry drifts, without are put in vre
When they with in, do dwell in dreadful doubts
Who is betrapt, in penfold close is sure
At neede to want, abrode both ayde and skoutes
And subiect still, to mutins and reuolt
And wilfull ladds, and youth as wilde as colt
In whome when toyes, and sodaine mischief falles
They threat to fling theyr captains ore the walles.
Though wyse and ware, the chief and leaders be Yet rude and rashe, the roflyng roysters are And whan in fort, the bands can not agree The souldiers waxe, as mad as is martch hare Now do they jarr, than murmor muse and skowle And fall from words, to brawles and quarels fowle And shunning death, do seeke theyr Hues to saue By any meanes, and way that they may haue.
Whan sutch vproares is raysd and set a gog There folows streight, a storme and flaw of wind Than some perforce, must learn to leap the frog vft And lyght full loe, for al theyr lofty mind The danger dryues, sutch diuelysh nayles in head That through dispayre, mans hope is striken dead There might by chaunce, for any thing I knew Sutch byelles burst out, among the Scottish crue
Edinburgh Castle.] CHIPS. 155
Our mounts were made, so mutch to our auayle Our gunnars could dismount what piece they would No maruel though, their hearts within did quaile Who did at hand, their owne decay behold Their powlder fayld, theyr water waxed skant Their hope is smal, that doth munishon want When with warme bloud, the water could is bought Death makes dispatch, and selles the life for nought.
In some great neede, the castell stode that time When on the breatch, our shot and cannons playd And for thassault, we had not far to clime Nor mutch to doe, when things were wiesly wayd Saue that eatch wight, that led his fellowes on Lokte all for fame, when breth and life was gon And frankly swore, to die or win the seat Or passe the pikes, by sword and dangers great.
A free consent of faithful souldiers than, Among the chief, was found by view of face Asawlt, asawlt, cride euery forward man The day is oures, we wil possesse the place Or leaue our bones, and bowels in the breatch Tys time (quoth they) to charge and not to preatch Dispute no more, the greatest doubt is past Lets win or lose, sens now the dice are cast.
156 CHURCHYARD'S* [The Siege of
With that came in the general ful of joy And thankt them all, that to the asawt would goe As you this day (quod he) your Hues employ In seruice of our noble queene ye knoe So if I lyue, my pursse, my power and all (To serue your turnes) shal ready be at call ; Thrise happy is that captayn sure in deede That hath in campe, sutch souldiers at his neede.
A showt full shryll, as loud as larum bell,
In trentch, in tent, and towne throughout aroes,
The Skots enclosde, that sat like snayle in shell.
By brute of this, their fatal destny knoes,
And findyng voyd, theyr hope and cunnyng cleane
They thought it best, for life to make some meane
And rather yeld, (ear sword, the matter tride)
And suffer shame, than so assaute to bide,
Yet diuers proues were made the breach to view, And some were slayne, that dyd assayle the same And when our men, thereof the secrets knew And found the way, to put ech thing in frame A band or two, wyth some of right good race (When drom did sound), did forward march a pace And fully bent, resolued lesse and more To win the fort, or lose theyr liues therefore.
Edinburgh Castle.'] CHIPS. 157
Now noble minds stept out in formost rank And skornd to be the last should giue a charge ; His hap was best, that could deserue most thank, And might by death, his countries fame enlarge, But he most vile, that could no valure shoe And he embrast, that to the breatch would goe A time was come, to try who triumpht moste Who toke most payns, and who did brag and boste.
And in effect, the souldiers al were glad,
To make short work, and se what hap would doe
But as I sayd, when that our enmies had
Well waid these things, and pausd vpon it to
They were content in playne and symple sort
Unto our quene to yeld and geue the forte,
Loe here how soone, the strong becoms ful weake
And out of shrape, fly cocke, and so cry creake.
158 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
THE TRAGEDIE OF JAMES, EARL OF MORTON,
THE subject of the following tragedie was one of the most prominent, perhaps, the most profligate character of the reign of Mary, queen of Scots.
He was born about the year 1520, the youngest son of sir George Douglas, the earl of Angus's brother, by Elizabeth, the heiress of David Douglas of Pittendreich : he was of course five years older than secretary Maitland ; ten years older than the bastard, earl of Murray ; and twenty-two years older than the queen.
His father's estates were forfeited, for his treasons, by the parliament of 1528: yet, James V., in Fe- bruary 1535-6, granted to his wife, and son, James, one third of those forfeitures; as we know from the great seal record. This liberal grant evinces, that the tale told, by the historian of the Douglases, of James, earl of Morton, being obliged to act, during his early age, as a gentleman's steward, is a fiction.
The earl of Angus, and his brother, were restored, by the first parliament of queen Mary, which was called, in 1543, by the regent Arran: yet, they con- tinued to act, as pensioners of England, and traitors
Tragedie.'] CHIPS. 159
to Scotland. Sir George Douglas's son, James, did not disparage his father: when the earl of Hertford was about to enter Scotland, with a hostile army, in 154-4, he corresponded with James Douglas, who had now become the master of Morton ; and who had engaged to deliver to him Tamtallon-castle, one of the keys of the kingdom *. We may thus perceive, that James, master of Morton, who was now twenty- four, was treacherous, from his blood, and birth.
James Douglas somewhile before 1543, had mar- Elizabeth, the third daughter of James, earl of Mor- ton, by Catharine, the bastard daughter of James IV., and, the earl having no son, by a second entail, set- tled his estates and earldom, on his son-in-law : and thereafter, James Douglas was called, in the idiom of Scotland, master of Morton, or heir presumptive of the earl : we see, that he was so called, in 1544, when he acted the traitor, with the earl of Hert- ford.
James, master of Morton, first distinguished him- self, as a vigorous character, in November 1543, when the regent Arran, knowing the treasons of the earl of Angus, and his brother, attacked Dalkeith- castle, by assault, on which occasion the master de- fended the donjon of the fortlet against the regent, and his whole force.
The earl of Morton, dying in 1553, the master
* Hertford's letters to H. VIII. in the Hamilton archives.
160 CHURCHYARD'S \_Murtons
succeeded to his father-in-law, under the entail be- fore mentioned: yet, he was too acute a man, not to know, that his title to his estate, and earldom, was defective; and might be revoked, by the queen, when she came to legal age. We thus see the cause, why the earl of Morton acted, with so much circumspec- tion, during the subsequent troubles. He knew, that both his own, and his nephew, the earl of Angus's, titles, were defective. It was not till the parliament of April 1567 confirmed so many titles, and estates, with the queen's assent, that Morton showed the full audacity of his character.
When the queen returned to her kingdom, through so many risques, in August 1561, she put her go- vernment into protestant hands, with her bastard brother, for her minister: and then was Morton made a privy counsellor ; when he entered into the strictest friendship with the bastard of Scotland, which con- tinued, as long as they lived together : we are as- sured, indeed, by the historian of the Douglases, "that Morton, and Murray, the queen's minister, "had thenceforth the same friends, and the same "enemies; the same aims, and ends. They ran the " same hazards, and engaged in the same enterprizes; " never separating their counsels, nor failing to aid " one another." This is so important a passage, that it ought to be kept constantly in view. Morton fol- lowed Murray, when he carried Mary into the north ;
Tragedie,] k; CHIPS. .5 161
to take possession of his earldom, and to ruin Hunt- ley. Morton fought by Murray's side, at the con- flict of Corrochie, where Huntley fell, without a wound. As a reward for his attachments, Morton was appointed chancellor of Scotland, in the room of the fallen earl, on the 7th of January, 1562-3.
When Murray went into rebellion, to do the drudgery ol Elizabeth, by opposing Mary's marriage, Morton remained in the queens councils, in order to lelray them ; as Randolph, Elizabeth's envoy, wrote to Cecil : when Morton conducted the queen's army, in pursuit of his fugitive friend, Murray, who retired southward towards the English borders, for shelter, Morton carried the queen's army, northward, beyond the Forth. Murray of course made good his retreat into England, where Elizabeth did not wish to see him, with her doubtful eyes. Morton, as we have thus seen, did Murray more essential service, by betraying his queen's councils, and misleading her forces, than if he had joined his friend, in the tented field*. The duplicity of Elizabeth drove Murray, from court: but, the policy of Cecil protected him, in the country.
The expatriated Murray lurked in the conter- minous mountains, which separate Scotland from
* The historian of the Douglases acknowledges the unfaith- fulness of the chancellor, though he took part with the king and queen.
M
162 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
England, till he could obtain his restoration, by what- ever means. A conspiracy of all that were great, and influential, in Scotland, with Knox, and the kirk, entered into this concert. The queen's husband, and his father, Lennox, secretary Maitland, and the other officers of state, took part, in this odious plot, which was designed, as well against Mary's authority, per- haps her life, as in favour of Murray's restoration. One of the means, for effecting those ends, was to assassinate the queen's private secretary, in her own presence. The 9th of March 1565-6, saw this cloud burst upon Holyrood-house, while the queen was at supper. The lord chancellor, Morton, with an armed force, took possession of the palace, while the king conducted lord Ruthven, and other assassins, into the queen's closet, where Riccio was murdered, in her presence, with a thousand stabs. Mary, by her fortitude, saved her own life, and perhaps that of her guilty husband, by persuading him, to flee, from this bloody scene, to the castle of Dunbar, where she was soon joined, by the loyal part of her people. Mur- ray, in the midst of the confusion, returned to Edin- burgh, under the king's passport. The ulterior plans of the conspirators were disconcerted, by the queen's measure: Murray was pardoned: but, Morton, Ruth- ven, and other conspirators, were obliged to seek the same shelter, in England, which Murray had just left: Elizabeth, and Cecil, were previously informed,
Tragedie:] CHIPS. 163
by Randolph, and Bedford, of the conspiracy, and its objects ; and now incurred additional guilt, by protecting the assassins.
Morton was thus expatriated; and lost, by his crime, all the advantages of security, and profit, which he had formerly obtained, by his circumspec- tion. Murray owed his restoration to the wiles, and wickedness, and vigour of Morton ; and the queen's brother seems to have now obtained over the queen's spirit much of his ancient ascendency : but, his en- deavours were long used in vain to obtain Morton's pardon. It was not, however, till the baptism of the queen's son, at Christmas 1566, that Elizabeth, and Cecil, Bedford and Murray, with other nobles, by the most earnest entreaties, obtained from Mary '3 placability the restoration of Morton, and the other conspirators, except two catives, who stabbed the victim of the plotters, while he clung to the queen's garments, for her unavailing protection.
The ingratitude, and crimes of Lennox, and the king, his son, were easily passed over, by the queen: but, the compunctions of both finally brought on their ruin. Lennox retired into the obscurity, for which hi3 feebleness was only fit. And Darnley, who had a character still more feeble, and unaccom- modating, could never after his recent misconduct, of entering into the conspiracy, and denying it, meet the nobles, and other influential men, with any coni-
M2
164* CHURCHYARD'S ' [Murton's
fort, or cordiality: by his ungraciousness he now lost the few friends, that he had early obtained. And he even projected to leave Scotland, and desert his wife, who was the only friend, that sincerely re- mained to him. At Michaelmas 1566, Murray, and his confidents, entered into a fresh conspiracy, for .freeing themselves, and their country, from Darnley's perversity, and presence. This conspiracy was early communicated to Morton, at Newcastle, and his con- currence obtained. He did not leave England, not- withstanding his pardon, till sometime after the 10th of January 1566-7; as we know, from Drury's cor- respondence with Cecil. He no sooner arrived at Whittingham, three hours ride, from Berwick into Scotland, than the earl of Bothwell, and secretary Maitland, came to visit Morton : from his own con- fession on the block, we might know, if there were not other proofs of the fact, that the object of that meeting was the conspiracy against Darnley. It is a curious circumstance, that the three personages, who now met at Whittingham, on so nefarious a plot, all suffered, for their guilt*.
Morton was too intimately connected, as we have
* Bothwell was driven out of Scotland, and was attainted, by parliament, for the murder of Darnley : Secretary Mait- land was also attainted by parliament, and died by poison : And Morton was convicted, and lost his head, on the 2d of June, 1581 ; as we may learn from Churchyard.
Tragedie.~\ CHIPS. 165
seen, with Murray, the chief of that conspiracy, to reveal it, for the purpose of detection. The con- spirators went on, step by step, till the 10th of Fe- bruary, following the said conference, when the king was strangled, and the adjoining house blown up *. When the queen refused to be divorced, from Darn- ley, at Craigmillar-castle, the conspiracy took this shape, under the plastic hand of Maitland: Darnley was to be taken off, by Bothwell, who was to marry the widowed queen, for his pains; and the other conspirators were to promote this marriage, and to save Bothwell harmless, from any prosecution, for the murder. But, Bothwell being once acquitted, and married to the queen, the protection of the con- spirators was to cease. The sequence of the facts evinces this to have been the detail of the plot. Both- well, having performed his part of this tragedy, was soon denounced, as the murderer ; but, he was pro- tected by Murray, and his faction : and, the charges against Bothwell being thrown into a formal shape, he was necessarily tried, in a formal manner: yet, Morton, and Maitland stood in court on either side
* Bothwell was the most open, and active conspirator: Mait- land was the most secret; and though Morton was not present, at the actual murder, his agent, Archibald Douglas, was cer- tainly present, at the shocking scene. But, Bothwell was merely the cat's-paw of Murray, Morton, and Maitland : and, Morton was, throughout the conspiracy, the chief actor, under Murray.
166 CHURCHYARD'S [Mur ton's
of him, for his protection, and acquittal. The re- ward of all his crimes, and hazards, remained to be conferred on him, namely, the hand of the queen. For this end, a bond was entered into, at the subse- quent parliament, which was signed, by many of the bishops, and lords, with Morton, at the head of them ; approving of the acquittal of Bothwell, engaging to protect his innocence, and recommending him for the queen's husband, though he already had a wife. Be- yond this bond, nothing more abominable appears any where in history ; except, perhaps, the signing of this bond, by Morton, and afterwards pursuing Both- well: such was the notorious conduct of Morton, which is equally unexampled for its manifest treachery.
Meanwhile, Bothwell, with that bond of protection in his pocket, audaciously seized the queen, near Edinburgh upon her way from Stirling, on the 24th of April, 1567; carried her to his castle of Dunbar, attended by Maitland, the secretary, who was a co- adjutor of Murray, in order that Maitland might de- lude the queen into the snare that was laid, for her, by the conspirators. Bothwell, relying on the bond, gave out that he would marry the queen, whether she consented, or not : and having her in his power he denied her, and then compelled her to marry him : of all these facts he was afterwards attainted, by par- liament. On the 15th of May thereafter the queen openly married Bothwell, in the chapel of Holyrood-
TragedieJ} f\ CHIPS. 167
house, after the proclamation of banns : the marriage was in appearance voluntary, but was in fact en- forced, by circumstances, which then could not be avowed. That part of the conspiracy, in which Both* well was concerned, was thus fulfilled, by his mar- riage, with the queen.
Now commenced the second part of the conspiracy, in which Morton acted the principal part, though he was in England, when the conspiracy was formed. It was at Craigmillar-castle, after Mary's return from holding the justice courts, at Jedburgh, that this con- tinued conspiracy was finally entered into. When Mary refused to be divorced, from Darnley, to suit the de- signs of his enemies, then was it resolved to take him off, and to dethrone her. But, she had borne her faculties so meekly, and had been so much advised by Murray, that she could not be easily dethroned, without being fast disgraced. It was this consideration, which in- duced such able, and unprincipled plotters, to resolve to marry her to Bothwell, after the death of Darn- ley; in order to ruin both, by being involved together, in that shocking murder. Morton, as he had been constantly informed of the designs of Murray, en- tered into all those views of the conspirators, as soon as he returned, from his banishment, to Scotland. He concerted with Bothwell, and Maitland, some of the details of the murder, at Whittingham, in January 1566-7. He protected Bothwell, on his trial; be
168 CHURCHYARD'S \_Mur ton's
promoted his marriage with Mary, by procuring the bond of the nobility, and bishops, for that odious end. And Bothwell, having by such encouragement, arrested the queen, carried her to his castle, and ra- vished her; thereby compelled the queen to assent to the marriage: "And, then," says Melville, "she " could not but marry him, seeing he had lain with "her against her will*." The marriage consum- mated, Morton put himself at the head of a body of nobles, at Stirling, on the 15th of May 1567, to drive both, from the throne, and to crown the prince ; in pursuance of the former conspiracy, by a fresh one: the queen, and Bothwell, were quite unprepared, for such a shock, being in possession of Morton's bond; they fled first to Borthweek-castle, and then to Dun- bar, where they called together some forces. The whole conduct of Morton, and the conspirators, was most artful, and insidious ; pretending to relieve the queen, while they had resolved to crown her son. On the 15th of June, the queen and Bothwell marched forward to Carbury-hill, where Morton, with his armed associates met them: after some treaty, and favour- able terms, which were not fulfilled, the queen was carried to her capital, as a prisoner, while Bothwell was allowed to escape. On the morrow, the queen was conveyed to Lochleven-castle, under a warrant,
* Mem. SO : in that conclusion bishop Lesley concurred with Melville.
Tragedie.'} CHIPS. 169
which was signed by Morton, and five of his asso- ciates. It was supposed, by those atrocious con- spirators, that, because the nolles of a nation may do certain constitutional acts; therefore, six nobles, and one of them a boy, may dethrone their sove- reign*.
Morton, at the head of this traitorous conspiracy, may be said to have governed Scotland, from the imprisonment of the queen, on the 17th of June, till the arrival of the earl of Murray, on the 1 1 th of Au- gust, 1567. On the 24-th of July, the conspirators compelled the imprisoned queen to resign her legi- timate power to her infant son. By another docu- ment, they compelled her to appoint the earl of Mur- ray, the regent of Scotland, during her son's infancy, who was now only thirteen months old. By a third document, the duke of Chastelherault, who then re- sided in France, the earl of Morton, and other nobles wereappointed to govern her kingdom, till Murray's arrival, from .France ; and in case he should decline to act, in that event, the duke of Chastelherault, Morton, and the other nobles, were authorized to govern Scotland, during the king's minority. See the artifice of those miscreants, who thus coerced the queen. They appointed the duke of Chastel-
* This warrant of commitment is published in Mr. Laing's Dissertation, from the Cotton library ; and would not justify the confinement of a prostitute.
170 CHURCHYARD'S [Mur ton's
herault, the presumptive heir of the crown, who was absent, in order to preserve a little semblance of le- gality, and to sooth his followers : they substituted him, and others, to rule, in case Murray should decline, as if Morton, and the other conspirators, did not know, that they had dethroned the queen, with Mur- ray's knowledge, and to let him into the regency, since he could not be king. The infant James was crowned on the 29th of July; Morton taking the coronation oath for the childish king. By the agency of Cecil, who was in the secret of this conspiracy ; the return, from France, to Scotland, of Murray, was hastened ; and he immediately accepted the re- gency, to obtain which so many crimes had been committed.
Morton was at length amply rewarded, for his treachery and his crimes : he was appointed chan- cellor, in the room of Huntley, he was nominated lord admiral, and high sheriff of Edinburgh shire, in the place of Bothwell, he received a gift of the for- feited estate of the laird of Whitlaw, and from all those offices, Morton enjoyed authority in the state, next to Murray, who, as companions in crime, were worthy of each other.
Amidst all that violence, and coercion, offered to an injured queen, the conspirators had nothing to lay to her charge, as we might infer, from Morton's warrant of commitment: yes, indeed,, a/ter more than
Tragedie.] CHIPS. 171
a month's consideration, they did, as an excuse, for themselves, to Throckmorton, Elizabeth's envoy, lay some imputations to her charge: 1. They charged her with tyranny, inasmuch as she refused to con- firm statutes, which were made, in her absence, though not agreed to, even by the French ambassadors* ; she would not confirm the treaty of Edinburgh, relating to Scotland, which was forged, by themselves; 2. They charged her with incontlnency , which, they said, they could prove, but which they never proved, nor re- peated; as the charge was groundless: 3. They mean, said the envoy, " to charge her, with the murder of " her husband ; whereof, they say, they have as ap- " parent proof against her, as may be, as well by the " testimony of her own hand-writing, which they have "recovered, as by sufficient witnesses;" though her marriage with Bothwell, which they had enforced, was the grand circumstance, on which the conspirators relied, for her disgrace. Here then, is the first im- putation against the queen, as being concerned in the murder of her husband: and, here is the first in- timation of their having found some writings of the queen, which would prove the fact. The allusion is, plainly, to the notorious letters, which were at- tributed to the queen; and which made so great a figure, afterwards.
* The allusion, we may suppose, is to the statutes of the un- warrantable meeting of a convention at Edinburgh, in 1560.
172 CHURCHYARD'S \_Murtoris
It was Morton himself, who had the merit of dis- covering those consequential writings, as far back as the 20th of June, three days after the queen's com- mitment to Lochleven- castle. Pity! that they were not intercepted before that event ; as they would have furnished something like a charge against the unfortunate queen. Those writings were found, ac- cording to Morton's assertion, on one Dalgleish*, Bothwell's servant, who had been sent, by his master, to bring them from Edinburgh- castle, being left by him, in sir James Balfour's custody, the governor. But, those writings were not brought into action against the queen till the 4-th of December, 1567 ; the conspirators were now preparing documents, to satisfy the parliament, that the writings, thus found on the 20th of June, were the cause of her dethrone- ment, on the 17th of June. On the said 4th of De- cember 1567, those writings were laid before the privy council, for establishing a charge against the queen; the great cause, for dethroning her. Yet Dalgleish, who was at hand, was not asked a single word about them. Sir James Balfour, who was said to have been entrusted with the custody of those consequential writings, was not asked a word about them, though he was then present. The whole of
* From the 20th of June 1567, till the 3d of January 1567-8, Dalgleish remained a prisoner, in Morton's power, without being asked a word, about the writings.
Tragedle.~\ CHIPS. 173
this important discovery, on which the queen's de- thronement was to rest, was altogether left, to the mere assertion of Morton : but, was he at all a com- petent witness*? The answer must be, that he was a character, who ought not to be believed ; being a man, without any moral principle, and an audacious conspirator, who was capable of any villainy. From the whole cifcumstances of this transaction, it is ap- parent, that Morton's assertion, concerning those wri- tings, was false; that his falsehood could not be sup- ported, as he was afraid to examine Dalgleish, and Balfour, who would have contradicted himf ; and it is
* From his youth, we have seen, that he was a treacherous character; 2. While chancellor, we have seen him attack the queen's house, and commit a murder, in her presence; and from these facts, we may infer, that he was a man, utterly abandoned, and capable of any baseness; 3. On the 24th of March 1570- J, Morton, and two other Scots commissioners, who were then, at London, being desired to show at court, a letter from Denmark, about Bothwell, said the original was sent away; "but they delivered a copy, omitting such things, as " they thought not meet to be shown;" from this fact, we may infer, that Morton was very capable of falsification. 4. When Morton went, in 1569, to attend Elizabeth's enquiry, after the letters, attributed to the queen, had been altered, in their form, and changed, in their language, Morton swore, that they were, in the queen's hand indeed: beyond this, perjury could not go. It must, moreover, be constantly remembered, that Morton, as one of the conspirators with Maitland, and Bothwell, was con- victed, and executed, for the king's assassination.
•f- The writings, which were attributed to the queen, were said,
17$ CHURCHYARD'S [Mur ton's
equally clear from the facts, that no such writings were ever found, whatever may have been forged.
When those writings were brought into the privy council of Scotland, on the 4th of December, 1567 they were described, " as her previe letters, written " and subscribed, with her own hand, and sent by her "to James, earl Bothwell:" when the same "previe " letters" were laid before the parliament, a few days after, they were described, as "her previe letters " written halelie with her awn hand, and sent by her " to James, earl Both well." When the act of privy council, and the act of parliament were compared to- gether, it appeared, that the letters, in the last, were described, as wholly written, with her own hand, but, ?zo* subscribed by her : yet, in the first, the same let- ters were more fully described, as written, and sub' scribed, with her own hand. When the late doctor Johnson reviewed, in 1760, " Ty tier's Enquiry into "the Authenticity of those Letters," he observed that, as the last description contained some diminu- tion of the first, not saying, that the letters were sub- by the conspirators to have been intercepted on Dalgleish, upon the 20th of June 1567: six days thereafter, on the 26th of June, Dalgleish was examined, by Morton, and other privy- counsellors, but not a word was asked him, about those im- portant writings; the whole examination turned upon the mur- der of Darnley, which was less important. [Anderson's Col. ii. 173.] He was executed, on the 3d of January 1567-8, but,* pot a word was in the meantime asked him, about the writings.
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 175
scribed by her, the first description cannot be freed from fraud. But, why should there be any fraud? Be- causefact, and falsehood cannot stand together: if the letters were genuine, they would always appear the Same : if they were written, and subscribed by her, they could not be wholly written by her, and not sub- scribed by her. Here, then, is a fatal variance, which is another proof, both of the forgery of the letters, and of the falsification of Morton.
After the queen had made her escape, in 1568, from Lochleven-castle, and appeared at the head of an army, in the west : Morton commanded the van of the regent's army, at the battle of Landside, where she was obliged to seek for shelter, in England.
When Elizabeth, by the artifice of Cecil, in 1568, instituted an enquiry into the respective conduct of the queen, and Murray, Morton went into England, as a commissioner for the king, to promote charges against his mother ; and went through all the base- nesses, and tergiversations, and the falshood, and per- jury of that enquiry, which, by matchless artifices, was converted into criminations of the Scotish queen *.
* Murray, and Morton, and their associates, in crime, charged the queen with the murder of her husband: and, in proof there- of, they produced the acts of the Scotish parliament, in confir- mation of the regent's authority, and of the queen's resignation; the confessions of some of the persons executed for the king's ^urder; and the fatal casket, containing the supposititious let- ters, sonnets, and contracts, which Morton now swore he had
,176 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
Such was the end of that guilty inquisition. Five thousand pounds were delivered to Murray, to de- fray his charges : and he, and Morton, and their as- sociates, were allowed to depart to Scotland, in Ja- nuary 1569; while Mary was removed to stricter con- finement.
After the death of Murray, in January 1569-70,
intercepted in the hands of Dalgleish: those documents, had they been all genuine, would have proved a criminal intercourse, between the queen and Bothwell, but, not the participation of the queen, in that crime: so that the conspirators failed egre- giously in proving the queen's guilt, though they calumniated her sufficiently. The queen now charged her accusers, with being the murderers of her husband: and offered to prove the fact, if Elizabeth would give her copies of the papers, which her accusers had produced against her: Elizabeth acknowledged this to be very reasonable; but, never gave the papers. The issue, which was thus joined upon the question, who were the real .murderers of Darnley; and which, as it was then left undecided, I will now settle, in a few words. 1. Was the queen guilty of the murder? Her accusers, as already mentioned, produced cer- tainly love-letters, which are plainly forgeries; and if genuine, would not prove the murder: but, they supplied this defect, by saying, that she immediately married the murderer, Bothwell : the murder was committed on the 10th Feb. 1567; and she married Bothwell, on the 15th of May : but, the record of the parliamentary attainder of Bothwell, proves, that he arrested the queen, upon the highway, on the 24th of April; carried her to his castle of Dunbar, and there, by criminal coercion, induced the queen to consent to marry him : so that such an enforced marriage, does not prove any thing, concerning the murder.
Tragedie.] CHIPS. 177
Morton became the secret agent of Elizabeth, for preserving the subserviency of Scotland, even during the regencies of Lennox, and of Mar. It was, at the end of 1570, that Morton, Dumfermling, and Mac- gill, went, as commissioners, to Elizabeth; in order to induce that artful sovereign to surrender the Scotish queen to the conspirators, who had dethroned her. On the 28th of February 1570-1, they gave in to the 2. Were the queen's accusers guilty ? It is quite certain, that Darnley was murdered, by a combination of nobleg. The dying confession of the laird of Onniston, who was executed, for the murder of Darnley, proves, that certain nobles entered into arj association, a quarter of a year before the murder, to take off Darnley. [Arnot's Criminal Trials, Apx. No. iv.J The meeting of Morton, Maitland, and Bothwell, to concert the mode of the murder, evinces, that there was a conspiracy of nobles, for that end. [Morton's Confession of the Fact.] Bothwell was attainted, by parliament for this crime. Maitland was attainted by par- liament for the same crime* [Acta Parl. iii. 58-9.] Morton was convjcted by his peers, and was beheaded, for the same crime. The murder of Darnley, then; the marriage of the queen to Bothwell, in pursuance of the artifices of the conspira- tors ; and the dethronement of the queen, in consequence of this forced marriage: all those acts were done, for the benefit of Murray, who, by a previous concert, was made regent of Scot- land: the murder of Darnley was, of consequence, done by Both- well, the cats-paw of that conspiracy, by Maitland, by Morton, by Murray, who thus acted in concert: but, since those no. bles were guilty; the queen was innocent: she incurred no guilt, by being forced to marry a murderer, by fellow-mur- derers,
M
178 CHURCHYARD'S [Murtons
English council a paper, for the purpose of proving the dethronement of their queen to be lawful, which amounted to this, that because a nation, under some great pressure, may $o such an act, six nobles may do the same important act. Elizabeth resolved to give up Mary to the regent, which amounted to send- ing her to the block. But, the French, and Spanish ambassadors, and the bishop of Ross, remonstrated against the infamy of such an action, which amounted to the same thing, as if the English queen had con- signed her to the executioner. These remonstrances obtained a delay; and the decease of the regent pre- vented the recurrence of so base a design. After the death of the regent Mar, in October 1572, Mor- ton, by Elizabeth's influence, was chosen regent, on the 27th of November, thereafter. During the five subsequent years, Morton ruled Scotland, in subser- vience to England, with a rod of iron. He was op- posed at length, by Argyle, and Athol. And, in September 1577, Morton offered to resign the re- gency. After a while, the king accepted his resigna- tion. Yet, Morton, by violence, afterwards, regained possession of the king's person. .Contests among the great, and universal distraction, ensued. Morton, one of the conspirators, who murdered Darnley, the king's father, engaged in a plot to pursue the Hamiltons, as guilty of the same crime. His violence, and his rigours, raised up fresh opponents against such a mi-
1^ CHIPS. . 179
nister. And he lost his influence, as he might easily have foreseen. Morton, in March 1579, at length resigned the regency, when the king took the govern- ment into his own feeble hands. In December 1580, Morton was formally accused of the murder of the king's father. Elizabeth, and Cecil, seeing this at- tack on their secret agent, tried every expedient, except actual war, to save a man, who had, for so many years, ensured to them the subserviency of Scot- land. Randolph, who was sent to Edinburgh, to in- trigue, to threaten, and to animate civil war, stated the inauspicious result, in this manner to the English government : If you send out forces, from Berwick, northward, to waste the country, you will ruin as many friends, as foes : if you march an army upon Edinburgh, the king will retire into Argyle, and thence to France: but, this would not be for the in- terest of England. The inveteracy of the people of Edinburgh was such against Randolph, that they fired their shot into his windows : and so compelled him to retire to Berwick. Morton was thus left to his fate; as it was beyond the artifices of Cecil, and the power of Elizabeth, to protect this odious statesman. He was accordingly tried by his peers, for the mur- der of Darnley, the king's father, on the 1st of June 1581 ; and was convicted, by them, of this shocking murder. He was one of the earliest projectors of the death of Darnley. He was, now, after so many years
180 CHURCHYARD'S [Mur ton's
of domination, judicially proved guilty of this heinous offence; he was proved guilty, by the confessions of those, who publickly died, for the same crime ; and he was proved guilty, by his own confession, though he did not confess all his guilt. He was, undoubt- edly, one of the wickedest miscreants of a miscreant age, as we might infer, from the foregoing notices. He was, by nature a knave, and by habit a villain ; he was capable of falsification, and perjury ; of murder, and treason: and he died, on the 2d of June 1581, on the block of shame, with a gross lie upon his guilty lips.
THE EARLE OF MVRTONS Tragedie;once Regent of Scotland, and alwaies of great Birth, great Wisedome, great Wealth, and verie great Power and Credite: yet Fortune enuying his Estate and Noblenes, brought him to lose his Head on a Skaffold in Edenbrough, the second of lune, 1581.
From Churchyard's Challenge.
MAKE place for plaints, giue rowme for plagued men, Step backe proud mindes, that praise your selues to Let me appeale, to some true writers pen : [much, That doth the life, and death of princes touch. For my mishap, and fatall fall is such, That gazing world, which heares my woefull end, Shall maruaile much, to see such matter pend.
Tragedu.] CHIPS* 181
The restles race, that mortall men doe runne,
Seemes smooth to sight, yet full of scratting breers :
Here is no rest, nor surety vnder sunne.
Sowre is the taste of flowers that sweete appeares ;
Our gentle ioyes, are in our tender yeares,
For as the childe, to wit and reason growes,
So iudgement comes, and seedes of sorrow sowes.
Our wanton time, doth steale away with sport, But when that care, hath crept in curious braines : Long griefe beginnes, and pleasure is but short, For heart and head, is vext with fancies vaine, Then hord brings hate, and gold breeds greedy
gaine.
Desire of which, with pompe and glory great, So boiles in brest, it makes mans browes to sweat.
Ambitious minde, the busie bellowes blowes, The quenchles coales, of rule that burneth still, And ore the banks, the flouds of folly flowes : And priuate wealth, so blindes a worldlings will : That wicked wit, doth banish reasons skill, Climes vp aloft, cries fame and rare renowne, Till heauy stone, from top comes tottering downe.
The mounting heart, that daily doth aspire, With wilfull wings, of pride to cloudes would flie : And though he feeles, his feathers singd with fire :^
182 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
He will not stoupe, he holdes his head so hie, To beare a sway, and alwaies casts his eie, (With eager lookes) on honors stately throve : He likes no mate, but all would weld alone.
The simple sort, that sees soore fawcon rise, Disdains to death, the bird that flies too farre : Then as on owle, flocks, crowes and chatring pies, So at great dogs, the little tikes doe snarre. Tweene small and great, when spite ones moues the
warre,
There is no rest, for rage runnes all on head, Hate kindleth fire, and loue growes cold as lead.
A greater strife, is when two tides doe meete, Both of one force, like mighty strugling streames, I meane when men, doe striue of equall sprite : The robe is ript, or rented through the seames : Great troubles grow, in sundry ciuill realmes, For whilst the one, in chiefest rowme is plaste, The other comes, and hales him downe in hast.
There is no meane, where matches meete at shocke, The strong shewes strength, the stout stands wrangling
still,
About the ball, the finest fellowes flocke, They winne the goale, that hath the greatest skill. The force of floud, turns round the water-mill,
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 183
So where two men doe wrastle for a fall,
Most might preuailes, the weake is turnde to wall.
But why do I, finde fault with greatest band,
My traine was such, as I a king had beene :
In court and towne, earle Murton was so mand.
As euery day, I had a world to winne,
That was the frette, that did the warre beginne.
For those that sawe me waited on so well,
Did skorne the same, and so like toades they swell
At my renowne, and loe a greater thing, By chaunce befell, for I had secret foes : ( That daily sought ) my fall about the king. And as on steps, to stately stage I rose, So my decay, in court and countrey growes. For priuy hate, and malice matcht with might, Tooke out the oyle, that gaue my lampe the light.
Yet through great helpe, and friends as world may
weene,
Whose wisdoms was, wel known both graueand sage: I regent was, when many a broile was greene : And set abroach, in court by reuels rage, I ruled all, whilst king was vnder age, And where I saw, the people make offence I scowrgd them sore, which kept them quiet serice.
184 CHURCHYARD'S [Murtorft
Some did I hang, and trusd them vp on hye, That slaughters made, or murders did committe: Some were redeemde, that did for fauour crie, And strongest heads, I helde in hard with bitte. With equall eares, I would in iudgement sit. Yea bent my braine, to beate out right and wrong, And conscience bad, deferre not Justice long.
The rich by this were sory to offend,
The poore did dread to hang that faulty were,
And yet oft times, when faulters did amend,
I hangd but one, to bring the rest in feare.
To suters all, I gaue a gracious eare,
By gentle waies, and wisdomes modest meane,
From filthy facts, I cleansed countrey cleane.
By order good, I made them feare the law, I pincht the purse, and pawsde in sheading blood, I punisht sore, where great abuse I saw, Straight rules I sette, to learne rude people good. By which strong staies, my state in surety stood. So wealth came in, with goodly gold and geare, That paide for paines, and did the charges beare.
Yea sure more wealth, and riches I possest, Then twenty lords, of Scotland any way : I might compare (for treasure) with the best*
Tragedie.] CHIPS* 185
We call it poess, in our plaine Scottish lay,
I had the bags, of Aungell nobles gay.
I had the chests, fild vp vnto the brim,
With sondry stamps, of coine and treasure trim.
My houses stood, in gladsom soiles and seats, Stuft with rich things, and arras clothes inow; My table spread, with deare and dainty meates. My wardrobe storde, with change of garments throw, My corne in stacks, my hay in many a mowe, My stable great, of gallant geldings good. And I like prince, amidst these pleasures stoode.
What I would wish, I had with glorie great, Each knee did bow, and make their bodies bend : Eache eye stood fixt, to gase on honors seat, Eache friendlie face, a louing looke would send. To stately throne, and I againe would lend A lordlie grace, to keepe the worlds good will, Whereby encreast my fame and honor still.
I buylt me bowers, sometime to banquet in, Made plotts for walkes, and gardens of delight : Sought sweete conceits, (not sowsing soule in sinne. ) With glutted gorge, at pleasures baite to bite. But pastime tooke, to put off worlds despite. My streamers stoode, in topp of barke so braue, That flaggs of ioy, with each good wind wold wauc.
186 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
For worldly pompe, and worship waites at heele, Where rule and power, sets out gay glittring showes, Who folowes not, the swinge of fortunes wheele, What fish forsakes the floode that daily flowes. Both great and small, with course of water goes. Where sunne doth shine, both beast and birdes re-
paire, And what flies not, to pleasaunt weather faire.
But well away, when we haue all we wish,
A house, a home, bedect with gallaunt grace :
A golden net, beguiles a carlesse fish,
Wee haue no holde, of fortunes flittering face.
For when wee doe, worldes flattring giftes embrace,
Wee groope and gape, for more vaine goodes so fast:
That gracelesse hap, sweepes all away at last.
Our greedy mind, gaines gold and tyens good name, Winnes wealth yet workes, a wicked web of woe : Breedes deepe disdaine, and bringes a man in blame, Breakes bandes of loue, makes friend become a foe. Shotes spitefull shaftes, from malice sturdie bowe, Strikes deadjgood name, and rearesvpslaunders brute, Sowes seedes of vice, and brings forth rotten fruite.
All these defects, doth follow greedie minde, But loe my skill, and sight in publicke state : For soaking soores, a soueraigne salue could finde,
Tragedie."} CHIPS. 187
For where I fearde, sharpe warres and foule debate, To cut off strife, great friendes at hand I gat, And by my wit, to keepe the king in right, At my commaund, I freelie brought much might.
Whfch stroke the stroke, and stoutly rulde the roste, Spent many dayes, in broyles and making peace : Bestowde great charge, and carde not for no coste, So that they could our common quarrels seace, And euer as I sawe our brawles encreace, J helpt the harmes, by worthy wisdomes arte, So planted peace, and rule, in euery part.
For euery yeare, some brawle was set abroche, Some treason wrought, some trecherie tane in hand : Which without stay, would sounde to my reproche, Such falshood raignde, and raged in the land. In factions still, did runne a bloodie bande, About the realme, as wilde as wolues for praye, But by my friendes, I set these thinges in staye.
In greatest stormes, I stoutly stood to sterne, And turnd about, the shippe to winne the winde t And what defects, and faultes I did discerne, I readie was, a quicke redresse to finde. And no man durst, restraine the Regents minde, For were it good, or bad, I would haue done, Unto that .side, would most of people runne*
188 CHURCHYARD'S \_Murton' s
Yet murmors rose, among the mighty flocke, Whose hidden hate, huggd close in cankred brest : To vndermine, my strong and statelie rocke, That stoode on propps, and did on pillers rest. For longer sure, in court I could not rest, Then king might come, to perfect age and yeares, As thinges befell, and by my fall appeares.
The secret swarmes, of slie and subtill snakes, That lurkes in grasse, and vnder fayrest flowers : The flattering cloudes, that oft faire weather makes, Great showers of raine, vppon the people powers. The smiling face, that when it list it lowers. Betraies the eyes, of them that well beleeues, When scorners flier, and laugheth in their sleeues.
My hedge stood stackte, with such weake sticks of
woode,
That manie a gappe, was made into my grownde : I trusted much, to freindship, birth, and blood, But some of those, in fine were faythlesse founde. Most spake mee faire, but least of them were sounde. Some sought my ruyne, that waighted hard at heeles. For time so shapt, the world went all on wheeles.
What is enuid, but rule and high estate.
The seruant seekes, oft times his maysters fall :
The subiect beares, to lawe a priuie hate,
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 189
The stubborne child, is silde at fathers call. The froward wiues, findes fault with husbands all. The scholler hates, to heare his follie tolde, And each degree, abhors to be controlde.
Rule wants no foes, the horse hee hates the bitt. The dogge disdaines the leashe that holdes him in : The hauke desires not long on pearch to sit, Rule is despisde, rule doth no fauour wirme. The man that hath, in courtly honor beene, Can tell how oft, he was with flattry fed, And some there are, with blinde affection led,
Whose humor weake, the wilie worldlings fede, They followe fast, and fawne like whelpes a while : Till great mens meanes, hath serued their turne in
deede,
Then gallants goe awaye and giue a smile. Thus waiters on, doe nought but friends beguile, And slipper lads, as false and fine as those, For no offence, become most mortall foes.
With curtsie great, and kneeling on the knee, The harmelesse hartes, of noble states are trapte : They looke so high, they can no tromperie see, Untill the flye, in spiders webbe be lapt, And when by sleight, the simple is mishapt, The wandring world but maruels at the case, And from the weake, the strongest turnes the face.
190 CHURCHYARD'S [Murtoris
Who had moe freindes, or yet more wealth than I, Who founde lesse helpe, O fie on friendships trust : My stocke and race, did reach to starrie skie, Yet world trode downe mine honor in the dust, And I was left, alone thinke what I lust, Weepe, sigh or sob, when Fortune gaue checkmate, Firme friends were fledd, and I in wofull state.
Yet wisdomes grace, helde vp my noble minde, I scornde to thinke, when sorest tempests blewe : In face and cheere, my courage men might finde, I counted all, and then the worst I knew, It was but death, (a paiment that is due :) To yeild to day, or else when date drew neere, To paie the shot, and make the reckning cleere.
What needs more talke, amid my cheefest ioyes, A draught was drawne, to driue me out of grace : The newes whereof, did fill my head with toyes, But my stout hart, would giue no practise place. I stifly stoode, in court with manly face, And thought to thrust them out that stroue with mee, And so in spigt of world I would goe free.
Great banding then, began in Borough towne, And to the view, I had the strongest side : For on my part, were men of great renowne. Yea, as the fish, doth follow greatest tide : So people swarmd, and crucifige cryed.
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 191
On Mortons foes, for dayly eurye houre ;
In princes court, with pompe increast my power.
But when wee met, that seuerall waies did draw, Sweete words did walke, bespyestwith fained cheere: In dulcet shell, a kernell sowre, I sawe, That cunning crafte, by cloude conuayd full cleere, Our powdred speach, most fresh, would still appeere. Till bitter taste, bewrayd our meanings all : Then honie combe, in proofe became but gall.
So angrie bees, burst forth from quiet hiue, And offred stinge, to those that neerest stood : Then fearefull folke, too feeble were to striue, They floke so fast, that daily sought my bloode. Yet to the worlde* I made my quarell good, And craude no more, but Justice in my cause : And so to shifte, by course of common lawes.
In open court, I was accused streight,
And straightlie chargde, to keepe my chamber still :
Where if I had, but vsed anie sleight,
I might haue scapte awaie and had my will.
But destnie did, bewitch both wit and skill,
And robd mee so, of spirite and feeling sence :
That I was meeke, and neuer made defence.
But what I thought, and what I hopte for both,
Is knowne to God, and some that liueth yet : ,. j
192 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
In deede my feare, was small (I tell you trothe,) For manie things, in compasse of my wit, Did cleare mee cleane, and so though I should sit In prison faste, a time till thinges were tryed : In duraunce long, I hopte I should not bide.
But loe in haste, I was from thence remoude,
And sent vnto the Castle there to staie :
And then perchaunce, I was but finely proude,
To see for feare, if I would flie awaie.
For mine owne folkes, had there the whole conuaie
Of bodie through, the streetes such grace I gote,
But woe is me, for then did th'old man doate.
' i • ',
Had I but sayde, I would not be in pounde, I would bee franke, and free from daungers doubt : I might haue turnde the worlde in Scotlande rounde, Like tennis ball, and thrust myne enemies out. But who can bring, a sternlesse barke aboute. My wits were gone, that guided all before, My shipp on ground, and I was set on shore.
Loe, what God doth to make his glorie knowne, Loe, how mans life is cut off like a bough : Loe, lookers on, how sone is man oerthrowne, Loe, where became my worldly wisdome nowe Loe heere a glasse, that shewes your faces throughej You greatest peeres, and lords of peereles prayse> Your pride is past, if God abridge your daies.
Tragedie.'] CHIPS. 193
No sooner I, beleeude I was so well,
But was conuayde, vnto Don Bartyn than :
So all my friends, that did in Scotlande dwell,
Made sure a shew, to raise vp manie a man,
The king straight waies, before these broyles began,
Fiue ensignes chose, to keepe the world in awe :
For sure defence, of him and of his lawe.
Those bandes held backe, some forward busines
strange,
Yet in good faith, my friendes were twise as strong : The force of whom, made worlde to feare a change, But on and of, alas they dalied longe. And all the while, I thought they did me wronge, Yet vaine it was, in armes to stande and striue : For they had not that waye found me aliue.
Long was the talke, of manie a farlye thoe, Long did I looke, for that which did not come : But all those blasts, in fine did ouerbloe, I listned long, to heere the sound of drumme, Yet though I had the great good will of some, God would not thoell, for one mans sake alone : That broyles should cause a million make their mone.
When birde is limde, farewell faire feathers all, The fish in net, maie bidde the sea adiew : When world beholds a man is neere his fall, o
194? CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
It leaues him there, and follows fancies newe. When all is saide, the olde prouerbe is true, Who cannot swimme, must sincke there is no boote; Who hath no horse, of force must goe on foote.
Thus tyed to clogge, and pende in prison fust,
My hope decaide, my hart did heauie waxe :
So souldiers came, and brought me foorth at last,
The butcher then, began to whet his axe,
All was on flame, the fire was flowne in flaxe.
There was no choise, I must a size abide :
Prooue foule, or cleane, and by my peeres be tried.
To Edenbrough, the captiue man was brought,
Along the fieldes, where flockes of people were :
The sight of whom did trouble much my thought,
But when in deede, I was ariued there,
Both streetes, and stalles, and windows euery where,
Were stuffed full, to giue on me the gaze :
But that might not my manly mind amaze.
Yet neither one, nor other, small nor great,
Did me salute, so turnde the moodes of men,:
That colde deuice, (nay rather raging heate)
Could not appall my princely courage then :
For I did looke, as I did nothing ken,
Yet knew the whole, that some in secret bore :
So passed through the thronge, what would ye more ?
TragedieS] CHIPS. 195
A russet cloake, a garment rude and bare, For such a state, make what of mee they would : With foule felt hat, and robes but base I ware, That people might, my great disgrace beholde. Alas poore lambe, thy life was bought and soulde. No force of weedes, to couer clott of claye, Morton was dead, full longe before that daie.
Now lawyers flockte and swarmde in ilke a place, Now lords repaird, and lardes came daily in : Now learned heads, did long debate my case, Now did (in deed) my sorrowes all beginne, Now was the time, that I must lose or winne, For I appeard, before the iudgement seate, And there maintainde, my right with reasons great.
Made good defence, to many matters sure, Spake boldly still, and did but iustice craue : My pleading there, did foure long houres endure, And lawyers then, to me good leasure gaue, But to what end, did I long pleading haue, I was condemnd, the world would haue it so, A thing there was, but that the Lord doth know.
And I that heere, confesse my former gylt, A murther than, was laide vnto my charge : Which I concealde, yet saw a kings bloud spilt, o2
196 CHURCHYARD'S [Murtotts
A fowle offence, for which there is no targe : Nor could not claime, therefore to goe at large : But byde the sence and censure of the lawes, For fowle (God wot) and filthy was my cause.
The iudgement was a heauy thing to heere, But what they did, I could not call againe : The sentence past, too late my selfe to cleere, Once iudgd to die, condemnd I must remaine. As silly sheepe, in shopp must needes be slaine. Then to the pot, or pit our flesh must passe, All flesh is dust, vaine ashes earth and grasse.
Then thought I on some friend that absent was,
And spoke some words, but aske not what they were,
So from the bench, to prison did I pas,
And for to die, did make me ready there,
The preachers came, and shed full many a teare,
To bring my soule, in perfect patience than,
And make me die, a faithfull Christian man.
In secrete sort, the preachers there I told, Great things of waight, that in my conscience lay : And so confest, what right and reason would, But thereon pawsde, I would no further say, Aske what they pleasde, I did but troth bewray. Whereat I knockt, my troubled trembling brest, , And so desirde, the preachers let me rest.
Tragedie.] CHIPS* 197
O brethren mine, your doctrine likes me well, (Qd. I) good men bestow some praiers now, In your beliefe, looke that you daily dwell, As you beganne, so still continue through, The bloud of Christ hath washt my blotted brow, As white as snow (I haue no doubt nor feare) Shall be my sirines, that red as scarlet were.
The preachers glad, to bring my soule to rest, Brought Scripture in, and did the text vnfold : And many a place, and sentence they exprest, Towardes the death, to make my body bolde, O my good lord, you may not now behold, The pompe (quoth they) and glory that is past, But you must thinke, on that which aye shall last.
Both wealth, and friends, and worldly wisedome to, Are banisht quite, and blush to come in place : When soule goes hence, those things haue nought to
doe.
With man, that is, then newly borne in grace, The light of day, hath darkenes still in chase, The heauenly thoughts doe hate all earthly things, And faith to clowdes, doth flie with flittring wings.
They praide with me, and wipt their weeping eies, My heauy sprite, stood troubled sore that tide: And as the gighes, from panting heart did rise,
198 CHURCHYARD'S [MurtvrCt
My groaning ghost, O Abba father cride, The sobs flew forth, the teares I could not hide, As babe doth weepe, when he beholds the rod, So then I feard the wrath of my good God.
Full soone reformde, I was in godly wise, Gaue ore the world, forgot all earthly thing, Heaud vp my hands, and heart, vnto the skies, To God that did this plague vppon me bring, And then I sued, and sent vnto the king, To scape the coard, by losse of life and breath : For heading was for me more nobler death.
He graunted that, and sad for my mishap, He let me goe, where God and man assignd, Now euery fault, lay open in my lap, Each small offence, came freshly to my minde, The secret sinnes, that we in conscience finde, A muster made, and passed for their pay, Before great God, that doth all things bewray.
The wrong I did, to simple people plainc, Bad heart forethinke, the fury of mine ire, The greedy thirst of glory rule and gaine, Made soule afeard of hote infernall fire, My selfe I blamde for fleshly fond desire ; But falling thus, full prostrate on my face, From heauens hie, I felt a sparke of grace j
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 199
Which warmd my sprites, that waxed faint and cold, The last conflict, that in this life we haue, Then comfort came, and made weake body bold, Care not for death, for life mounts vp from graue, (Quoth knowledge then) when Christ the soule shall
saue,
With that I flong, behinde all fearefull dread, So cald for booke, and many a psalme did reade.
In lesse then halfe the time that I haue spoke, Me thought I talkt, with God whose face did shine, WTio from a cloude discends as thinne as smoke, And entred in my breast by power diuine ;
0 mortall man (said he) come thou art mine, Be strong and stout, to fight the battell throw, For my right hand is here to helpe thee now.
Blush not to see, the raging worlds despite,
The bloudy axe, nor scaffolde full of bils :
My mercy seat shall be thy chiefe delihte,
And though on earth, thine enjmies haue their wils,
1 am the God, that stormes and tempests stils, In quiet calme, passe gently thou away,
And suffer much, yet doe but little say.
Death is the end of all that beareth life,
Not one shall scape, this world is but a dreame,
The seeds of sinne brings forth but flowres of strife,
200 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
In painted robes, lies many a rotten seame, It is but griefe, to guide and rule a realme : Great charge and care, a great accompt must make, And when I frown, the whole round world I shake.
I cause one wight, to take anothers place, To chop off heads, to kill, to hang and draw : And when I take, from rulers new my grace, His head againe shall yeeld to sword and law. Men blowes the cole, but I put fire in straw, And where doth fall, the flame of my great ire, All things consumes to cinders in that fire.
'* * '
Come Murton come, and play thy pageant well, Thou goest before, perhaps a yeare or twaine; But after thee, shall passe to heauen or hell, A number more, that merry now remaine, World hath no stay, I tell thee all is vaine : Both raigne and rule and regall power most hie, When dastards dreame, in durt and dust shall lie.
My God thus sayd, with that my sprites reuiude, My wits were armde, my sence redoubled than : And with my flesh, the Holy Ghost he striude. By angels force, but not by might of man : A marulous stirre, in stomacke then beganne, For to subdue, the earrein corps of care, And burthend breast, that sinfull body bare.
Tragedie.] CHIPS. 201
Now hope in hast, made heauy heart full light, The feare was fled, that comes by course of law : Gods promise wrought, through mercy grace and
might,
A noble worke in me, cleare conscience saw. A fig for death, his force not worth a straw : ( Quoth 1 ) a rush for worlds reproach and shame : For written is, in booke of life my name.
The preachers then, began to weepe for ioy, Your firme belie fe, my lord shall make you free : ( Quoth they ) and sure, your soule is from annoy, Both in this world, and where sweete angels be, And where right soone, you shall Gods glory see: Not with bare view, but with immortall eies, As body shall, at latter day arise.
Then kneeld I downe, and to the cloudes I looke, The thought and care, the while of world was past, And 1 in God such ioy and pleasure tooke : That at my heeles, all earthly pompe I cast, By this the houre, of death approached fast. The gard gaue sign, with halbards bright in hand, I must prepare, on skaffold streight to stand.
The streetes were full of souldiers armed well, With shot and match and all belongs for warre, I saw in house I could no longer dwell :
202 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
For people said, the day was spent full farre, Then ope the doore, ( quoth I ) draw backe the barre, I will goe hence, to better home I trust : Here is no hope, I see, that die I must.
To comfort sence and strengthen vitall sprete, I tasted foed, and dranke a draught of wine : And pawsde a while, as I thought fit and meete, But sure no dread of death within mine eine Was scene, for God by speciall grace deuine, Held vp my heart, and head as high to shoe, As when from home, I did a walking goe.
Milde words I gaue, when bitter speech I hard, So passed through them all with manly cheere, And did no more this world nor earth regard, Then though in deede, I neuer had beene here ; But when in sight the skaftbld did appeare, My minde was bent, to fight the battle out : And conquere death, and banish feare and dout.
So stept I vp, on skaffold lightly than, Where sundry came, to aske me many a thing, I lookte to God, and made small count of man. Saue that alowd, I saide, God blesse the king, God giue him grace, in peace the state to bring, And shunne the harmes, and dangers ore his head : To finde on earth, long life when I am dead.
Tragedie.] CHIPS* 203
Had I serud God, as well in euery sort, As I did serue my king and maister still : My scope had not, this season beene so short, Nor world haue had the power to doe me ill. But loe, I liude, against my makers will : That feeles my flesh, that feeles my soule alas, That fault I feare, where now my soule shall passe*..
':;«i fid o.i ••;..
That, that good Lord, forgiue, whilst breath I haue, It is the sinne, that to this world I brought t\ It buried shall be with my flesh in graue, It is a sore and sickenesse of the thought ; It is most vaine, a wretched thing of nought, A wicked wound, that death doth heale alone, Dwels last in flesh, and first was bred in bone.
Pray you for me, that sets your sinnes by mine, And such as doe professe the faith I hold : Marke who I am, that here by power diuine, Am forst this daie my conscience to vnfolde, Looke neerely both to your owne faults vntolde,
* Shakspeare must have seen this passage, though his com- mentators have traced the speech of Wolsey to his very ut- terance: Churchyard's Challenge was published, in 1593: Shakespeare's Henry VIII. was written, in 1613:—
" O Cromwell, Cromwell !
" Had I but serv'd my God, with half the zeaJ, " I serv'd my king, he would not, in mine age, " Have left me naked to mine enemies."
CHURCHYARD'S [Marions
And pray as well, for me with humble minde, As for your selues, that here I leaue behinde.
My matter stands before the iudge of all, Men haue condemhd my body to the tort, When that great iudge will for a reckning call, Both you and I, (shut vp in sentence short,) Shall soone be known, who gaines the best report, I.here accuse ne small nor great this day : My part is plaide, and I must passe my way.
The faith this howre, that all the realme doth know, I die in here, and scale it with my blood : To other faith, beware bend not your bowe : The rotten string, will breake and doe no good, Whilst in this land, such trash and tromprie stood, God was not pleasd, the king not serude aright, And we did walke, in darkenes stead of light.
Good hearers all, my babes and children deere, I brought you vp, full long in this beliefe : Your regent once now preacheth to you here, Chaunge not (my barns) religion to your griefe, Serue first your God, next honor king as chiefe, This lesson keepe, and so good friends, adiew : The dead from quicke so takes his leaue of you.
Thus full resolvde temptation to resist,
Great time I stood, and talkte in stoutest shoe,
Trdgedie.'} CHIPS. 205
Of sondry things, as freely as I list :
But way ing then, that hence the soule must goe,
And that my necke must bide the blouddy bloe,
I stretched armes, as hie as I could heaue :
So turnd my backe, and did the audience leaue.
The heauenly hope, that heart doth long vphold, Did hale me hence, and bad dispatch in haste As firme as rocke I stood, say what they would, For after this, I spake no word in waste, Then downe I lay, and balefull blocke embraste, And there receiude, the blow as axe did fall, That cut me cleane, from cares and cumbers all.
The gasping head, as in the Lorde I slept,
A vision had, ye may the same suppose :
I dreamde it saw, how friendes and favrers wept,
In heade that tide, a straunger fancie rose,
The eyes behelde, before the eyes did close,
A writer there, and Churchyard loe he hight,
Whose pen paints out mens tragedies aright.
In deadly dreame, my tongue callde on that man, (As headlesse folke may fumble out a word) You must beleeue, the tongue a tale beganne, Of earnest thinges, and not a trifling borde, Churchyard (quoth he) if now thou canst afforde
206 CHURCHYARD'S [Murton's
Mee one good verse, take heere thy penne in hand, And send my death, to thine owne natiue lande ;
Which in my life, I lovde and honourd much, ( A cause there was, let that passe oer with time : ) Thou man (I saie,) that didst Shores wife so touch, With louing phrase, and friendlie English rime ; When pen and muse were in chiefe pride and prime, Bestow some paines, on him that was thy friende ; Whose life thou knewst, and seist mee make mine ende.
These wordes pronounst, the head gan bleed anew, My bodie laie, along like lumpe of leade : The limmes stretcht out, and stife as stake they grew, And vnder cloath of blacke was made my bedd. On thicke hard boordes, that world might see me dead There did I lodge, till Starrs appearde in skye, And goring bloode had glutted gasers eye.
Thus Churchyard now, in wandring vp and downe, (About affaires, perhaps that toucht him nere :) Saw on Tolbothe, in Edenborough towqe, My sencelesse head, before his face appeare. Why Morton then, (quoth he) and art thou heere, That long didst raigne, and rule this realme of late ; Then ruine and wracke oerreacheth each estate.
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 207
An emperors life, puft vp with pompe and pride,
Maie not compare, with plaine ploughman (quoth he)
The climing foote is apt to slippe and slide,
The studious braine shall selde in suretie bee,
A bitter blast sone bites the brauest tree.
At honors seate blinde boltes men dailie shoote :
And wretched hap riues vp renowne by roote.
No wit nor wealth preuailes against mischaunce, Whom fortune hates, the people doe disdaine : As wisdomes grace doth worthie witts aduaunce, So priuie hate throwes downe hie harts againe. The whitest clothe will take the greatest staine. It is not strange, to see great men to fall, For too much trust of worlde deceiues vs all.
Why doe wee wish, to weald a world at will, What follows pompe, but hazard of good name : Why would wise men in pleasure wallow still, The end of toyle, makes soule and bodie tame : They take no rest, that runnes still after fame, Great charge breeds griefe, and brings on care apace: Great honor rules, and lasteth but a space.
Who trauells farre, comes wearie home at night, The mounting larke, comes down to foulers hand : Great birdes are borne about with feathers light,
208 CHURCHYARD'S \_Murtons
All great renowne on tickle propps doth stand, All worldlie blisse is builded on the sand. Which when a puffe of winde beginnes to bloe, In peeces small, the painted postes will goe.
To greatest trees the birdes doe daily flock,
On highest hils wee walke to take the ayre :
And sudden stormes giue greatest oke a shock,
The ground is bare, where many feete repayre,
All people drawe vnto a goodly faire :
But where most haunte, is founde with iudging eye,
There is least hope, and doth most daunger lye :
The fayre it selfe, where all is bought and solde, Showes meere deceipt, to him that buies and sells : The enemies strength, striues still with strongest
holde,
Disdaine doth drawe, where greatest honor dwels. All flies repayre to flowers of sweetest smells, Each wicked worme to soundest kernell goes : Ten thousand weedes do growe about a rose.
Because the seate of honor standeth hye, The baser sort do bend the browe thereat : And honor is a moate in enuies eye, Who vily thinkes, and speaks he knows not what, By enuies brute, that bitter biting griatt,
Tragedie."] CHIPS. 209
A blister growes, in soft and smothest skinne : So skarrs arise, where cleerest shew hath binne.
O malice great, thou monster sent from hell,
The heauens hate to heare thy naughty name :
If world thee skorn, thou knowst not where to
dwell,
O fugitive, O sonne of open shame. No wisdomes lore, nor men of noble fame, Can scape thy scourge, it giues so sore a yarke : And so thy boltes are shot at cache good marke,
Men may not liue, though great they are of race, For malice, rage, and enuie now a dayes : Proude practise proules about in eurie place, To breede debate, and cut of good mens praise,. Where malice sowes the seedes of wicked waies. Both honor quailes, and creadit crackes with all : Of noblest men, and such as feares no fall.
At goodlie fruite, that growes on topps of trees,
The people gase, and somtime kudgels flinge :
Disdaine repines, at all good things it sees,
And so like snakes, doth enuie shoote his sting,
The angrie waspes are still about a king.
Who seekes by swarmes, to hurt true meaning
still:
So workes great harmes, to those that thinks no ill. p
210 CHURCHYARD'S [Marions
True honor may full long in fauour bee, If rigors wrath, and malice did not meete : And malice might lies not in meane degree, It closely lurkes, in craft and cunning sprete, First fine deuice can kisse both handes and feete, Then draw the knife, that cuts the harmlesse throte : Thus honor is, by drifts in daunger gote.
These deadly driftes drinkes deepest riuers drie, Sincks greatest grounds, belowe past helpe of man : Flings flat on floore the statelye buildings hye, Shakes downe great harts, let wit doe what he can. Fine drift is hee, that mischiefe first beganne. Against whose force, no reason maie resist : That awefull worme, on earth doth what it list.
Then noble birth, and vertues rare must stowpe, When daie is come, and destines strikes the stroke : This cunning world may make great minds to drowpe, When we. are calde, men needs must draw the yoke. When life goes out, our breath is but a smoke. When at the dore, our drerie death doth knocke : Take key in hand, wee must turne backe the locke.
Who would haue thought, Earle Morton should haue
fell,
A graue wise man, who gouernde manie a daye : Rulde all at home, and vsde his wit so well>
Tragedie.] CHIPS. 211
In foreine realmes, hee bare a wonderous swaie, Of worldes affaires, hee knew the readie waye. Yet knowledge failde, and cunning knew no boote : When fortune came, and tript him with her foote.
Loe, lookers on, what stale remaines in state, Loe, how mans blisse, is but a blast of winde : Borne vnto bale, and subiect to debate, And makes an ende, as destine hath assignde, Loe heere as oft, as Morton comes to minde, Dispise this worlde, and thinke it nothing straunge : For better place, when we our Hues doe chaunge.
THE END.
Printed ly Richard and Arthur Taylor, Shoe Lane, London.
MACBETH,
AND
KING RICHARD THE THIRD-
London : Printed by C. Roworth, Bell-yard, Temple-bar.
MACBETH,
AND
KING RICHARD THE THIRD
AN ESSAY,
IN ANSWER TO
REMARKS
ON SOME OF THE
CHARACTERS
OF
SHAKS P EARE.
BY J. P. KEMBLE.
LONDON: .JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1817.
1
uysoy PH -fiMij
TO
THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
MY LORD DUKE,
BE pleased to accept this tribute of my gratitude. That it is the constant character of your Grace's nature, to conceal the benefits which it confers, I well know ; and I am fearful lest this offering should offend, where I most anxiously wish it to be received with favour: Yet,
when a whole happy Tenantry are voting public monuments to perpe- tuate the memory of your Grace's paternal benevolence to them, I hope, my Lord, that I am not, any longer, forbidden openly to acknowledge my own great obligations to your muni- ficence.
Your Grace has thought me worthy of your bountiful patronage; and I may not presume to say, how little I deserve it.
May your Grace live, long to be the ornament of your ancient and illustrious Race, — and may your princely Name continue to latest time, revered and beloved in a Pos- terity emulous of all those public
[ix]
and private Virtues, which are now honoured in your Grace, and can meet their full reward then only, when your Country shall have occasion to mourn your loss !
With the most profound respect, and the most grateful affection,
I am,
My Lord Duke, Your Grace's devoted servant,
JOHN PHILIP KEMBLE.
June 17, 1817.
Great Russell Street, Bloorasbury Square.
THE passages quoted from Remarks on some of the Characters of Shakspeare, (by William Whateley, Esq.) are printed in Italics ; and the references at the bottom of the page, are to the edition in 8vo. London. 1785.
The , references to Shakspeare correspond to the edition by George Steevens, published, with his latest corrections, in twenty-one volumes, under the care of Isaac Reed, in 1803.
MACBETH,
AND
KING RICHARD THE THIRD,
PLAYS are intended, by employing the united powers of precept and example, to have a good influence on the lives of men. It is not necessary towards this end, that the drama should be modelled to the individual form re- commended by Aristotle for its con- struction, and the distribution of its
[ 2 ]
parts.* Though the observance or neglect of the much-debated unities in the concoction of a play, as Dry- den expresses himself, may excite the praise or censure of the learned and curious; yet it must be allowed, that the Grecian or modern arrangement of acts and scenes is but a conven- tional merit or defect, that can con- tribute nothing either to the amend-
* That Sophocles, Euripides, and their contem- poraries, were not inextricably bound by the unities, and that they might at their choice, and successfully, have varied the ancient ' form of tragedy, will not perhaps appear an improbable conjecture, when we reflect that, though a decree of the government did very materially alter the structure of comedy in Athens, yet it is no where found, that the New comedy was less favoured and followed in the days of Menander, than the Old had been in the time of Aristophanes.
[ 3 ]
ment or depravation of the mind. The stage, without a necessity for further restraints, promotes the cause of good morals, whenever, by the personated imitation of some history or fable, — drawn to an impressive conclusion by principles and actions natural to the agents who produce it, — we are in- structed to love virtue and abhor vice. Shakspeare's disregard of the rules to which the tragedians of antiquity ap- pear to have generally confined them- selves, has been much insisted on by Voltaire, and others both of his nation and our own, as an insurmountable obstacle to the theatrical effect of his plays; and, indeed, in their skirmishes against them,they have employed every
[ 4 ]
weapon of wit, ridicule, and misre- presentation.* But these trammelled
* A diverting example of French criticism oc- curs in the following note on a passage in Voltaire's Romance of L'HOmme aux Quarante Ecus : —
" M. Home, grand juge d'Ecosse, enseigne la maniere de faire parler les heros d'une tragedie avec esprit; et voici un exemple remarquable qu'il rap- porte de la tragedie de Henri IV. du divin Shak- speare. Le divin Shakspeare introduit Milord Falstaff, chef de justice, qui vient de prendre prisonnier le Chevalier Jean Colville, et qui le pre- sente au roi : — " Sire, le voila, je vous le livre ; " je supplie votre grace de faire enregistrer ce fait " d'armes parmi les autres de cette journee, ou " pardieu je le ferai mettre dans une balade avec " moh portrait a la tete; on verra Colville me " baisant les pieds. Voila ce que je ferai, si vous " ne rendez pas ma gloire aussi brillante qu'une " piece de deux sous doree ; et alors vous verrez, " dans le clair ciel de la renommee, ternir votre " splendeur comme la pleine lune efface les char- " bons eteints de 1'element de l'air,qui ne paraissent " autour d'elle que comme des tetes d'epingle." —
[ 5 ]
notions, these paper bullets of the brain, neither have, nor ought to have, any power to awe us from the career of our delight in the drama of this heavenly-inspired bard. In every fine art there is an excellence that soars above the control of its or- dinary laws. When the soul is cap- tivated by beauties irreconciieable to the strict discipline of precept, Sensi- bility properly assumes the arbitra-
" C'est cet absurde et abominable galimatias, tres-frequent dans le divin Shakspeare, que M. Jean Home propose pour le modele du bon gout et de 1'esprit dans la tragedie."
(Euvres de Voltaire. Edit, de Beaumarchais.
torn. Ivii.p. 230. 12mo. 1/85. Elements of Criticism. By the Hon. Henry Home of Kames. vol. i. p. 383. 8vo. 8th Edit. 1807. Edinburgh.
t 6 ]
tion between method and genius; and its decisions justify us in concluding that our admiration is rationally fixed. Truth of character and passion, the real touchstone and test of dramatic worth, is the unrivalled attribute of Shakspeare's muse; and, in the gene- ral estimation of mankind, this charm will probably maintain to him the highest place among the poets of the stage, as long as Human Nature shall hold on in its appointed course.*
* Some sticklers for an undeviating adherence to the unities, have eagerly pressed the aid of David Hume into the maintenance of their league against Shakspeare ; and refer us to the observations on the powers and compositions of our poet, which occur in his summary view of eminent men who flourished under the reign of King James I. These
[ 7 ]
An Answer to Mr. Whateley's Remarks was published immediately on their appearance. There the de- bate died away ; and no thought was
critics might fairly be told, that their right to what they claim is not thoroughly clear: However, — let Mr. Hume's opinion have been what it might, when he wrote the History of the Stuarts; still, it is very certain, from one of his letters to the Comtesse de Boufflers, (dated Compeigne, July 14, 1769,) that he was, afterwards, a sound Shakspearean ; and, consequently, the sentiments of these writers are no longer supported by the concurrence of so powerful a confederate. In answer to his fair cor- respondent's objections to the tragedy of Douglas, Mr. Hume says : — " The value of a theatrical piece can less be determined by an analysis of its conduct, than by the ascendant which it gains over the heart, and by the strokes of nature which are interspersed through it." — This is all that the most devoted admirers of Shakspeare contend for.
Literary Gazette, and Journal of the Belles Lettres. No. 8. 4to. 1817- London.
[ 8 ]
entertained of ever reviving it. Mr. Steevens, in his last edition of Shak- speare's plays, thought proper to awaken this dispute by some re- flexions of his own, in support of Mr. Whateley's opinions. These re- flexions have occasioned a revision of the Answer to the Remarks, and its re- publication in this Essay. Mr. Stee- vens, though confessedly a commen- tator of the first class, adds, it is true, no effectual strength to the cause which he undertakes to reinforce; he would, indeed, willingly second by sap and mine; but seldom cares to venture with his ally into the open field : nevertheless, it is worth while to repel him; because his ingenuity
[ 9 ]
has, sometimes, so exquisite a bias to insinuation against proof, and as- sumption without it, that, were it possible to think it exerted even for that only end, it could hardly serve better to bewilder the uninquisitive and careless. Except when Mr. Stee- vens calls for distinct notice by some new and explicit objection, it is meant that he is answered conjointly in the replies to Mr. Whateley. The advo- cate for what is estimable in Macbeth, depends with confidence on Shak- speare, to clear the " Fiend of Scot- land" from the vilifying imputation laid on his nature by these gentlemen ; and will beg leave here to say, once for all, that he does not renew this dis-
[10]
cussion from a spirit of controversy ; hut from a wish to prevent the diffu- sion of unwholesome criticism, and out of regard for what he believes to be useful truth.
This Essay does not profess the offering of any observations on the conduct of the tragedy of Macbeth; it concerns itself strictly with the sen- timents of the hero of the play: in hopes, that this grandest of its author's works may be fixed stedfastly to its purpose of benefit to mankind, if, in analysing the characters of Macbeth and Richard, it be shown, that there is no room to suppose any degrading distinction between them in the qua- lity of personal courage. If Macbeth
[ 11]
is really what Mr. Whateley and Mr. Steevens would have him pass for, we must forego our virtuous satisfac- tion in his repugnance to guilt, for it arises from mere cowardice; nor can we take any salutary warning from his remorse, for it is only the effect of imbecility. The stage will not con- duce to our improvement, by present- ing to us the example of a wretch who is uniformly the object of our con- tempt.
Having stated many instances of the difference which, no doubt, there is between the characters of Macbeth and Richard, Mr. Whateley speaks of the quality of their courage, and says :—
i [ 12]
" In Richard it is intrepidity, and in Macbeth no more than resolution: in him (Macbeth) it proceeds from exer- tion, not from nature; in enterprise he betrays a degree of fear, though he is able, when occasion requires, to stifle and subdue it."*
The attempt to controvert this as- sertion, and those that are subse- quently founded upon it, falls easily under three heads; namely, an exhi- bition of the character of Macbeth, as it stands in its simplicity, if^fore any change is wrought in it by the super- natural soliciting of the Weird sisters; next, an examination into his conduct
* Remarks, p. 26.
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towards Banquo and Macduff; and, lastly, a review of his general deport- ment, particularly as opposed to that of Richard in the Remarks. This order will lead to an inquiry into Mr. Whateley's interpretation of some passages of the poet's text; into the appositeness of the facts which he adduces in support of his doctrine; and into his philosophy of the pecu- liar passion of each of these sangui- nary usurpers, when, facts not sup- plying praof, he grounds himself only on the evidence of characteristic sen- timent.
The appeal for judgement on the quality of the courage of Macbeth, does not depend, as questions of cri-
t 14]
ticism often necessarily must, on con- jecture and inference; it addresses itself directly to the plain meaning of every passage where Shakspeare touches on this subject. The short- ness of the time allotted for the per- formance of a play, usually makes it impracticable to allow the principal personages space sufficient for their unfolding themselves gradually before the spectator ; it is, therefore, a neces- sary and beautiful artifice with dra- matic writers, by an impressive de- scription of their heroes, to bring us in great measure acquainted with them, before they are visibly engaged in action on the stage; where, with- out this previous delineation, their
t is']
proceedings might often appear con- fused, and sometimes perhaps be un- intelligible. We are bound, then, to look on the introductory portrait which our author has drawn of Mac- beth, as the true resemblance of him ; for the mind may not picture to itself a person of the poet's arbitrary inven- tion, under any features, but those by which that invention has thought fit to identify him. — Here is the portrait.
Serg. The merciless Macdonwald
* * # # # * #
from the western isles Of kernes and gallowglasses is supplied ; And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,, Show'd like a rebel's whore: But all's too weak;
[ 16]
For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that
name,)
Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smok'd with bloody execution, Like Valour's minion,
Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave ; And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to
him, Till he unseam'd him from the *nave to the
chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements .f
* he unseam'd him from the nave to the
Some of the annotators, persuaded that wounds cannot be given thus in an upward direction, sub- stitute nape for nave in this passage, and say, that it means the decapitation of the disloyal chieftain. That wounds may, however, be thus inflicted, both judicially and in the chance of war, is clear on the
t Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 2.
[17]
Why does Shakspeare appoint Macbeth to the noble hazard of meet- ing the fierce Macdonwald in single
authority of a very ancient, and of a very modern, writer. The divine Dante says i
" Vedi come storpiato e Maometto:
Dinanzi a me sen'va piangendo Ali, Fesso nel volto dal mento al ciuffetto" — Inferno, c. xxviii. v. 31.
Charles Ewart, sergeant in the Scots Greys, — Charles Ewart, — who, after three combats for his prize, bravely brought off a French eagle in the glorious battle won by the immortal Duke of Wel- lington at Waterloo, describes some of the circum- stances of his action, in this extract from his letter dated Rouen, June 18M, 1815:—" It was in the first charge I took the eagle from the enemy: he and I had a hard contest for it ; he thrust for my groin; I parried it off, and cut him through the head; after which J was attacked by one of their lancers, who threw his lance at me, but missed the mark, by my throwing it off with my sword by my right side ; then / cut him from the chin vp- C
[ 18]
opposition, hand to hand? Why does he call him brave, and emphatically insist on his deserving that name?
wards, which went through his teeth: next I was attacked by a foot-soldier," &c.
The Battle of Waterloo, containing the Series of Accounts published by Au- thority, British and Foreign, SfC. By a Near Observer. 8vo. p. 27. 8th Edit. 1816. London.
' Not to dwell longer, where there ought to have been no occasion for stopping at all ; — if these commentators had only figured to themselves the Caledonian warrior, burying his dirk in the bowels of Macdonwald and ripping up the body of the inhuman rebel, they would, perhaps, have seen that the old reading is extremely good sense ; and not have had to answer for inveigling many very well-meaning publishers of Shakspeare into their party, by the artful expedient of telling them, that to unseam an enemy, is English for chopping off his head.
'
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Why does he grace him with the title of Valour's minion; and presently, — > styling him Bellona's bridegroom, — deem him worthy to be matched even with the Goddess of War? Could the poet thus labour the description of his hero, and not design to impress a full idea of the loftiness of his intre- pidity? Macbeth's great heart pants to meet the barbarous leader of the rebels: his brandished steel, reeking with intermediate slaughter, has hewn out a passage to him; and he main- tains the combat, till the death of his antagonist crowns his persevering va- lour with a glorious victory.
Macbeth, it is asserted in the Re- marks, has resolution, not intrepidity.
[20]
What is the soldier's intrepidity, but a disdain of fortune? or, in less figu- rative words, what, but that perfect scorn of danger which Glamis so eminently displays, whenever fit oc- casions call him into it?
Further, it is objected, though with some restriction, that, in Macbeth, courage proceeds from exertion, not from nature; and that in enterprise he betrays a degree of fear. — Let us re- vert to Shakspeare. —
Serg. No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping kernes to trust their
heels,
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbished arms, and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault.
121 ]
"• 1+ - '• L I 'JW
Dune. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
Serg. Yes ; As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion.*
Here the Thane of Rosse arrives, post from the battle, and [completes the fainting Sergeant's unfinished nar- rative:
Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The Thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom,t lapp'd in proof,
-|. « Bellonas bridegroom"
" This passage may be added to the many | others, which show how little Shakspeare knew of ancient mythology. — HENLEY."
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. «.
. [22]
Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit : and to conclude, The victory fell on us.*
Mr. Steevens coincides with Mr. Henley's re- mark, and accounts thus for Shakspeare's igno- rance : —
" Our author might have been influenced by Holinshed, who, p. 567, speaking of King Henry V. says : — He declared that the goddesse ofbattett, called Bellona, &c. — Shakspeare, there- fore, hastily concluded that the Goddess of War was wife to the God of it; or might have been misled by Chapman's version of a line in the 5th Iliad of Homer : —
Mars himself, matched with his female mate9
The dread Bellona, &c. — STEEVENS."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 26.
That Shakspeare might have been thus influ- enced, or misled, Mr. Steevens may please to say ; but, fatally for this cautious conjecture, we
» Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 2.
[23]
Is it, then, to betray fear in enter- prise,— already worn with the toils, and
find in the play of King Henry IV. that Shak- speare never once thought of calling Bellona the wife of Mars : —
" Ver. The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thou- sand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, Prince John.
Hot. No harm : what more ?
Ver. And further, I have learn'd,
The King himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his
son,
The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales, And his comrades, that dafF d the world aside, And bid it pass ?
Ver. All furnished, all in arms ; All plum'd like estridges, that with the wind Bated, like eagles having lately bath'd ; Glittering in golden coats, like images; As full of spirit, as the month of May,
[24]
weakened by the losses, of a hard- fought, well- won field, — to rush,
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer.
*******
Hot. Let them come ; They come like sacrifices in their trim ; And to the jtre-etfd Maid of smoky war, All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them: The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, Up to his ears in blood."
K. Henry IV. Part I. Act iv. Sc. 1. The Maief of war, thus by the impetuous Hot- spur mated with Mar*, totally removes the reproach conveyed in the commentator's misplaced apology for his author's ignorance : —
Further; — granting that our poet did believe Bellona to be the wife of Mars; this opinion, so far from being a sign of his want of acquaintance with ancient mythology, would show him much better skilled in it, than the Master who corrects him. Is it possible, Mr. Steevens could be, really, so illiterate as not to know, that the Grecian and Roman poets call Bellona, indifferently,
[25]
advantage, on fresh and frightful numbers, with unconcern like that
sometimes the wife of Mars, sometimes his mo- ther, at others his sister, and even his nurse? The inconsistencies of the Theogony are endless. Shakspeare, probably, took Bellona, as the mo- derns usually do, for the sister of Mars : —
Lastly, and most to the point; — Mars is not alluded to in this passage at all : The Bridegroom here figuratively wedded to Bellona— (however ill this truth may accord with Mr. Steevens's pur- pose,)— can be no other person, but Macbeth. Though Rosse does not mention him by name; yet common sense, and metaphorical sense, and the, otherwise unintelligible, context of this scene with that which follows, all prove that he alone is meant in this bold expression: The poet, by hyperbole, calls Macbeth himself, Bellonas Bride- groom ; as if he were, in fact, honoured with the union, of which Rosse, in his excessive admi- ration, paints him worthy. Mr. Henley and Mr. Steevens might just as reasonably suppose, that Duncan, who also omits the name of Macbeth, is
[26]
which eagles and lions might be con- ceived to show, if opposed to hares
speaking of the prowess of Mars in these victories just gained on the shores of Fife, when, in reply to what he has heard in a side-speech, he be- gins :—
" True, worthy Banquo, he is full so valiant ; And in his commendations I am fed."
Egregious the renown, and ample would be the triumph, of the tremendous son of Jove, if, lapped in the proof of his divine panoply, he had bran- dished his thundering falchion against the feeble temper of the Norweyan steel, and led an army to the overthrow of a merely mortal enemy ! — Had Duncan been credulous enough to be persuaded, that the God of war had deigned to descend in person to his protection, his gratitude should have raised altars to Mars, instead of sending rewards to Macbeth.
If Mr. Steevens had discovered so cold, so un poetical, so manifold an error in the Player- Editors, with what exultation would he not have rebuked their " ignorance, dullness, stupidity,"
[27]
and sparrows? While Macbeth thus dedicates himself to the face of peril, does his behaviour indicate reluc- tance ? Does it betray the result of effort and exertion? No; it is the impulse of a dauntless temper, that hurries the bridegroom of Beliona through the dismal conflict, again to confront the enemy, and hold him point to point, till his resistless arm has curbed the over-confident pre- sumption of the royal invader of his country, and raised, on his discomfi-
&c. &c. &c. On this, and other occasions, Even- handed justice might commend the ingredients of his poison'd chalice to his own lips : — But the asperities of his commentary shall not be retaliated here.
[28]
ture, the trophies of a second, and more brilliant, triumph.
The imagination being now fully prepared to receive him, Macbeth presents himself on the scene. A deputation from his sovereign meets him, with these gracious acknow- ledgements of his important ser- vices: —
Rosse. The King hath happily receiv'd,
Macbeth,
The news of thy success : and, when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his : silenc'd with
that,
In viewing o'er the rest of the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
C 29 ]
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale, Came post with post, and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him.
Aug. We are sent,
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee.
Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of
Cawdor :
In which addition, Hail, most worthy Thane ! For it is thine.*
The King congratulates Macbeth on his success; and professes, that the praises due to his personal valour in the first battle with the rebels, are
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc, 3.
[30]
stifled in wonder at the excess of his daring. How unutterable, then, must Duncan's feelings be, when he finds him, the self-same day, not only again engaged, but, deep in the hostile ranks, fearlessly dealing death in every shape of horror among the squadrons that surrounded him ! The King confers on his dauntless warrior the forfeited honours of the traitorous Gawdor, only as an earnest of those higher dignities which, on the ap- plauding testimony of every tongue, his prosperous courage in the king- dom's wonderful defence has justly merited.
Such is the character with which Shakspeare arrays the son of Sinel,
[31]
while yet the pureness of his heart remains uncontaminated. The bold decision and unshaken persistence of Glamis throughout the stubborn struggles against Macdonwald and Sweno, establish his title to the praise of the sublimest heroism; the feats of his own hand assure to him the re- nown of hardihood ; and the whole tenor of his deportment through the adventure of this perilous day, un- equivocally displays a natural alacrity in the discharge of all the parts of a consummate soldier.
With these extracts from the play before his eyes, Mr. Steevens has ventured to say: — " Throughout such parts of this drama as afford oppor-
[32]
tunity for a display of personal bra- very, Macbeth sometimes screws his courage to the sticking place, but never rises into constitutional heroism."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p.
Had not Mr. Steevens, here and there, prudently provided himself with an escape from the full re- proach of this surprizing proposition, it would have been unworthy of seri- ous notice : The evident drift, however, of his dissertation on the character of Macbeth being, to leave his readers in a complete conviction of the truth of all the material part of Mr. Whate- ley's theory, the best way of refuting him, it was thought, was, at once, to root up the foundation of his system,
[33]
without spending any time on the guarded intricacy of his arguments.* The question on the intrepidity of Macbeth's nature, might very safely be left for decision to the proofs of it already stated; but it would be an injustice to the poet, drily to dismiss this part of the debate, without some
* It will be fair, to let Mr. Steevens explain himself. These are his words:—" The late Mr. Whateley's Remarks on some of the Characters of Shakspeare, have shown, with the utmost clearness of distinction and felicity of arrangement, that what in Richard III. is fortitude, in Macbeth is no more than resolution. But this judicious critic having imputed the cause of Macbeth's inferiority in courage to his natural disposition, induces me to dissent, in one particular, from an Essay, which otherwise is too comprehensive to need a supple- ment, and too rational to admit of confutation"
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 296'. D
[34]
notice of the stroke of refined skill, by which he, as it were, irradiates the portrait of his hero. How slightly is Banquo alluded to throughout the relation of the momentous events in which he was so importantly em- ployed! It was necessary to the future interest of the piece, that we should conceive of him, as of a per- son of high rank and fearless cou- rage; and, being so far known, he is for the present withdrawn from deeper attention.
Dune. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ?
Serg. Yes; As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion.*
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 2.
[35]
He is equal partner with the son of Sinel in command; yet Rosse and An- gus bear him no greeting from a master overflowing in the plenty of his joys; they are commissioned with the royal thanks and favours to Glamis only. When the victorious Captains are heralded into the monarch's presence, the gracious Duncan bursts into an enthusiastic encomium of the deserts of Cawdor, while he welcomes Ban- quo, not with actual accumulation of dignifying rewards, but in a brief phrase of courtly compliment; then hastens to distinguish Cawdor by the further honour of a domestic visit; and, when the favoured Thane has taken leave of him, is occupied
[36]
solely in listening to, and in confirm- ing, Banquo's generous panegyric of his absent partner. And what is the topic of this praise? On what ac- count does Banquo, the witness and companion of his dangers, extoll Macbeth so highly? — Will it be be- lieved, after what Mr. Whateley and Mr. Steevens have asserted? — Why, precisely for his being pre-eminently endowed with that very courage, which they have the temerity to deny him: — •
Dune. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant,
And in his commendations I am fed.
# ^ # * # * #
Oh, 'tis a peerless kinsman !*
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 4.
[37]
It is difficult, to conceive how Mr. Steevens could miss the import of all these lucid passages, and need to have it hinted to him, that Shakspeare, by passing lightly over Banquo's me- rits, and insisting, so repeatedly, on this particular quality of splendid in- trepidity in the character of Mac- beth, renders him the object of our undivided admiration; and thus pro- vides, that the attention shall never, for a moment, wander from the lead- ing figure of this divine tragedy.
We come now to the second divi- sion of this inquiry, and are to re- view the conduct of Macbeth towards Banquo and Macduff.
The Remarks affirm, that Macbeth
[38]
is afraid of JBanquo, and that his fear is founded on the superior courage of the other.*
Whence is the evidence of Mac- beth's cowardice to be brought ? Cer- tainly, not from his behaviour at the head of an army: his title to the honour of heroism in the field, is already fully established. To all Mr. Whateley's proofs of this unjust assertion, the plain and comprehensive answer is, that they all rest on a pal- pable misunderstanding of the au- thor's meaning. It does not appear that, upon the first meeting with the Witches, Macbeth is agitated much more than Banquo :f nor are Banquo's
* Remarks, p. 40, t Ib. p. 46.
[39]
several particular and pertinent ques- tions*— (which, it should be noted, amount to no more than two, before Macbeth joins in the interrogation,) — expressive of mere curiosity :f on the contrary, they are thoroughly expres- sive of the great surprise with which both he and his partner are equally struck, on their first encountering three objects of so grotesque and hag- gard an appearance.
Banq. What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, — That look not like the inhabitants of the earth, And yet are on't ! — Live you ? or are you aught That man may question ?J
« Remarks, p. 46. * Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3.
tlb.
[40]
Is this the language of mere curiosity ? — If Macbeth only repeats the same inquiry shortly* —
Speak, if you can ; what are you ?f — > •
it is, clearly, not from agitation ; j for hitherto, at least, nothing has occurred to alarm § him: No; he makes the same demand,—- (and makes it per- emptorily; not, as Mr. Whateley im- plies, fearfully;)— because he is natu- rally desirous of the same informa- tion; and, if he expresses himself shortly, Shakspeare intentionally or- ders that he should do so; the more
* Remarks, p. 47. t Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3.
J Ib. p. 46. $ Ib. p. 46.
[ 41 ]
forcibly to mark his impatience for an answer.
Why should the speeches of the two Generals, in this scene, appear to be injudiciously distributed?* and how will the difference in their characters account for such a disposition?^ — Banquo speaks to the ivitches first : J Very true; and it is admirably con- trived, that he shall see them first; not, as the author of the Remarks unadvisedly supposes, in token of his superior presence of mind ; but, most assuredly, because the poet, pro- foundly a master in his art, is soli- citous, by their ceremonious silence to Banquo, —
• Remarks, p. 47. f Ib. f Ib.
[42]
- — • each, at once, her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips,*
to heighten the solemnity of that prophetic greeting,*!*
with which they are about to hail Macbeth. The remainder of the scene evinces, beyond the possibility of cavil, that this distribution of the speeches is not adopted for the purpose of showing Banquo's superiority, in being perfectly calm$ under an occur- rence that had disturbed Macbeth; for, if Macbeth — (and very naturally,) — is amazed when he sees the Witches are vanished^ and likens them, in their
* Macbeth, Act. i. Sc. 3. J Remarks, p. 47.
tlb. $Ib.p.48.
[43]
disappearance, to the melting of breath into the element ; still, Banquo — this carelessly-curious Banquo ! — is not less moved. The utterance of his wonder at their strange evanescence, is dictated by a most striking thought; he resembles them to fancied bub- bles of the earth, insubstantial as those that float on the surface of the water : —
The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them! Whither are they vanished ?*
To which strong expressions of asto- nishment Macbeth replies : —
* Macbeth, Act. i. Sc. 3.
[44]
Into the air ; and what seem'd corporal, melted As breath into the wind. 'Would they had stay'd!*
Here, it must be allowed, Macbeth is riot so far troubled by their promise, and at their appearance^ but that, like Brutus/ — who has never been called a coward, — he
would hold more talk J
with these apparitions.
It cannot, on any tenable pretence, be said that Banquo treats the Witches with contempt:^ he solemnly adjures them by the name of Truth; and,
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3. t Remarks, p. 49.
t J. Caesar, Act iv. Sc. 3. § Ib. p. 47.
[45]
with Macbeth, gives them, in some sort, credit for more than mortal knowledge, when he thus addresses them : —
-> In the name of Truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show ? *
* * * * * * #
If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say, which grain will grow, and which
will not ;
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate.*
If you can look into futurity, Ban- quo says, reveal my destiny : I neither solicit your favour, nor dread your
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3;
[ 46]
enmity; but am prepared to heaf with firmness what is to betide me, be it for good, or ill. This is the noble image of manly fortitude, with not a feature ruffled by the vulgar- izing sneer of Contempt.
Macbeth, having recapitulated the predictions of the Witches, asks whether " they went,'* or not, as he had repeated them : Banquo, when he assents to the preciseness of the recital, and makes this answer, —
To the self-same tune and words/*—
is far from intending any ridicule of their prophecy :f it is an exact and
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 2. t Remarks, p. 48.
:. 1 47 ]
weighed reply to an earnest and very interesting demand.
In the fourth act of this play, when Macduff, on fire to revenge the slaughter of his wife and children, bursts into the following energetic appeal to divine justice : —
Gentle Heaven,
Cut short all intermission ; front to front Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too !*
Malcolm, keenly sympathising with his suffering and loyal friend, and earnest to fortify him under the
* Macbeth, Act iv. Sc, 3.
[48]
mighty weight of his calamity, cries out : —
This tune goes manly !*
This passage, in which Malcolm terms the effusions of Macduff 's grief and rage " a manly tune," sufficiently confirms the serious import of Ban- quo's reply to Macbeth in the scene under our immediate consideration.f
t It were superfluous here to accumulate in- stances of the grave employment to which our elder poets put the word Tune: They who are de- sirous to have all the information to be gained on Shakspeare's use of this word, or of any other to be found in his dramatic \vorks, should, as a pre- liminary step, have recourse to Mr. Twiss's correct and invaluable Complete Verbal Index to the Plays of Shakspeare, adapted to all the Editions. 2 vols. 8w. London, 1805.
« Macbetl^ Act iv. Sc. 3.
[49]
Banquo's exclamation, on seeing a part of the high fortune foretold to Glamis so soon accomplished, —
What, can the devil speak true !*—
is so far from being dictated by dis- regard^— (How is it possible, it should be so?) — that it is an ejaculation of the utmost wonder ; for, when Mac- beth takes occasion, from that very event, to sound him on the hope that his children would be elevated to the throne of Scotland, — a hope he now might reasonably entertain, — he awfully replies: —
'Tis strange !
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
•Macbeth, Act i.Sc. 3.
t Remarks, p. 48.
E
[50]
The instruments of darkness tell us truths; Win us with honest trifles to betray us In deepest consequence.* —
This just and beautiful reflexion on the incautious entertainment of emo- tions which, though innocent in them- selves, yet by their nature lead inevi- tably to guilty consequences, was never intended by Shakspeare for the flippant tongue of disregard.
Let us now attend to the predo- minating and painful effect which the truths told by these Instruments of darkness produce on the mind of Banquo : by day, his imagination is haunted with the recurrence of their
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3.
[51]
promises ; by night, his dreams sug- gest the wicked means of realising them ; he prays devoutly to Heaven, to be delivered from the bad tempta- tions that assail him in his slumbers;
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me ; And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers ! Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature Gives way to in repose !* — •
and yet, the moment this prayer has passed his lips, on meeting the newly- created Thane of Cawdor, the pro- phecy of the Witches again takes complete possession of his brain: —
I dream'd last night of the three Weird Sisters : To you they have show'd some truth .f —
« Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 1. t Ib.
[52] v:
His ruling thoughts at once discover themselves; and, through all the strug- gles of his conscience, he still betrays the ambitious hope, that these mys- terious Hags will prove oracles of verity to him, as their speeches have already shone so prosperously, and so quickly, on Macbeth. Never could these discordant and horrible emotions have been excited in the virtuous mind of Banquo by declara- tions, which he had, as Mr. Whateley avers, contemned, ridiculed, and disre- garded.
To conclude: — A play is written on some event, for the purpose of being acted; and plays are so inse- parable from the notion of action,
[53]
that, in reading them, our Reflexion, necessarily bodying forth the carriage which it conceives the various cha- racters would sustain on the stage* becomes its own theatre, and gratifies itself with an ideal representation of the piece : This operation of the mind demonstrates that Mr. Whateley has* in this place, once more misconstrued Shakspeare; for there is no risk in saying, that the eye of a spectator would turn, offended, from the af- front offered to credibility, by the impassive levity of manner set down for Banquo in the Remarks,
The encounter, therefore, with the Weird Sisters on the heath does not, in the most remote degree, counte-
[54]
nance Mr. Whateley in asserting, that it proves the personal courage of J3anquo to be superior to that of Mac- beth. In truth, the scene has no rela- tion whatever to the personal courage of either of them.
The Remarks proceed, still speak- ing* of Macbeth's personal fear of Banquo : — His principal object is the death of the father, and the securing of his crown against Banquo's issue> who alone were pointed out to his jea- lousy by the Witches, is no more than
t/ V
a secondary consideration.*
Macbeth, when he confides to the Queen the cause of his lonely musings,
* Remarks, p. 42.
[55]
acquaints us at the same time that Banquo is not alone the origin of his uneasiness, but that his anguish has as deep a spring in Fleance: —
Lady M. How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making ?
* * * # # # *
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not
kiU'dit; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor
malice Remains in danger of her former tooth.
*###:*:*#
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives r*
* Macbeth, Act iii, Sc. 2.
C 56 ]
Thus it appears, that Fleaiice is not a subordinate, but an equal, object of the King's jealousy.
The perfidious tyrant, with his di- rections for ridding himself of Ban- quo, gives the assassins a special charge to make an end of Fleance also : —
With him,
(To leave no rubs, nor botches in the work,) Fleance, his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour.*
Here again it is proved, if words bear any intelligible meaning, that
Macbethi Act iii. Sc. 1.
[57]
Fleance acts a principal, not a se- condary, part in Macbeth's conside- ration.
To reign, — not precariously, and in the daily hazard of the worst that treason can do; to reign, secure from all the efforts of domestic malice and foreign invasion ; thus to enjoy his ill-acquired sovereignty, is the aim of the usurper's crimes ; the sole care that, at present, agitates and distracts him : —
To be thus, is nothing;
all his anxiety is,
to be safely thus.*
How soon the promise made to Ban-
» Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 1.
[58]
quo's issue may be fulfilled, he knows not; he is condemned to live in the apprehension of its hourly acconv plishment: —
Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none.*
This is the worm that gnaws his' heart ; this is the " Hag that rides his dreams;" this is the fiend that binds his soul on the rack of restless ex- tasy; and this the only fear that makes his firm nerve tremble, and urges him on to the perpetration of crimes abhorrent from his nature.
However the case may stand as to Banquo, it cannot be denied that Mac- beth meditates the death of Fleance
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 3.
[59]
on motives unmixed with cowardice ; for, allowing, for one moment, that he personally feared the father, it is absolutely impossible that he could have any personal fear of the son, who had not yet passed the term of boyhood :—
Banq. How goes the night, boy ? Fie. The moon is down : I have not heard the clock.*
Fleance, therefore, as far as Mac- beth's personal courage is concerned, is to be laid entirely out of our regard. Now, with respect to Banquo, who, according to Mr. Whateley, was the only efficient cause of Macbeth's
* Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 1.
[60]
fears, — had these fears been personal, it is obvious that they must of neces- sity have totally subsided with the death of the man, who, as the Remarks again and again maintain, was the sole object of them: the very reverse, however, is the fact : —
Macb. There's blood upon thy face. Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. Macb. Is he dispatched ? Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him.*
The assurance which Macbeth re- ceives that Banquo is dispatched, gives but a momentary respite to the
* Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4.
[61 1
pangs of his torn bosom ; for, finding that Fleance has not met the same untimely fate, and that Banquo might still prove
. the root and father
Of many Kings,* —
we see him instantly replunged into all the agony of his former terrors: —
Mur. Most royal Sir, Fleance is 'scap'd. Macb. Then comes my fit again : I'd else
been perfect ;
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; As broad and general as the casing air : But now, I'm cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound
in, To saucy doubts and fears.*
* Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 1.
t Ib.Actiii.Sc.4.
[62]
The Remarks now argue that the anxiety which prompts Macbeth to the destruction of Banquo, arises en- tirely from apprehension;* (still mean- ing, from personal fear;) and they endeavour to make good this asser- tion by observing, as quoted above, that the securing of his crown against Banquo's issue, who were alone pointed out to his jealousy by the Witches, is no more titan a secondary consideration with him.
Is then this desire to secure his crown against Banquets issue, alleged as a proof that Banquo falls a sacri- fice to Macbeth's personal fear, and
* Remarks, p. 39.
[63]
not to his jealous ambition ? It proves exactly the contrary. Fleance, we are to believe, is Banquo's sole heir. Let us' suppose Fleance dead, and Banquo consequently left childless. Where is the tyrant's security? Ban- quo's expectations are not necessarily buried in this infant's grave: Actual does not include possible progeny; the loss of one son does riot forbid the being blessed with others. Ban- quo would still survive, to fulfil his destiny in propagating a race of kings ; and might still disappoint all the usurper's ambitious cares for the continuance of the sceptre to his own family. Macbeth would have been fool as well as villain, his work would have
:_ [64]
been still to do, had he not compre- hended son and father, both, in his bloody purpose. Thus, the securing of the crown against Banquo's issue, is so far from being a secondary, that it is, indeed, the only instigation to this double murder. Banquo might have lived the lease of nature, if the Sisters had never revealed the scheme of his nativity.
That Macbeth felt a personal fear of Banquo on account of his supe- rior courage* is an opinion founded, perhaps, on an erroneous concep- tion of Shakspeare's meaning in the following lines : —
* Remarks, p. 40.
[65] Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep ; — and
There is none, but he,
Whose being I do fear.
« In order that no shadow of doubt may rest on the quality of the fears mentioned in these passages, it will be proper to trace the course of rea- soning pursued through the context of the soliloquy from which they are taken.
Macb. To be thus, is nothing; But to be safely thus : — Our fears in Banquo Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that, which would be fear'd : 'Tis much
he dares: And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
[66]
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none, but he, Whose being I do fear : and, under him, My Genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar.* He chid the
Sisters,
When first they put the name of King upon me, And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet- like,
under him,
My Genius is rebuked ; as, it is said, - Mark Antony's was by Ccesar."
This comparison of Banquo and himself to Octavius Caesar and Mark Antony, is very just ; and of importance to the present question, as it elucidates the sense in which Macbeth always uses the word Fear, with reference to Banquo. Shak- speare found the circumstances here alluded to, in Sir Thomas North's translation of Plutarch's Lives: — " With Antonius there was a Soothsayer or Astronomer of ^gypt, that could cast a figure,
[67]
They hailed him father to a line of kings : Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
and judge of men's nativities, to tell them what should happen to them. He, either to please Cleopatra, or else for that he found it so by his art, told Antonius plainly, that his fortune (which of itself was excellent and very great) was alto- gether blemished and obscured by Caesar's fortune : and therefore he counselled him utterly to leave his company, and to get him as farre from him as he could. For thy Demon, said he, (that is to say, the good Angell and Spirit that keepeth thee,) is afraied of his: and being coragious and high when he is alone, becometh fearful and timerous when he cometh neare unto the other. Howsoever it was, the events ensuing proved the ^Egyptian's words true; for it is said, that as often as they two drew cuts, for pastime; who should have any thing; (or) whether they played at dice; Antonius always lost. Oftentimes when they were disposed to see Cock-fight, or Quails that were taught to fight with one another, Caesar's Cocks or Quails
[68]
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, For Banquo's issue have 1 fil'd my mind ;
did ever overcome. The which spighted Antonius in his mind, although he made no outward shew of it ; and therefore he believed the Egyptian the better," &c. &c.
Plutarch's Lives. — Life of Marcus Antonius. — By Sir Thomas North. Folio 1676. Cambridge.
Antony's Demon, or Genius, dares not oppose himself to Caesar's ; that is to say, Caesar, accord- ing to the Astronomer's calculation, is born to the happier fortune. The Soothsayer's words are confirmed by various trifling occurrences ; and, among others, that of always losing at every game with Caesar, puts Antony out of humour : he dis- sembles his mortification ; but, giving credit to the Astrologer, withdraws himself from the society of Octavius. Here is abundant cause for saying that Antony could not brook Caesar's having the advantage of him even in their sports ; but none at all for supposing that Antony conceived a per* fpnaljear of him on account of his good luclj.
[69]
Forthem the gracious Duncan have I murder'd ; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel
Antony twice defied Caesar to single combat ; and Caesar, on very good considerations, no doubt, as often declined these challenges. Shakspeare found this circumstance of the life of the Triumvir, with that but now quoted, in Sir Thomas North ; and, therefore, could not believe that Antony was personally afraid of Caesar.
Antony, in his letters, charged Octavius with disgraceful flight in the first battle of Mutina : — " Antonius eum (Caesarem scil.)fugisse scribit ; ac, sine paludamento equoque, post biduum demum apparuisse." — Suet. Oct. Cces. cap. x. — Whether Shakspeare knew this anecdote, or not, cannot now be ascertained : it is very possible that he might; for Holland's translation of Suetonius appeared in 1606; and to the month of August, in this year, Mr. Malone proposes to fix the production of Mac- beth ; though there is ground for thinking that this play is not of so early a date : However, giving the play and the translation to the same year, we
[ 70 ]
Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings. The seed of Banquo kings !
may still, like staunch commentators, insist, that it is most likely the translation was published much earlier in the year than Macbeth; — and, surely, that our author might thus have read Holland's work, could, of all persons, with least grace be de- nied by Mr. Steevens, who has laboriously diffused Shakspeare's thirty-six plays through one-and- twenty volumes, to no other purpose, apparently, but that of proving him acquainted with (it would, certainly, be exaggeration, to say) every English book that had passed the press down to his time.
As a profound statesman, Octavius is celebrated by all the Historians who write of him ; they are not so unanimous on the subject of his military prowess ; on which, indeed, some of them have not hesitated to cast a slur of doubt. The lover of Cleopatra sunk before the fortune of his more prudent competitor for empire ; but, in the most triumphant time of Caesar's prosperity, neither ca- lumny nor flattery was ever base or broad enough,
[71]
Rather than so, — Come, fate, into the list, And champion me to the utterance.*
Iii this soliloquy, Macbeth consi- ders that, after all the guilt he has waded through in order to ascend the throne, he is still in the perpetual danger of being hurled from it; he weighs the causes of that danger;
to impeach the personal intrepidity of the Second in command to Julius in the battle of Pharsalia, and the generous Conqueror of the Republic on the plains of Philippi, —
" Cum fracta virtus, et minaces
Turpe solum tetigere mento." Antony feared Octavius as a political, not as a personal enemy ; and this is exactly the light in which Macbeth regards Banquo, — as a rival for the sovereignty.
* Macbeth, Act ui. Sc. 1.
[ 72]
and determines by the removal of the persons who seem appointed to de- pose him, to take the only certain means of assuring the crown to him- self, and his posterity. I have, he says, possessed myself of the su- preme power: But to what avail, since, in an instant, it may be wrested from me? Banquo is impatient to be the father of a king; and ther3 reigns in his very nature a royalty that seems to realize his expectations: He is not only a soldier of undaunted enterprise, but so consummate a politician, that, should he conspire against me, he will infallibly carry his designs successfully into execu- tion. There lives no other man,
[73]
whose attempts 1 fear ; but his good genius holds as high an ascendant over mine, as, it is said, Caesar's did over that of Mark Antony. Nor are his pretensions to be apprehended only on account of his natural en- dowments; they are emboldened too by the assurances of prophecy : Hear- ing me saluted King by the Weird Sisters, *e bade them speak to him ; they obeyed; and hailed him — Father to a line of Kings. Upon my head they placed a crown, and put a scep- tre in my hand, not to be transmitted to my own blood, but to be torn away by the unlineal succession of his children. If so, I have com- mitted crimes that must embitter
[74]
every moment of my life here, and condemn me to never-ending tor- ments hereafter, only to raise the de- scendants of Banquo to the throne. — Never. — I here oppose myself to the prediction; and resolve, through whatever dangers I must run, by the extirpation of the whole race to baffle the decrees of destiny itself.
Macbeth, then, does not plunge into fresh crimes, in order to get rid of (personal) fear: * Ambition im- pelled him to the murder of Duncan; and ambition still, — and no other motive, — urges him to the destruc- tion of Banquo and Fleance; because
* Remarks, p. 39.
[ 75]
they threaten to reduce him and his lineage from the splendours of mo- narchy to the obscurity of vassalage.
A moment's attention must now be bestowed on Macbeth's conduct to- wards Macduff; in which the Re- marks find additional proofs of his cowardice : — The same motives of per- sonal fear, and those unmixed with any other, impel him to seek the de- struction of Macduff*
Macbeth is not wrought by personal fear to destroy Macduff: it is from conviction of the Thane's indisposi- tion to his government, that he wishes to have him within his grasp : —
* Remarks, p. 42.
[76]
Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff de- nies his person At our great bidding ?*
The discontented Thane of Fife is an enemy, whose parts and popularity are not to be despised by a master, so newly and so foully seated on the throne: He is most honourably dis- tinguished as
noble, wise, judicious ;*f-
and Rosse, speaking of the misfortune that had befallen him in the loss of his wife and family, says : —
— No mind that's honest
But in it shares some woe
Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4. t Ib. Act iv. Sc. 2.
t Ib. Act iv. Sc. 3.
[77]
The Remarks might with equal pro- bability argue, that Macbeth is per- sonally afraid of every Thane in Scot- land ; because he sets spies in all their houses, to acquaint him with their political opinions and conduct.
Convinced of the disaffection of Macduff, and bent upon knowing, by whatever means, the worst that im- pends both from him and Fleance, Macbeth determines on an immediate interview with the Witches: he re- morselessly resolves, that none who may endanger his secure enjoyment of the throne, shall any longer give him disquiet ; he finds, too late, that he has ventured for the crown into the midst of a sea of blood, and de-
[ 78 }
termines, that the only course now left him, is to wade resolutely through it.
Macb. I will to-morrow, Betimes I will, unto the Weird Sisters : More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to
know, By the worst means, the worst : for mine own
good,
All causes shall give way ; I am in blood Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.*
Through the whole scene in the Pit of Acheron, Macbeth's language to the Weird Sisters and the Appa- ritions, is that of confidence and ex-
« Macbeth, Act iii, Sc.iv.
[79]
ultation: Presently, indeed, his whole soul is inflamed with mad rage, on beholding the royal succession of Banquo's line; and that rage is further exasperated into frightful vengeance, on learning that the wary Macduff has placed himself, by flight, beyond the reach of the murderous power, to which, not a moment ago, he had doomed him an assured victim.
If Macbeth thinks himself served by the Apparition who warns him to beware of the Thane of Fife:* —
Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good
caution thanks; Thou'st harp'd my fear aright :f —
* Remarks, p. 43. t Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1.
[80]
it is, because, the caution justifying his apprehensions, he shall now pro- vide more strenuously against the machinations of his enemy.
If, when told by another apparition that he shall be harmed by*
None of woman born,*|* he says,
Then live, Macduff: What need I fear of
and yet, repressing these feelings of confidence, immediately reverts to his former resolution^ and adds,
* Remarks, p. 42. t Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1.
$ Ib. * Ib.
[81]
Thou shalt not live ;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies;
And sleep in spite of thunder ;* —
the quality of his fear is decided by the kingly style he uses, when, — being assured that he
Shall never vanquished be, until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him,f —
elate, and triumphing in the stability of his reign, he exclaims,
That will never be.
*******
Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, &c.f
• Macbeth, Act iv. Sc, 1. t Ib. \ Ib.
G
[82]
When Macbeth and the Thane of Fife encounter each other in battle, the tyrant does not resort to that power over his life with which he believed himself gifted, as, in the true spirit of a coward, he instantly would have done, had he personally feared him; but, yielding to a noble compunction for the inhuman wrongs he has done him, is desirous to avoid the necessity of adding the blood of Macduff himself to that already spilled in the slaughter of his dearest connexions : —
Macb. Of all men else, I have avoided thee : But get thee back; my soul is too much
charg'd With blood of thine already.
[83]
Macd. I've no words, • My voice is in my sword: Thou bloodier
villain Than terms can give thee out ! (They fight.)
Macb. Thou losest labour : As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress, as make me
bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.*
Unmoved by Macduff's taunts and de- termined assault, Macbeth counsels him to employ his valour where suc- cess may attend on it; and generously warns him not to persist in urging an unequal contest with a foe, whom
* Macbeth, Act T. Sc. 7.
[84]
Destiny has pronounced invincible. Here is demonstration that, in the scene with the Witches, Macbeth does not from personal fear revert to his former resolution against the life of Macduff.
In a word, Macbeth does not de- termine on the death of Banquo, Fleance, and Macduff, from personal fear: he conceives the perpetration of these crimes, evidently because his ambition renders the father and son objects of his envy, and the disobe- dient Thane, of his hatred.
We come now to consider Macbeth and King Richard the Third, as they are immediately opposed to each other in the Remarks; and are to
•[ 85 ]
answer the arguments employed to prove, that Richard is superior to Macbeth in personal courage. Equal, not to say superior, firmness under equal trials, will refute some of them ; some will be invalidated by showing that the carriage objected to in Mac- beth, as a proof of timidity, is precisely the same as that of Richard in like cir- cumstances; and some, it will be made appear, rest altogether on careless mistatement of fact, or mere misapr prehension of sentiment.
Because Macbeth is not more pusillanimous than Richard, it will not, it may be said, conclusively fol- low, that he is a brave man : This is true : But this could not be objected
[86]
by Mr. Whateley and Mr. Steevens, who make Richard, in all his actions, their uniform standard of inborn, per- fect, never-wavering Intrepidity.
If it be a mark of resolute behaviour* in Richard, that, when Tyrrel informs him the Princes are dispatched, he is curious to inquire into the particulars of the proceeding ; and, though certain of the event, is solicitous to hear at leisure in what manner it was con- ducted ;f —
K . Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy
news ?
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
* Remarks,»p. 38. t Ib".
[87]
Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done.
K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ? Tyr. I did, my lord. K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel ? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried
them;
But where, to say the truth, I do not know. K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after
supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death :* —
if this desire to hear Tyrrel again, be a mark of resolute behaviour in Richard, it must, of consequence, be allowed, that Macbeth too displays resolution of spirit; for he, in like
* K. Richard, Act iv. Sc. 3.
[88]
manner, refers the Ruffian, who has in^ formed him of the death of Banquo, to a second audience :
Get thee gone : To-morrow
We'll hear ourselves again,*
It is thought right to make this reply to the author of the Remarks; though, in truth, he again much mis- takes the poet's intention, when he supposes, it is for the sake of in- dulging a leisurely curiosity, that Richard orders the stony-hearted wretch to attend, and give him a more minute account of the particu- lars and manner of the death of his nephews. The whole passage — Is
* Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4.
[89]
it done ? — are they dead ? — are they buried? — forcibly expresses the ty- rant's fear lest the bloody work may have been left incomplete : He is far from finding himself at ease on Tyr- rel's first relation of the event; and his solicitude to hear the process of the murder retold, only discovers the anxiety with which he labours, till he shall have put the irrevocable deed past doubt. By the immutable law of nature, this painful state of mind inevitably waits on the entrusting of dangerous crimes to the execution of mercenary agents; and, in the h> stances before us, similar guilt pro- duces similar torture in the soul of both the distrustful usurpers.
[90]
The Remarks proceed : — Macbeth V suspicions, the consequence of his ap- prehensions, extend to all his great lords,*
Macb. There's not a one of them, but in
his house I keep a servant fee'd ;*f* —
and he says to his Physician,^, Doctor, the Thanes fly from me :§ —
Tis true; he does: And does not Richard betray the very same suspi- cion, when he dares not trust Lord Stanley into the north, to raise his friends and tenants, till he has first
* Bemarks, p. 45. t Macbeth, Act iii. Sc, 4.
$ Ib. p. 71. § Ib. Act v. Sc. 3.
[ 91 ]
taken that nobleman's eldest son as a surety for his fidelity? —
K. Rich. Go, muster men : But, hear you,
leave behind Your son, George Stanley : Look your heart
be firm, Or else his head's assurance is but frail :* —
And further, — is not Richard much more alarmed by a mere distrust of his officers, than Macbeth is, on see- ing himself really deserted ?
K. Rich. What thinkest thou? Will our
friends prove all true? Rat. No doubt, my lord.
K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.—- *******
* K.Richard, Act iv. Sc. 4.
' . [92]
Come, go with me ;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To hear, if any mean to shrink from me.*
Macbeth, on the contrary, when reports are brought him of the de- fection of his nobles, treats their re- volt with unconcern ; arid, steady to his temper, and relying on the pro- mises of the Witches, — (in spite of which, Mr. Steevens and the Remarks will have it, that he is trembling with terror,) — disdainfully exclaims : —
Let them fly all :
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear.*f*
* K. Richard, Act v. Sc, 3. t Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3.
[93]
In reading dramatic poetry, we are apt to resign ourselves to the emotion which ' the general idea of the pas- sion of the speaker excites, without pausing scrupulously to weigh each word of the phrase in which his sen- timent is expressed. This heedless habit is so common, and so natural, that it merits but gentle blame, ex- cept in a commentator; who is not to be excused, when his inattention is the cause of his misconstruing an author's meaning.
Mr. Steevens says: — "One of Shak- speare's favourite morals is, that cri- minality reduces the brave and pusil- lanimous to a level." — (Mr. Steevens, probably, meant to say, that crimi-
[94]
nality reduces the brave to a level with the pusillanimous.) — " Every puny whipster gels my sword, exclaims Othello, for ivliy should honour outlive honesty 1 — Where I could not be honest, says Albany, / was never valiant. — Jachimo imputes his want of manhood to the heaviness and guilt within , his bosom. — Hamlet asserts that conscience does make cowards of us all; and Imo- gen tells Pisanio, he may be valiant in a better cause, but now he seems a coward."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 297-
Is there, among these instances, one that -approaches to any thing like a parallel with Macbeth? The sophistry of such perverse trifling with a reader's
[95]
time and patience, completely exposes itself in the example of Jachimo; who is, indeed, most unwarily introduced on this occasion. Mr. Steevens, for some cause or other, seems determined to be blind on this side ; otherwise, he must have seen, if consciousness of guilt be, as he says, the measure of pusillanimity, that, by his own rule, Jachimo should have been the victor in his combat with Posthumus; for he ought to have been braver than his adversary, — in the same proportion, as a vain mischievous liar is still less atrociously a wretch than an ungrate- ful murderer. Mr. Steevens con- cludes : — " Who then can suppose that Shakspeare would have exhi-
[90]
bited his Macbeth with increasing guilt, but undiminished bravery ?"
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 297*
The only answer to this dogmatical question is, — Every body; — that is> every body who can read the play, and understand what he reads. Mr. Steevens knew that Shakspeare, skil- fully preparing us for the mournful change we are about to witness in Macbeth, paints in deep colours the irregular fury of his actions, and the remorse that preys on his heart; — he knew, that the blood-stained monster
cannot buckle his distempered cause
Within the belt of rule ;* —
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc, ».
[97]
that he feels
His secret murders sticking on his hands ;* —
and that the poet finishes this terrific picture of self-condemnation and ab- horrence, by adding:—
His pester'd senses do recoil, and start When all that is within him doth condemn Itself for being there :*f —
But, the learned editor quite forgets that, in the same scene, good care is taken that the tyrant shall not so far forfeit all claim to our esteem, as to fall into contempt, and be entirely odious to our sight: His original valour remains undiminished, and
« Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 2. t Ib.
H
[98]
buoys him up with wild vehemence in this total wreck of his affairs : in spite of us, he commands our admi- ration, when we see him — hated, abandoned, overwhelmed by calamity public and domestic, — still persist, unshrinking, to brave his enemies, and manfully prepare against the siege with which, their combined armies threaten him in his almost ungarrisoned fortress : —
Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly for- tifies ;*—
and the English general presently after says of him : —
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. *.
[ 99 ]
Siw. We learn no other, but the confident
tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before it.*
In the first speech which we hear from the mouth of Macbeth in his reverse of fortune, Shakspeare still continues to show an anxiety that, though we detest the tyrant for his cruelties, we should yet respect him for his courage: —
Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them
fly all ;
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ?
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 4.
[ ioo]
Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that
know
All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus : Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's bora of
woman, Shall e'er have power on thee.* — Then fly,
false Thanes,
* Mr. Steevens's edition has, fop an obvious cause, been used in the quotations from Shak- speare through this Essay : It is time, however, to protest, in the strongest terms, against the un- warrantable liberties he continually takes with his author. If Heminge and Condell were, in fairness, chargeable with all the faults which Mr. Steevens, their unsparing censor, industriously lays to their account; still they have not done Shakspeare half the injury he would receive, if the interpola- tions, omissions, and transpositions of the edition of 1 803 should ever be permitted to form the text of his works. This gentleman, certainly, had many of the talents and acquirements expected in a good editor of our poet; but still he wanted more
[ 101 ]
And mingle with the English epicures : The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.*
If Mr. Steevens had well examined the two concluding lines of this reso- lute defiance, he might, perhaps, have paraphrased them in a note to this pur-
than one of the most requisite of them. Mr. Steevens had no ear for the colloquial metre of our old dramatists : it is not possible, on any other supposition, to account for his whimsical desire, and the pains he takes, to fetter the enchanting free- dom of Shakspeare's numbers, and compel them into the heroic march and measured cadence of epic versification. The native wood-notes wild that could delight the cultivated ear of Milton, must not be modulated anew, to indulge the fastidious- ness of those who read verses by their fingers.
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3.
[ 102]
port : — Macbeth says, that no doubt shall relax the mind he sways by, i. e. the thorough confidence with which he relies on the predictions of the omniscient spirits; nor any danger appal the heart he bears, i. e. his own conscious intrepidity.
It is only left us, to suppose that the annotator's emotions, like those of the readers just now alluded to, occa- sioned his gliding too quickly over this passage: he must, otherwise, have per- ceived Shakspeare's design in it; and would not then have misrepresented him so grossly, as to say that pusil- lanimity is among the stains that blot the original brightness of Macbeth 's character.
[ 103 ]
To return to Richard, and his " playing the eaves-dropper:" Mr. Whateley says, that his going round the camp just before the battle, to listen if any meant to shrink from him, is proper on that particular occasion* — Very likely, it may be so: But, with what consistency can suspicion be commended, as proper, in Richard, while in Macbeth it is invariably branded for timidity?
The Remarks, bent on exalting Richard at the expense of Macbeth, say: — The same determined spirit carries him through the bloody busi- ness of murdering his nephews : and,
« Remarks, p. 46.
[ 104 ]
when Buckingham shews a reluctance to be concerned in it, he immediately looks out for another ; some
iron-witted fopl,
Or unrespective boy,*
more apt for his purpose. Had Mac- beth been thus disappointed in the per- son to whom he had opened himself, it would have disconcerted any design he had formed.^
Unluckily for Mr. Whateley, this is another assertion contradicted by the fact : It is certain, that the Ruf- fians to whom Macbeth opens him- self, when he has resolved on the murder of Banquo, are not wrought
* K. Richard, Act iv. Sc. 2. t Remarks, p. 36, 37.
[ 105 ]
to his purpose in their first interview; yet this disappointment does not dis- concert his design ; he sends for them a second time :—
Macb. Was it not yesterday we spoke to- gether ?
M.ur. It was, so please your highness. Macb. Well then, now Have you considered of my speeches ?
Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature, That you can let this go? &c.* —
he repeats his former conversation with them; and having, by strong arguments and seductive promises,
* Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 1.
[ 106]
at last prevailed on them to undertake the deed, the royal assassin persists with so determined a spirit in the bloody business, that he even con- descends, himself, to instruct his bar- barous instruments as to the hour and spot of its accomplishment.
The Remarks affirm, that — All the crimes Richard commits, are for his advancement, not for his security*
Here, again, is an assertion in di- rect opposition to the fact : Richard, like Macbeth, has very distinct mo- tives for his inhuman crimes : Richard removes Clarence and Hastings, — as Macbeth does Duncan, — because they
* Remarks p. 39. 43.
[ 107]
stand in his way to the throne ; but, having once ascended it, he murders his wife and nephews, it is plain, only— as Macbeth does Banquo, — for the purpose of maintaining himself there in security.
The Remarks are under a still stranger mistake with regard to the sentiment of Macbeth, in imagining that he catches the terrors he sees ex- pressed in the countenance of the Mes- senger who informs him of the numbers of the enemy:* —
Mess. There is ten thousand
Macb. Geese, villain ? Mess. Soldiers, sir.
* Remarks, p. 49. 69. 73.
[ 108]
Macb. Go, prick thy face, arid over-red thy
fear,
Thou lily-liyer'd boy. What soldiers, patch ? Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of
thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey- face ?*
Macbeth does indeed, and very reasonably, apprehend that the ter- rified aspect of the Messenger may depress the spirits of the few followers who still adhere to his cause; but, it is clear, from the angry contempt with which he treats both him and his report of the approach of Mal- colm's army, that the coward's coun-
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc, 3.
[ 109]
tenance has no dejecting influence on his own mind.
But, what is Richard's composure in a parallel situation of his affairs ? The tidings brought him of rebellious insurrections, first in Devonshire and then in Kent, being followed up by news of the army which Buckingham has raised against him, he is alarmed at this accumulation of dangers; overcome by wrathful despite, he rails, like Macbeth, at the ill-boding Mes- sengers; and, in his boiling impatience, forgets himself so far as to strike one of them,* exclaiming: —
* Macbeth is placed in a situation not entirely unlike that in which Richard finds himself, when, by the direction of all the old copies, he strikes
[ no]
Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs of death ? There, take thou that. (He strikes him.)*
the officer who brings him this unwelcome news : An observation respecting an error that has crept into the margin of the play of Macbeth, may not, perhaps, be thought improperly introduced here.
[The nonsensical change of the original should into shall, in the Messenger's speech, must be ac- cidental : Mr. Steevens could not intend it.]
Macb. Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
Mess. Gracious my lord, I shall report that which, I say, I saw, But know not how to do it.
Macb. Well, say, sir.
Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.
Macb. Liar and slave ! (Striking him.)
Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5.
This stage-direction is not found in any of the Folios, the oldest copies of this tragedy : it was
* K. Richard, Act iv. Sc. 4.
[111,1
The Remarks still find cause to blame Macbeth : He calls for his armour; — notwithstanding Sey tori's re- monstrance, that
It is not needed yet,*
first interpolated by Mr. Rowe, and has been re- tained by every subsequent editor. Such out- rageous violence does not belong to the feelings of a person overwhelmed with surprise, half-doubting half-believing an event, — at once, in nature most strange, and to himself of the most fatal importance. It is a direction irreconcileable to Macbeth 's emo- tions at the moment for which it is given, and should in future editions be omitted. It may be added, without straining the matter too far, that Sir Wil- liam Davenant would, in all likelihood, have set down this direction in his Macbeth, 4to. 1674, if either the practice of the Stage under Shakspeare's own management, or the action of Mr. Betterton, who played the part by Sir William's alteration, had invited its insertion.
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3.
[ 112]
he persists in putting it on ; calls for it again eagerly afterwards; bids the person who is assisting him,
Dispatch ;*
then, the moment it is on, pulls it off again, and directs his attendants to-\
Bring it after.J
The tragedy of King Richard the Third will amply supply whatever answer is necessary on this occasion.
Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western
coast
Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 3. t Remarks, p. 70.
Jib.
[ US]
Un'arm'd, and unresolved to beat them back. Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral ; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore. K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the
Duke of Norfolk ;—
Ratcliff, thyself ;— or Catesby :— Where is he? Gate. Here, my good lord. K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the Duke, Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient
haste. K.Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to
Salisbury ; When thou com'st thither, — Dull, unmindful
villain, (To Catesby.) Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the
Duke?
Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your high- ness' pleasure,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him. I
[ "4]
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby :— Bid him
levy straight
The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. Gate. I go. Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at
Salisbury ? K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do
there, before I go ? Rat. Your highness told me, I should post
before. K. Rich. My mind is chang'd.*
Do these scenes of busy distraction afford a hint of anything like timidity in either of these guilty usurpers ? Or, is there one jot more of confusion and inconsistency in the hurry of
* K. Richard, Act iv. Sc, 4.
[115]
Macbeth, than in the perturbation of Richard ? When Richard asks,
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ?* — •- and afterwards enquires,
Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northum- berland ?•}• —
he is not satisfied upon being told that the Earl and Surry were busied in$
Cheering up the soldiers :§ — he would, indeed, fain persuade him- self to be satisfied ; but his own ex- press words prove, that he is very far from being really at ease: —
* K. Richard, Act v. Sc. 3. $ Remarks, p. 76.
tlb.
Mb.
[ 116 J
K. Rich. 1 am satisfied. Give me a bowl
of wine :
I have not the alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.*
In his enquiry as to the sadness of the spirited Lord Surrey, and his observation of the melancholy of so powerful a leader as the Earl of Northumberland, Richard makes exactly the same reference to the dis- ordered state of his own mind, as Macbeth does, while to the Physician he appears anxious only for the re- covery of the Queen. rlU
'-V-11 " fli;i.)i ,'--'*}'' ff|f>'!^
Macb. How does your patient, Doctor ? Doct. Not so sick, my lord,
» K. Richard, Act v. Sc. 3.
f
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest.
Macb. Cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Rase out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous
stuff, Which weighs upon the heart ?*
Each of the tyrants alike, in his concern about the feelings of others, clearly reveals the agitation of his own breast.
It is true, that Richard represents the enemy as a troop only of banditti^
* Macbeth, Act. v. Sc. 3. t Remarks, p. 77.
[ 118]
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey pea-r
sants :* —
and it is true, that Macbeth, in like manner, speaks with contempt of his enemies and revolted nobles: —
Fly, false Thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures, &c.t
Mr. Whateley, however, assumes more than he can maintain, in urging this harangue to his army as a proof of Richard's intrepidity ; for it does not express the tyrant's real opinion of Richmond's followers. The infer riority of the foe is a topic on which
* K, Richard, Act v. Sc. 3. t Macbeth, Act y. Sc. 3.
[ 119]
generals, for the encouragement of their own troops, are by poets and historians customarily made to dwell, even to ostentation : But it is impos- sible to believe, that Richard seriously despises an enemy, against whom he thinks it necessary to make the most active preparations, and in whose ranks he counts such men, as —
Sir William Herbert, a renowned soldier ; Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley ; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James
Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; And many others of great fame and worth.1*
Macbeth and Richard are now to
* K. Richard, Act v. Sc. 5.
[ 120]
be compared while their minds are under the influence of visions and superstition. It is true, that the guilty conscience of Macbeth, over- powering his judgement, conjures up before him the accusing ghost of Banqno : but it is equally true, that his constitutional courage enables him resolutely to face this ghastly
fantom of his disordered imagina-
, « tion : —
Lady M. Are you a man ?
Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look
on that, Which might appal the devil.
Lady Macb. O proper stuff ! This is the very painting of your fear.
[ 121 ]
Macb. How say you ?
Why, what care T ? If thou canst nod, speak too.
****** *
What man dare, I dare ; Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit, then protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence ! *
Notwithstanding the firmness which Macbeth summons into his defiance of this frightful " painting of his fear,'* it is not to be supposed, but that he labours with an inward terror while
* Macbeth, Act. iii. Sc. 4.
[ 122 ]
he utters it : — Neither can it be de- nied, that the intrepid Richard is shaken with at least equal alarm, when, starting from the dream in which the souls of those whom he had murdered had appeared to him, he cries :— , ;
Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ! — I did but dream, O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict
me ! —
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling
flesh, &c *
That Macbeth' s superstition proceeds from credulity^ is a truth not likely
* K. Richard, Act v. Sc. 3. t Remarks, p. 59.
[ 123]
to be disputed : but, superstition is a weakness by no means incompatible with personal courage: if it were, Mr. Whateley and Mr. Steevens would not be able a moment longer to sustain their own character of Richard ; for its influence operates as powerfully in him, as in Macbeth : Macbeth's su- perstition rests on the assurances of supernatural agents, whose first pro- mises to him had already been made good ; Richard condescends to be affected by dreams and omens: —
£.. Rich. Richmond ! — When I was last at
Exeter,
The Mayor in courtesy show'd me the Castle, And calFd it — Rouge-mont : at which name, I started :
t 124]
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.*
• ? * * y • *
Again, while putting his army in array on the morning of the battle: —
K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. — I would, these dewy tears were from the ground.'f'
And again, —
Methought, the souls of all that I had mur-
der'd
Came to my tent : and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of
Richard.
It will be said, perhaps, — and it will be granted, — that Richard pre-
* K.Richard, Act v.Sc. 2. t Ib. tIb.Sc.3.
[ 125]
sently stifles these apprehensions : it is here asserted only, that he feels them, as Macbeth does; and that Macbeth, like him, suppresses them. The wood of Birnam advances to- wards Dunsinane: The tyrant Doubts the equivocation of the fiend ;
and, believing the laws of nature in- verted to his ruin, Pulls in resolution :
instantly, however, like Richard, he shakes off this momentary dismay, and heroically rushing to battle, ex- claims,—
Blow, wind ! come wrack !
At least, we'll die with harness on our back.*
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 7.
[ 126 ]
The Remarks, still bent on the de- gradation of Macbeth, proceed: — That apprehension (personal fear) was his reason for these murthers, he intimates himself: when meditating on that of Banquo, he observes, that —
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill :*
and, when that of Macduff is in con- templation, he says,-\ —
'I am in blood
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.J
If these expressions cannot be sug- gested to Macbeth by any feeling but
* Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 2. t Remarks, p. 43.,
Jld. Actiii.Sc. 4.
[ 127]
that of personal fear, to what cause are we to attribute the very same sentiment in the mouth of Richard, when he meditates the murder of his nephews, and a marriage with their sister ?
K. Rich. I must be married to my brother's
daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : — Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! Uncertain way of gain .r But I am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin.*
In Mr. Gibber's admirable alteration of Shakspeare's King Richard the Third, Richard, smothering the cries of conscience, sternly adds, —
* K. Richard, Act iv. Sc. 2.
[ 128 ]
More lives must yet be drain'd :
Crowns, got with blood, must be with blood maintain'd :* —
and, in a subsequent situation, he says, —
When I look back, 'tis terrible retreating ; I cannot bear the thought, nor dare repent.f
Here Mr. Gibber does but para- phrase the two passages cited above by the Remarks: and he expresses their meaning so justly, as to make it unnecessary to insist further on the nature of the apprehensions to which both these desperate usurpers are a prey.
In his dissertation, Mr. Steevens
* Gibber's K. Richard, Act iii. Sc. 2. t Id. Act v. Sc. 5.
t 129 ]
says,— " The truly brave are never disgraced by unnecessary deeds of cruelty. The victims of Richard, therefore, are merely such as ob- structed his progress to the crown, or betrayed the confidence he had reposed in their assurances of fidelity. Macbeth cuts off a whole defenceless family, though the father of it was the only reasonable object of his fear."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 299,
Mr. Steevens is so indulgent to Richard, as totally to overlook the unnecessary cruelty with which he condemns a son to death, only be- cause the father refuses compliance with his orders : —
t 130 ]
K. Rich. What says Lord Stanley? will
he bring his power ? Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. K. Rich. Off with his son George's head.
Indeed, the considerate humanity, which the Dissertation now attributes to Richard, cannot easily be recon- ciled to the temper it prepares us to expect in him, when, a little before, it says, — " Richard was so thoroughly designed for a daring, impious, and obdurate character, that even his birth was attended by prodigies, and his person armed to do the earliest mischief of which infancy is capable."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 298.
If, by the truly brave mentioned above, we could understand the inge-
[ 131]
nious commentator to mean the vir- tuously brave, his maxim would be un- deniable : but if by the truly brave, he means the constitutionally brave, — as, by instancing the' example of King Richard* he evidently does, — then it is false ; for, unhappily, the truly brave, in this sense, have stained the records of all ages with deeds of unnecessary cruelty.
" Had Richard," says the Disserta- tion, " once been" — (like Macbeth,)— " a feeling and conscientious cha- racter, when his end drew nigh he might also have betrayed evidences of timidity ; and if Macbeth" — (like Richard,) — " originally had been a hardened villain," — (a hardened villain
[ 132 ]
who is incapable of an unnecessary cruelty!) — " no terrors might have obr traded themselves in his close of life."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 298.
In this period, the commentator does but gravely assure us that, if Richard and Macbeth had not been what they were, they would, in his opinion, have been something else, Macbeth's ter- rors at the close of life will be con- sidered presently : in the mean time, Mr. Steevens is equitable enough to own that " he exhibits a specimen of determined intrepidity, when the com- pletion of the prophecy, and the chal- lenge of Maeduff, have taught him that life is no longer tenable."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 299-
r 133]
It is hardly worth while to reply to the author of the Remarks, when he insinuates it as a proof of timidity in Macbeth, that, after the murder of Duncan, all his answers to the trivial questions of Lenox and Macdujf are evidently given by a man thinking of something else: and that, by taking a tincture from the subject of his atten- tion, they become equivocal*
Macd. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? Macb. Not yet. Len. Goes the King From hence to-day ?
Macb. He does : — he did appoint so. Len. The night has been unruly : Where we lay,
* Remarks, p. 33.
[134]
Our chimnies were blown down : and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screamy of death ;
And prophesying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events,
New hatched to the woeful time. The ob- scure bird
Clamour'd the live-long night : some say, the earth
Was feverous, and did shake. Macb. 'Twas a rough night.*
These answers are not meant to be equivocal: they are signs neither of guiltiness nor innocence ; they would be just as properly made by Macbeth,
* Macbeth, Act ii, Sc. 2.
[135]
whether he were the most hardened monster that ever outraged humanity, or had remained as loyal a subject as ever received his Sovereign under his roof. Macbeth, in the circumstances in which he finds himself, cannot be expected to pay much attention to the account of the roughness of the night9 or to be willing to keep up this conversation :* but, on this occasion, his timidity no more betrays his crime to Lenox, than it does by and by to his guests at the banquet, when, after the assassination of Ban- quo, he affects to complain of his absence from the feast, that he may
* Remarks, p, 34,
[ 136 I
not be suspected of knowing the came of it:*- r^«^%M
Macb. Here had we now our country's
honour roof 'd,
Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness^ Than pity for mischance !
and, in a few moments, again: —
Give me some wine : fill full : f drink to the general joy of the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; Would he were here !f
These expressions of solicitude for Banquo's safety, and regret for his ab- sence, would have become the dis- sembling traitor just as naturally, if
* Remarks, p. 60. , t Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4.
E 137]
he had been perfectly innocent, and Banquo the most valued friend he had in the world.
There is scarcely a speech Mac- beth delivers, that may not be brought within the scope of this critic's argu- ment, if refinements of so fanciful a kind are to be admitted as proofs of timidity. Mr. Whateley ought to have known that this attention to Banquo, so far from being the sudden and irresistible impulse of his timidity in guilt, is all studied, and prepared beforehand : Shakspeare expressly bids us look for it, when, immediately before the supper, Macbeth thus ad- dresses the Queen, whom he keeps in Ignorance of the intended murder : —
[ 138 ]
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; Present him eminence, both with eye and
tongue :
Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering
streams ;
And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are.*
It is true, that Macbeth is with dif- ficulty wrought to the murder of his gracious King ; but it is not true, that he discovers any hesitation and dulness to darej\ after he has imbrued his hands in the blood of Duncan. When once he enters the path of guilt, he treads it with resolute rapidity: —
* Macbeth, Act iii, Sc. 2. t Remarks, p. 61.
[ 139]
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it :* —
he needs no other instigators to the death of Banquo, Fleance, and Mac- duff, but the dark and violent pas- sions of his own corrupted heart: —
Strange things I have in head, that will to
hand; Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.f
If Shakspeare, after the murder of Duncan, meant Macbeth to show dulness and hesitation in evil, he has, with the most unlucky forgetfulness, thoroughly defeated his own de- sign :-
* Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 1. t Id. Act iii. Sc. 4.
t 140]
Hec. Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a Vaporous drop profound j I'll catch it ere it come to ground : And that, distill'd by magic slights, Shall raise such artificial sprights, As, by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his confusion : He shall spurn fate, scorn (Jeath, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear.*
The description which the Sor- ceress here gives of a mind aban- doned to reprobation, makes it im- possible to suppose, that Shakspeare intended Macbeth any longer to feel the slightest fear, or reluctance, to commit the worst crimes his ambition
* Macbeth, Act jii. Sc< 5,
t 141 ]
could suggest for the secure esta-> blishment of his throne.
The Remarks would next presume, that Macbeth is clearly convicted of cowardice on his own acknowledge- ment: Alluding principally to the passages already refuted, they say,— . These are all symptoms of timidity, which he confesses to have been natural to him, when he owns* —
The time has been, my senses would have
cool'd
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't/t*
Had the author of the Remarks
• c • Remarks, p. 49. f Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5.
[ 142 ]
quoted the whole speech on this oc- casion, instead of giving only an ex- tract from it, he must have flatly contradicted his own assertion. If Macbeth, as the Remarks interpret these lines, confesses that he was formerly timid ; still they must allow that, in the same breath, as it will in a moment be seen, he denies that he has any such weakness in his con- stitution at present: Now, if they take Macbeth's word for the state of his mind in the one instance, they are bound to receive it for truth in the other; and, consequently, Mr. Whate- ley and Mr. Steevens are no longer x justified in charging him with pusil- lanimity.
[143]
The speech, however, relates neither to bravery, nor timidity; and Mr, Whateley has again entirely mistaken the sentiment of the poet. Macbeth hears the shrieks of women, and de- mands with haughty indifference, —
What noise is that?* —
but instantly reflecting on his insen- sibility to cries so piercing, and uttered too by female voices, he is shocked at the total want of common feeling in his bosom, and, " sadly summing what he has lost," vents his self- reproach in this touching effusion of remorse : —
• Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 5.
I 144 3
I have almost forgot the taste of fears i
,The time has been, my senses would have
cool'd
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't : I have supp'd full with
horrors ;
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.*
The fears of which Macbeth la* merits that he has forgotten the taste, are not fears of danger personal to himself;— (of which it would be strange indeed, if he were sorry to be rid ;) — - the fears of which he regrets the loss, are those tender apprehensions which
»' Macbeth, Act v. Sc. •$.
[ 145 ]
formerly he instinctively and keenly felt, riot only for any fellow-crea- ture in real peril and calamity, but even for the fictitious distresses of tragical romance. In this beautiful passage, the tyrant, whose nature had been " full of the milk of human kindness," mournfully contemplates the dismal change produced in his humane (not timid) disposition, by the habitual practice of such cru- elties, as have finally hardened his temper against any impression of sympathy, against all the charities of our nature.
Mr. Whateley and Mr. Steevens, while they regard these sentiments as proofs of timidity in Macbeth, unac- L
[ 146]
countably leave unobserved the simi- lar, and stronger, terrors and remorse that harrow up the soul of the intrepid and hardened Richard : —
K. Rich. My conscience hath a thousand
several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree, Murder, stern murder, in the dirst degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty!
guilty ! I shall despair. — There is no creature loves
me; And, if I die, no soul will pity me.*
* K. Richard, Act v. Sc. 3.
t 147]
If we might decide on the ruling character of men from their occa- sional starts of feeling, this passage would unanswerably prove that, in Mr. Whateley's acceptation of the word, Richard is more timid than Macbeth : for, of these two prodigies of guilt, he certainly appears the most fearfully alive to all the consequences of his enormous crimes, and the most terribly appalled by the reproaches of a condemning conscience.
Mr. Steevens upbraids Macbeth, that " he would at last secure himself by flight, but that flight is become an impossibility."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 299-
Was retreat ever thought disgrace-
[ 148 ]
ful, when the superior numbers and resistless good fortune of the foe made all further struggle useless? Does not history, ancient and modern, abound with examples of famous warriors who have magnanimously endured defeat, and reserved them- selves to the hour of future victory ? Is Hannibal disgraced, because he fled from the disastrous field of Zama? Is Charles of Sweden less renowned for intrepidity, because he was, at last, able to mount his horse and escape from the plains of Poltava? — Yes: Macbeth, if he could cut his way through Malcolm's army, would flee from a beleaguered and un- tenable castle, — (as Shakspeare knew
r 149]
he did,*) — to make a stand, where he might face his enemies, and fight for his crown on fairer terms of battle.
Let it be granted, however, that to turn his back on danger, misbe- comes a brave man under any circum- stances:— What excuse then will Mr. Steevens find for Richard, who twice consults his safety by flight ? Once, when he deserts that great man, the
* Macbeth's flight to Lunfannaine is mentioned by Holinshed, on whose fabulous history Shak- speare has founded this play : — The authentic account of his death is given by Lord Hailes : " Macbeth retreated to the fastnesses of the North, and protracted the war. His people forsook his standard. Malcolm attacked him at Lunfanan in Aberdeenshire : Abandoned by his few remaining followers, Macbeth fell."
Annals of Scotland, vol. i. p. 2. 4to, . Edinburgh.
[ 150]
Duke, his father, in the battle of Wakefield, where he fell:—
Edw. I wonder, how our princely father
'scap'd :
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit.
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd Where our right valiant father is become :* — -
and a second time, when he flies and leaves the King, his brother, to the mercy of Warwick and the Lancas- trians : —
[Enter Warwick, Somerset, fyc. Warwick, and the rest, cry all — Warwick ! War- wick ! — and set upon the guard ; crying — Arm! Arm! — Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King out, fyc. Gloster and Hastings/^.]
* K. Henry VI. 3 p. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Som. What are they that fly there ?
War. Richard and Hastings : Let them go,
here's the Duke. K. Edw. The Duke ! why, Warwick, when
we parted last, Thou callMst me King.*
" Suicide," says the Dissertation, " has also entered his thoughts; though this idea, in a paroxysm of noisy rage, is suppressed/
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 297.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool,
and die On mine own sword ? Whiles I see lives, the
gashes Do better upon them.f
This is the insinuated intention of suicide; and this fixed determination,
*.K. Henry VI. 3 p. Act iv. Sc. 3. t Macbeth, Act v. Sc. T,
[152]
though the fatal wood is at his gates, to fight as long as he sees an enemy to strike at, a boisterous paroxysm of rage! — But, suppose he had enter- tained such an idea: The indignant impatience which would fly to this sad relief, is too honourably countenanced by those Roman fools he speaks of, to pass for a proof of cowardice in Mac- beth.
" It must be acknowledged," con- tinues Mr. Steevens, " that his appre- hensions had betrayed him into a strange inconsistency of belief. As he persisted in supposing he could be destroyed by none of \yoman born, by what means did he think he could
(destroy himself?"
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 297.
[ 153 ]
It raises a smile, to find that an able commentator on Shakspeare could argue, that Macbeth reckoned himself among the enemies, against whose at- tempts the promise of the Apparition was to defend him; and that he should not see, if there were, in reality, any inconsistency of belief here, that the fault would be chargeable on the poet's own carelessness, not on Mac- be th's confusion.
The Remarks, to sum up all, would make it a reproach to Macbeth, that, when the hour of extremity presses upon him, he can find no refuge but in despair*
What timidity there is in this, it is not easy to perceive. Macbeth finds
* Remarks, p. 68.
[ 154 ]
refuge, where alone the brave man in the hour of extremity can find it, in himself, — in an unyielding spirit, that nobly, though hopelessly, struggles to the last with overpowering ad- versity : — he rushes to battle, and en- counters the only enemy he had to fear; the strange completion of his destiny suddenly suspends the vigour of his powers; but, in a moment, scorning the juggling fiends who have deceived him, he rouses all himself, and boldly trusts his fate to that in- born intrepidity on which he knows he can rely : —
I will not yield,
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
[155]
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Duiisinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last : Before my body I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, — Hold, enough.*
Mr. Steevens allows that, driven to extremity, Macbeth " very naturally prefers a manly and violent death, to a shameful and lingering termination of life."
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 297.
True ; he does so: but such a pre- ference would not be very natural to him, if he were a coward.
* Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 7.
[ 156 ]
In a word, the conduct, which the Remarks stigmatise for timidity in Macbeth, is of exactly the same na- ture as the desperate resolution of Richard : —
Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.*
The dauntless determination of each of the tyrants, in the battle that avenged his subjects on the horrors of his reign, is the result of that agonizing emotion of grief, shame, and pride, which, if it be despair, is, at least, the despair of an innate and unextinguishable courage.
The principal arguments employed
• K. Richard, Act v. Sc. 4.
t 157]
by Mr. Whateley and Mr. SteevenS are now answered: to follow them through every groundless assertion, and every minute inference drawn from their erroneous opinions, would be to run into prolixity, — (a blame, perhaps, already incurred,) — without adding force to refutation.
The Remarks and the Dissertation requiring no further reply to their positive contents, it is time to turn to their omissions, and take some notice of the impression we receive from the general tenor of the play, as it regards the subject of this Essay.
That Shakspeare has not put into any mouth the slightest insinuation against the personal courage of Mac-
[ 158]
beth, is in itself a decisive proof, that he never meant his nature should be liable to so base a reproach. His deadliest enemies, they who have suffered most from his oppression and cruelty, in the deepest expressions of their detestation of his person and triumph over his fallen condition, are never allowed by the poet to utter a syllable in derogation from his known character of intrepidity. Malcolm, robbed of the crown, and driven into exile, by his bloody usurpation, calls him
The devilish Macbeth ;* and charges him with being
* Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3.
[ 159]
* * * * Bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name :* —
Cathness and Siward express them- selves thus, when speaking of him; —
Cath. Some say, he's mad; others, that
lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury :f —
Siw. We learn no other, but the confident
tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our sitting down before it.J —
Some, we see, ascribe his actions to madness; but then, it is a valiant dis- traction: some call him tyrant; but then, he is a confident tyrant: All know
* Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3. t Id. Act v. Sc. 2. $ Id. Sc. 4.
[ 160 ]
his character too well, to upbfaid him with cowardice.
Even Macduff, who has good cause to deny him every other human virtue, yet testifies loudly to his valour, when, ranging the fight in quest of this " Hell-kite," he makes extraordinary uproar the guide of his search, con- cluding that, where the battle rages wildest, there the " Fiend of Scot- land" must of necessity be found: —
That way the noise is : Tyrant, show thy face.— - # # =* [Alarums, .] * * * #;_#.# There thou should'st be ; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited : Let me find him, fortune !*
* Macbeth, Act v. Se. 7.
[ 161 ]
The appeals which Macbeth makes to his own conscious valour for sup- port in all his extremities, are an- other conclusive proof that Shak- speare means him to be esteemed a man of indisputable spirit; in the mouth of one whom we knew to be a braggart, these self-confident expres- sions would degenerate into mere farce, and provoke only our ridicule and laughter. This point ought to have been noticed earlier, among the other mistakes of the Remarks and the Dissertation.
In the performance, on the Stage,— the valour of the tyrant, hateful as he is, invariably commands the admira- tion of every spectator of the play, M
[ 162]
rude or learned: this circumstance alone would be an evident demon- stration that the poet never intended we should entertain a doubt of his dauntless intrepidity: And, indeed, were not the horror excited by Mac- beth's crimes, qualified by the delight we receive from our esteem for his per- sonal courage, the representation of this tragedy would be insupportable. Macbeth, unable to bear the re- proach of cowardice from a woman, — a woman too who holds the complete sway of his affections and his reason, — in one sentence vindicates to him- self the dignity of true courage, and unfolds the whole nature of the cha- racter we are to expect in him : —
[163]
I dare do all that may become a man ; Who dares do more, is none.*
" Of this line and a half, of this dis- tinction of true from false fortitude/' Dr. Johnson is of opinion, " it may be almost said, that it ought to bestow immortality on the author, though all his other productions had been lost/'
Shakspeare, vol. x. p. 84.
We have an old poet who has left us a beautiful description of true valour : —
It is the greatest virtue, and the safety Of all mankind the object of its danger : A certain mean 'twixt fear and confidence : No inconsiderate rashness, or vain appetite
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7*
[ 164 ]
Of false encountring formidable things ; But a true science of distinguishing What's good or evil. It springs out of reason, And intends to perfect honesty ; the scope Is always honour, and the public good,
This is the valour, to which Mac- beth's claim can never justly be dis- puted.
Mr. Whateley and Mr. Steevens have entirely overlooked the essential difference there is between the fear of doing wrong, and the fear of external
* The New Inn. Com. Act iv. Sc. 3. Vol. v. p. 413. Ben Jonson's Works. 9 vol. 8vo. 1816. Edited by William Gifford,Esq. — by whose learned and generous labours Old Ben's forgotten works and injured character are restored to the merited admiration and esteem of the world.
[165]
harm, — between the blind animal ferocity that goads the brute, and the noble motive that inspires the rational intrepidity of man : Here is the cause of the mistakes they have committed ; and indeed it has led them so far into error, that they almost expose themselves to be accused of maintain- ing, that courage and virtue are never inmates of the same breast.
From this review of the characters of these bloody usurpers, it cannot, it is clear, with truth be affirmed of Richard, that upon no occasion, however tremendous, and at no moment of his life, however unguarded, does he betray the least symptom of fear: — nor of Macbeth, that he is always
[166]
shaken upon great, and frequently upon trivial occasions*
Macbeth and Richard are, both, as intrepid as man can be; yet it may be said of each, without any diminu- tion of that praise, that he is some- times terror-struck at the recollection of his crimes. The characters that Shakspeare draws, are human crea- tures ; and however their peculiarities may individuate them, yet they are always connected with the general nature of man by some fine link of universal interest, and by some pas- sion to which they are liable in com- mon with their kind. On the eve
* Remarks, R. 46.
[167]
of the battle that is to decide his doom, Richard acknowledges a con- science : Bold in supernatural assu- rances of security from all peril, Mac- beth sighs for the protection of his former popularity.
Ambition is the sole impulse that directs every action of Richard's life: his heart, in which every malignant and violent passion reigns uncon- trolled, is hardened in wickedness: his mind is sunk into that depth of hopeless depravity, where the bad be- lieve all other men to be as abandoned as themselves : he attains the crown by hypocrisy habitual to him, and by murders, that entail no remorse on the stern valour with which he main-
[ 168]
tains his ill-acquired sovereignty. Ambition is implanted in the nature of Macbeth; but it is a blameless ambition :
* # * Thou would'st be great;
Art not without ambition, but without
The illness should attend it. What thou
would'st highly, That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play
false, And yet would'st wrongly win.*
The predictions of the Witches en- flame him with the expectation of a crown, and the daring impatience of his wife determines him " to catch the nearest way" to it. Ambition,
* Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 5.
t 169]
inordinate and lawless, now becomes the predominant motive of his actions; but it is not the single characteristic of his mind; his original sense of right and justice still holds possession there, continually to renew the remem- brance of what he was, and sharpen all the stings of self-condemnation.
The character of Richard is simple; that of Macbeth is mixed: Richard is only intrepid; Macbeth, intrepid and feeling. Richard's crimes are the suggestions of his own disposition, originally bad, and at last confirmed in evil; he knows no " compunctious visitings of nature;" alive only to the exigencies of his situation, he is always at full leisure to display his N
[ 170 1:
valour. Macbeth is driven into guilt by the instigations of others • his early principles of virtue are not ex- tinct in him ; distracted by remorse, he forgets the approach of danger in the contemplation of his crimes; and never recurs to his valour for support, till the presence of the enemy rouses his whole soul, and conscience is repelled by the neces- sity for exertion.
It is now shown, that Macbeth has a just right to the reputation of intrepidity ; that he feels no personal fear of Banquo and Macduff; and that he meets equal, if not superior, trials of fortitude, as calmly as Richard : It may, therefore, be pre-
[ 171 ]
sumed, that no future Critic or Com- mentator in his observations on Shak- speare, will ascribe either the virtuous scruples of Macbeth, or his remorse- ful agonies, to so mean a cause as constitutional timidity. If so mis- taken a persuasion could prevail, it would entirely counteract the salutary effect of the finest tragedy that has ever been written, and defeat the moral purpose to which, in every age, the Stage has been indebted for the favour and the works of wise and virtuous men, and the protection and support of all good governments.
THE END.
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