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Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 

v.  IB 


WAY  2  8  19A7 


m 


P  H  \\  o    ( 
V.\5 

CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  XV 


FRIAli  RAKONS  PBOPHESIE. 

EDITED  BY    I.  O.  II  AM  MVFM  ,  BSQ.  F.B.S. 

POETICAL  .MISCELLANIES. 

]  DIl  I  D   BY    i.  (I.  n  W.T  in "EM.,  ESQ. 

THE  CROWN  GARLAND  OF  GOLDEN   ROSES 
PART  II. 

MUTED    IIV   W.  CM   .rPlM.,   B*Q.    1     R.fl 


FRIAR  BAKON'S  PROPHESIE. 


FRIAR   B AEON'S   PROPHESIE 
3  £>atfi't 

ON    THE 

DEGENERACY  OF  THE  TIMES, 

a.d.   1604. 


EDITED  BY 

JAMES  ORCHARD  HALLIWELL,  Esq. 

F.R.S.,   F.S.A..  HON.  M.n.I.A.,  BOH.  tf.B.S.Z..,  ETC . 


"  Now  like  Friar  Bacon's  brazen  head,  I  have  spoken, 
Time  is,  Time  was,  Time's  past!" — Bi/ron. 


LONDON : 
REPRINTED  FOR  THE  PERCY  SOCIETY 

I'.Y  T.  RICHARDS,  100,  ST.  MARTINS   LANE. 
M.DCCC.Xl.IV. 


COUNCIL 


Cfte  $mp  ^>octetp« 


President. 
The  Kt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S.  Treas.  S.A. 

WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq 

WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

C.  PURTON  COOPER,  Esq.  Q.C.,  F.R.S.,  F.S  A. 

PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 

JAMES  HENRY  DIXON,  Esq. 

WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.S.A.,  MRS  L. 

CAPTAIN  JOHNS,  R.M. 

T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 

LEWIS  POCOCK,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

SIR  CUTHBERT  SHARP. 

WILLIAM  SANDYS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.  M.A.,  F.S.A.,  Secretary  and 
Treasurer. 


PREFACE. 


The  following  tract,  which  has  at  least  the 
unusual  merit  of  being  entirely  free  from  the 
coarseness  whith  pervades  nearly  every  popular 
work  published  during  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth 
and  James  T,  is  reprinted  from  a  copy  formerly 
belonging  to  Burton,  the  author  of  the  "  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy,"  and  now  preserved  in  the 
Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford.  It  is  of  excessive 
rarity,  having  escaped  the  notice  of  Lowndes 
and  other  bibliographers,  nor  have  I  succeeded 
in  tracing  the  existence  of  any  other  exemplar ; 
an  additional  inducement  for  reprinting  a  piece 
that  contains  several  curious  notices  of  our  old 
manners  and  customs. 

The  author,  who  probably  writes  under  an 
assumed  name,  has  in  some  measure  founded 
his  satire  on  the  tale  of  Friar  Bacon's  brazen 
head,  or  rather  has  taken  his  text  from  the  words 
said  to  have  been  spoken  by  that  ingenious  piece 
of  mechanism,  lost,  alas  !  to  the  world  for  ever 
through  the    stupidity    of   an    attendant.     How 


Vlll 

Roger  Bacon  toiled  in  the  manufacture  of*  this 
head,  which  was  to  teach  him  a  method  of 
surrounding  England  with  an  impenetrable  wall 
of  brass  —  how  drowsiness  seized  him  before  he 
had  fulfilled  the  required  conditions  of  success — 
how  his  man  would  not  awake  him  at  words 
he  considered  so  trifling  in  import, — and  how 
the  image,  exclaiming  that  the  Friar's  oppor- 
tunity had  already  escaped,  by  the  ominous 
declaration  time  is  tast,  fell  to  the  ground  with 
a  tremendous  and  awful  crash, — are  circumstances 
that  have  been  too  often  related  to  require  any 
lengthened  repetition  from  us.  Nor  has  the 
story,  in  fact,  any  necessary  connexion  with  the 
poem  which  follows ;  but  it  may  have  been 
attached  to  it  at  the  time  it  was  written,  in  the 
hope  of  investing  the  publication  with  more 
interest  for  the  purchaser,  our  ancestors  having 
wisely  considered  a  title-page  by  no  means  an 
unimportant  part  of  a  book. 

J.  O.  H. 

London, 

30lfi  October,  1844. 


PIECE   OF   FRIAR    BACONS 

Brazen-heads  Pro- 
pkesie. 

BY  WILLIAM  TERILO. 


LONDON 

Printed  by  T.  C.  for  Arthur  Iohnsoii,  dwelling  in  Powles 

Church-yard,  at  the  Signe  of  the 

White  Horse. 

1604. 


TO  THE  READER. 


Gentle  Reader  is  such  a  stale  title  to  put  upon 
you,  that  not  knowing  your  disposition  to  this  same 
universal  gentlenes,  and  perhaps  at  this  time,  so  ful  of 
melancholy,  as  maks  you  unfit  for  any  such  kindnes : 
I  had  rather  say,  you  that  read,  if  you  have  so  much 
idle  time  to  passe  away,  as  may  be  somewhat  better 
then  lost,  in  perusing  this  change,  or  rather  dreame 
of  the  change  of  times,  I  pray  you  for  this  time  to 
have  patience,  and  if  an  other  time  in  this  you  take 
pleasure,  I  will  as  I  can  take  a  time  to  run  a  better 
course  to  your  contentment.  Friar  Bacons  Brazen  - 
head,  was  said,  (in  jest),  to  have  spoken  of  three 
times  ; —  The  Time  was,  the  Time  is,  and  Time  shall  be  : 
now  for  myselfe,  I  cannot  goe  so  farre :  what  was,  at 
least  of  late,  I  have  a  little  read,  heard,  and  under- 
stood :  of  the  time  present  I  only  dreamed ;  but  of 
what  is  to  come,   I  can  say  nothing ;  and,   therefore, 


making  n<>  chronicle  <>('  the  first,  and  oncly  shewing 
my  (lic.niM'  nf  1 1n-  second,  I  will  make  no  prophesie 
of  the  third,  but  leave  all  to  God's  pleasure;  and  so, 
leaving  you  t"  judge  of  all  times  as  you  have  reason, 
I  take  my  leave  of  you  at  this  time;  but  rest  at  all 

limes, 

Your  friend,  as  I  find  cause  and  time, 
William  Terilo. 


A  PIECE  OF  FRIAR  BACONS  BRAZEN- 
HEADS  PROPHESIE. 


TIME  WAS,    TIME    IS. 


When  I  was  but  a  boye, 

And  plaide  with  little  girles, 

And  more  esteem'd  a  toye 

Then  pretious  stones,  or  pearles, 

Then  Natures  love,  that  knew  no  pride, 

With  litle  would  be  satisfide. 

Then  friends  would  not  fall  out, 

But  soone  fall  in  againe : 
When  none  would  goe  about 

To  laie  a  wicked  traine  ; 
But  kindnesse  was  in  such  request, 
That  malice  knew  not  where  to  rest. 


FRIAR    BAKONS    PROPHESIE. 

Contenl  was  then  a  king, 

Although  be  ware  no  erownc  ; 

Aii'l  'twas  a  wondrous  thing 
Would  make  a  mayden  frownej 

When  twaa  no  little  grace  to  nature 

For  to  be  call'd  a  gentle  creature. 

The  milke-maydes  paile  was  sweete, 
The  Bhepheards  cloake  was  cleane: 

And  when  their  loves  did  meete, 
They  did  no  falshood  meane. 

While  Truth  did  in  their  passions  try, 

There  could  not  passe  a  thought  awry. 

Then  observation  found 

The  passage  of  those  partes, 

Where  Reason  laide  the  ground 
Of  all  experience  artes. 

While  love  was  rulde  by  grace, 

To  scukc  his  spirits  resting  place. 

Then  praise  grew  of  desert, 

Desert  (if  true  conceit: 
Whose  tongue  was  in  the  hart. 

That  could  not  hide  deceit; 
I'.ut  he  or  she  was  held  a  fiend, 
That  would  he  i'alse  unto  a  friend. 

Then  shepheards  knew  the  times 
And  eare, 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPIIESIE. 

And  made  their  honest  rimes, 
In  mirth  and  merry  cheare; 
And  Sim  and  Su  would  kindly  kisse, 
When  nothing  could  be  ment  amisse. 

Then  sheepes  eyes  were  not  watcht, 
That  lambes  did  waking  keepe  ; 

And  when  the  hen  had  hatcht, 
The  chickens  might  goe  peepe: 

When  snares  were  set,  both  day  and  night, 

To  hang  the  buzzard  and  the  kite. 

The  henne,  the  goose,  the  ducke, 
Might  cackle,  creake,  and  quacke  : 

When  not  an  owle  would  plucke 
A  feather  from  her  backe ; 

Except  she  crowed,  or  would  not  laie, 

Then  roast  her  on  a  holy  day. 

The  butchers  then  would  keepe 
Their  flesh  from  blowing  flies, 

And  maidens  would  not  sleepe, 
But  in  the  morning  rise, 

And  hunt  a  flea  so  in  the  bed, 

He  knew  not  where  to  hide  his  head. 

Then  neither  wolfe  nor  foxe, 
But  that  did  feare  the  hound  ; 

Nor  greatest  headed  oxe, 

But  to  the  yoake  was  bound : 


PRIAB    BAEONS   PROPHESIE. 

Nor  drawing  tit  bul  knew  who  there, 
Nor  a    '■-  hut  ilid  hi-  burthen  beare. 

Then  oates  wire  knowne  from  rie, 
And  barley  from  the  wheate ; 

A  cheese-cake  and  a  pie 

Were  held  good  country  meate. 
When  ale,  and  spice,  and  curdes,  and  creame, 
Would  make  a  scholler  make  a  theame. 

And  then  when  wooers  met, 

It  was  a  sport  to  see 
I  low  soone  the  match  was  set, 

How  well  they  did  agree : 
When  that  the  father  gave  the  childe, 
And  then  the  mother  sat  and  smildc. 

Delaies  were  then  like  death 

To  any  kinde  desire  ; 
When  no  man  spent  his  breath, 

To  be  no  whit  the  nigher: 
But  Truth  and  Trust  so  deerly  loved, 
That  what  th'  one  did,  th'  other  proved. 

Then  cocke  a  doodle  doo 
The  houres  divided  right, 

Anil  olde  to  whit  to  whoo 

Did  watch  the  winter  night; 
And  in  the  springs,  the  nightingale 
Did  tell  the  woods  a  merry  tale. 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPHESIE. 

Then  beetels  could  not  live 

Upon  the  hony  bees, 
But  they  the  drones  would  drive 

Unto  the  doted  trees; 
When  he  that  wrought  not  till  he  sweate, 
Was  held  unworthy  of  his  meate. 

Then  were  no  pitfalls  made 

But  in  the  frost  and  snowe, 
Nor  wood-cocks  in  the  glade 

Could  by  the  springes  goe; 
And  not  a  bird  that  bare  a  winge, 
But  that  would  stoope  unto  his  winge. 

Then  russet  cloth  and  frize 

Did  walke  the  world  about, 
And  no  man  would  despise 

The  inside  for  the  out : 
But  he  that  paide  for  what  he  spent, 
Was  welcome  where  so  ere  he  went. 

Then  were  there  no  devises 

To  draw  on  fond  desires, 
But  chapmen  knew  the  prices, 

The  sellers  and  the  buyers: 
And  simple  truthe  no  cunning  usde, 
How  simple  trust  might  be  abusde. 

The  markets  then  were  serv'd 
With  good  sufficient  ware, 


10  IK! AK    BAKONS  PR0PHE8IE. 

Ami  cattell  were  not  starv'de, 

When  Blowcher  and  hia  marc 
Would  bring  in  such  a  sacke  of  rie, 
\    tried  tin'  miller's  honestie. 

Then  John,  and  Joane,  and  Madge, 

"Were  call'd  the  merry  crew, 
That  with  no  drinke  coulde  fadge, 

But  where  the  fat  they  knew: 
And  though  they  knew  who  brew'd  the  ale, 
Yet  must  it  stand  till  it  were  stale. 

Then  was  good  fellowship 

Almost  in  every  house; 
She  would  not  hang  the  lip, 

He  would  not  knit  the  browes; 
But  he  would  smirke,  and  she  would  smile, 
That  all  the  house  would  laugh  the  while. 

Then  handkerchers  were  wrought 
"With  names  and  true  loves  knots, 

And  not  a  wench  was  taught 
A  false  stitch  in  her  spots: 

W  hen  roses  in  the  gardaines  grew, 

And  not  in  ribons  on  a  shoe. 

Then  painting  only  serv'de 

For  paper,  wood,  and  cloth: 
When  health  was  most  preserv'de 

By  labour,  not  by  sloth. 


FRIAR    BAKONS   PROPHESIE.  1  I 

When  fewe  that  did  of  phisike  heare, 
But  they  were  striken  with  a  feare. 

Then  he  that  heard  of  warre, 

Was  in  a  wofull  case; 
Except  it  were  so  farre, 

He  could  not  feare  the  place: 
When  peace  and  plentie  were  so  sweete, 
As  trode  all  fortunes  under  feete. 

The  taber  and  the  pipe, 

The  bagpipe  and  the  crowde; 
When  oates  and  rye  were  ripe, 

Began  to  be  alowde. 
But  till  the  harvest  all  was  in, 
The  nioris-daunce  did  not  begin. 

A  citie  from  a  towne 

Then  by  his  wall  was  seene; 
And  none  did  weare  a  crowne, 

But  either  king  or  cpjeene: 
And  ever  upon  Easter-day, 
All  Jack  a  Lents  were  cast  away. 

Then  cloakes  were  for  the  raine, 

And  feathers  but  for  beddes: 
Sheepes  russet  would  not  staine, 

There  were  no  greenes  nor  reddes: 
Carnation,  crimson,  yealow,  blew, 
Plaine  people  no  such  colours  knew. 


12  FRIAR    BAKONS    PROPHE8IE. 

The  torse,  the  cowe,  the  liogge, 

Were  kept  for  worke  and  wealth: 
The  pus-cat  and  the  dogge, 

For  safegard  from  the  stealth 
Of  rats,  and  mise,  and  wolfe,  and  foxe ; 
When  fewe  had  kcyes  unto  their  lockes. 

Then  owles  nor  night  ravens  were 

No  tellers  of  ill  happes; 
When  faith  had  never  feare 

Of  any  thunder-clappes; 
But  looke,  what  weather  ever  came, 
Was  welcome  in  God's  holy  name. 

Then  monkies,  baboones,  apes, 
And  such  il-favour'd  creatures, 

Of  such  straunge  fashion'd  shapes, 
Were  hatefull  to  our  natures: 

When  who  heard  tell  but  of  a  beare, 

But  he  could  scarcely  sleepe  for  feare. 

No  parat,  pie,  nor  dawe, 
Was  idely  taught  to  prate; 

Nor  scarce  a  man  of  lawe 
Was  knowne  in  all  the  state; 

While  neighbors  so  like  friends  agreede, 

That  one  supplide  anothers  neede. 

The  shepheard  kept  his  sheepe, 
The  gnat-heard  kept  his  heard, 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPHESIE.  13 

And  in  the  sunne  would  sleepe, 
When  were  no  vermin  fear'd; 
For  every  curre  would  barke  or  bite, 
To  put  the  wicked  foxe  to  flight. 

And  then  a  good  grey  frocke, 

A  kercheffe,  and  a  raile, 
A  faire  white  flaxen  smocke, 

A  hose  with  a  good  waile, 
A  good  strong  leatherd  winter  shoe, 
Was  well,  I  wis,  and  better  too. 

Then,  /  wis,  well,  goe  too, 

Were  words  of  no  small  worth; 
When  folkes  knew  what  to  doo 

To  bring  their  meanings  forth; 
And  winke.  and  nod,  and  hem,  and  humme, 
Could  bring  my  finger  to  my  thumbe. 

No  cutting  of  a  carde, 

Nor  cogging  of  a  dye, 
But  it  was  wholy  barde 

All  honest  company; 
And  faire  square  plaie  with  yea  and  naie, 
Who  lost  the  game  would  quickly  paie. 

No  matches  then  were  set 

For  yonger  brothers  landes, 
Nor  usurers  could  get 

Mens  goods  into  their  handes: 


I  I  FRIAR    BAKONS    PBOPHESIE. 

I > 1 1 1  - 1 n •  1 1  as  bad  their  wittea  awake, 
Could  Bmell  a  knave  before  he  spake 

And  hardly  in  a  yeere 
A  man  should  meete  a  thief e; 

When  corne  was  aere  so  deere, 
But  poore  folkes  had  reliefe: 

And  wickednes  was  loath'd  so  much, 

That  no  man  lov'd  the  tickle  tuch. 

Then  love  went  not  by  lookes, 
Wherein  laie  venim  hid: 

Nor  words  were  angle-hookes, 

When  men  knew  what  they  did. 
But  honest  hearts,  and  modest  eies, 
Did  make  the  lovers  paradise. 

But  now  that  world  is  changde, 
And  time  doth  alter  creatures, 

Whose  spirits  are  estrang'de 

From  their  owne  proper  natures : 

While  wot'ull  eyes  may  weepe  to  see 

Bow  all  things  arc.  ami  what  they  bee. 

Now  every  idle  boye, 

That  .-ells  his  land  for  pearles, 
Esteemes  his  wealth  a  toye 

To  give  to  idle  girles: 
While  gracelesse  love,  in  natures  pride, 
"With  sinne  is  never  satisiide. 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPHESIE. 

Now  friends  do  oft  fall  out, 

But  seelde  fall  in  againe; 
While  many  goe  aboute 

To  laie  a  wicked  traine: 
Where  malice  is  so  in  request, 
That  kindnes  knowes  not  where  to  rest. 

Content  is  now  unknowne 

In  either  king  or  clowne: 
A  sight  too  common  showne, 

To  see  a  niayden  frowne: 
When  she  is  held  a  foolish  creature, 
That  shewes  to  be  of  gentle  nature. 

The  milke-maydes  paile  is  sowre, 
The  shepheards  cloake  uncleane  ; 

Where  love  hath  not  the  power 
To  finde  what  fancies  meane: 

While  faith  doth  so  much  falshood  prove, 

That  many  lye,  which  say  they  love. 

Now  observation  findes 

By  all  experience  artes, 
How  Machavilian  mindes 

Do  plaie  the  divels  partes ; 
While  love,  (alas!)  hath  little  grace 
In  worshipping  a  wicked  face. 

Now  praise  must  follow  pride, 
And  Flattery  wayt  on  wealth; 


Hi  FRIAR    BAK0N8    PROPHESIE. 

And  tongues  to  silence  tide, 
Except  it  be  by  stealth. 

While  1 •  she  that  cannot  faine, 

Must  die  a  friend-ships  foole  in  graine. 

The  seasons  of  the  yeere 
The  shepheards  ilo  not  know; 

While  mirth  and  merry  cheere 
To  griefe  and  sorrow  grow ; 

While  if  a  couple  kindly  kisse, 

The  third  thinkes  somewhat  is  amisse. 

Now  sheepes-eies  are  so  watcht, 
That  lamhes  can  hardly  sleepe; 

For  when  the  henne  hath  hatcht, 
Ere  well  the  chicken  peepe, 

The  buzzard  and  the  kite  so  pray, 

That  halfe  the  brood  is  stolne  away. 

No  butcher  now  can  keepe 
His  flesh  from  blowing  flies; 

And  maydes  will  lie  and  sleepe, 
That  doe  not  love  to  rise: 

While  every  bedde  so  swarmes  with  fleas, 

I  wonder  how  they  lie  at  ease. 

Now  neither  wolte  nor  foxe, 

But  can  beguile  the  hound; 
Nor  gallant  headed  oxe 

Will  to  a  yoake  be  bound; 


FRIAR    BAKONS   PROPHESIE.  1  / 

Nor  drawing  tit,  but  skorn'd  who  there, 
Nor  asse  that  will  his  burthen  beare. 

Wheate,  barly,  oates,  and  rie, 

So  like  are  in  the  blade, 
That  many  a  simple  eye 

May  soone  a  foole  be  made: 
While  curdes,  and  creame,  and  ale  and  spice, 
Will  bring  out  but  a  poore  device. 

Now  cockes  dare  scarcely  crow, 

For  feare  the  foxe  doe  heare; 
Nor  shriche-owle,  but  will  show 

That  winter  time  is  neare: 
And  Philomeus,  amid  the  spring, 
So  feares  the  worme,  shee  cannot  sing. 

And  now  when  lovers  meete, 

It  is  a  griefs  to  see 
How  heavily  they  greete, 

And  how  they  disagree: 
AVhile  that  the  father's  eies  arc  blinde, 
And  that  the  mother  is  unkinde. 

Delaies  to  neere  disdaine, 

Doe  feede  upon  desire; 
And  breath  is  spent  in  vaine, 

Where  hopes  are  nere  the  nigher: 
While  Truth  and  Trust  have  too  much  proved, 
They  hardly  find  wher  to  be  loved. 


IS  Kit  I  A  k    BAKONS   PROPHE8TE. 

Now  bumble  bees  can  live 

I  pon  the  bony  bees, 
That  not  a  drone  dare  drive, 

Unto  the  doted  trees: 
While  he  that  workes  not  for  bis  meate, 
Will  live  upon  another's  sweate. 

Now  pitfalls  are  so  made, 

That  small  birdes  cannot  know  them; 
No  woodcockes  in  a  glade, 

But  netts  can  overthrow  them; 
And  not  a  paltry  carrion  kite, 
But  braves  a  faulcon  in  his  flight. 

Now  velvet,  cloth  of  gold, 
And  silkes  of  highest  price, 

Doth  make  the  good  free-holde 
Chaung  title  with  a  trice: 

While  he  that  spends  and  will  not  pay, 

Is  welcome,  when  he  is  away. 

Now  wordes  of  strange  devises 

Doe  cheate  upon  desires, 
While  cunning  sellers  prices 

Doe  cosen  simple  buiers: 
While  truth  is  all  so  sildome  used, 
That  honest  trust  is  much  abused. 

The  markets  now  arc  -arv'de 
With  much  unsavcry  ware. 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPHESIE.  19 

And  cattell  often  starv'de, 

"When  that  the  miller's  mare 
Can  scarcely  bring  a  sacke  of  rie, 
That  one  may  be  a  saver  by. 

Now  John,  and  Joane,  and  Madge, 

Can  make  no  merry  crue, 
The  baily,  with  his  badge, 

So  braves  it  in  his  blue! 
None  dare  discharge  a  carier, 
For  feare  of  maister  officier. 

And  now  from  every  house 

Good  fellowship  is  gone, 
And  scarce  a  silly  mouse 

Findes  crummes  to  feede  upon; 
While  lowre,  andpoute,  and  chafe,  and  champe, 
Brings  all  the  household  in  a  dampe. 

Now  clockes  are  for  the  sunne, 

And  feathers  for  the  winde, 
Sheepes  russet  to  home  spunne, 

While  a  fantasticke  minde 
Must  have  a  colour  strange  and  rare, 
To  make  a  mad  man  stand  and  stare. 

The  horse,  the  cowe,  the  hogge, 

Are  chiefely  kept  for  breed; 

The  pus- cat,  and  the  dogge, 

To  keepc  the  plough-man's  feede; 

c  2 


20  PRIAB   I3AKON8    PROPHESIE. 

While  not  a  locke  but  hath  a  kay, 
For  feare  the  cupboord  runnc  away. 

i\ii\v  owles  and  night-ravens  are 

111  fortune's  prophecies; 
When  faithlesse  spirits  stare, 

If  any  storme  arise: 
And  if  the  weather  be  not  faire, 
Why  fooles  are  almost  in  dispaire. 

Now  monkies,  baboones,  apes, 
Are  taught  to  pranke  and  prance, 

While  many  a  wizard  gape 
To  see  a  monster  dance; 

And  not  a  woman  that  will  feare 

To  see  the  baiting  of  a  beare. 

Now  parats,  pies,  and  dawes, 

Are  finely  taught  to  prate, 
And  worldes  of  men  of  lawe 

Are  needful  in  the  state: 
Where  neighbours  live  so  unlike  friends, 
That  men  would  judge  them  to  be  fiends 

And  now  a  Batten  gowne, 

A  petticoate  of  silke, 
A  fine  wrought  bugle  crowne, 

A  smocke  as  white  aa  milke; 
A  colour'de  hose,  a  pineked  shooe, 
Will  scarcely  make  a  tit  come  too. 


FRIAR    BAKONS   PROPHESIE.  21 

Now  as  God  judge  my  soule, 

Besides  my  faith  and  troth, 
On  every  wassell  bowle, 

Is  thought  a  simple  oth: 
While  stampe,  and  stare,  and  clapping  handes, 
Will  scarce  make  up  a  begger's  handes. 

Now  sempsters  few  are  taught 

The  true  stitch  in  their  spots, 
And  names  are  sildome  wrought 

Within  the  true  loves  knots; 
And  ribon-roses  take  such  place, 
That  garden  roses  want  their  grace. 

Now  painting  serves  for  faces, 

To  make  the  fowle  seeme  faire, 
And  health  in  many  places 

Must  not  abide  the  aire: 
And  few  that  have  bene  bit  with  fleas, 
But  runne  to  phisicke  for  their  ease. 

Now  warre  makes  many  rich, 

That  else  had  bene  but  poore; 
And  makes  a  souldiour  itch, 

Till  he  have  scratcht  a  boore; 
For  peace  and  plenty  breed  such  pride, 
As  poore  men's  fortunes  cannot  bide. 

The  taber  and  the  pipe 
Are  now  out  of  request ; 


FRIAR    BAKONS   PROPHESIE. 

Ami  ere  the  rie  i»c  ripe, 

The  bird  will  leave  the  nest: 
And  nioris  dances  doe  begin 
I'm  IVtre  the  harvest  halfe  be  in. 

Now  many  a  towncs  mud  wall 

Doth  put  a  citty  downe, 
And  Mistressc  Finicall 

Doth  weare  a  bugle  crowne; 
And  many  a  rascall  mal-content 
"Will  make  his  Easter  day  in  Lent. 

Now  cogge  and  foist  that  list, 

"Who  will  that  wit  gainesay? 
That  learnes  fooles  had-I-wist, 

That  will  and  cannot  play: 
While  faire,  and  square,  and  pitch,  and  pay, 
The  gamster  calls  fooles  holy-day. 

Now  worldes  of  matches  set 

For  elder  brothers  landes, 
And  usury  doth  get 

Great  wealth  into  her  hands; 
"While  he  that  will  not  watch  a  knave, 
May  bring  a  beggcr  to  his  grave. 

Now  hardly  in  a  day. 

But  one  shall  meete  a  thiefe; 
Where  wealth  is  hid  away, 

And  poore  have  no  reliefe; 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPHESIU.  23 

And  wickednes  is  usde  so  much, 
As  who  but  loves  the  tickle  tuch. 

Now  love  goes  so  by  lookes, 

Men  know  not  what  they  doo; 
And  wordes  are  poisned  hookes, 

That  catch,  and  kill  men  too; 
"While  wicked  hartes  and  wanton  eies 
Make  hell,  insteed  of  paradice. 

Now  surely  thus  it  is, 

It  is  a  wonderfull  change ; 
Where  all  goes  so  amisse, 

Or  else  my  dreame  is  strange, 
That  shew'de  me  such  a  world  of  wo; 
But  God  forbid  it  should  be  so. 

For  dreames  are  idle  things, 

And  surely  so  is  this; 
For  true  apparance  brings 

No  proofe  of  such  amisse: 
But  every  thing  in  such  good  course, 
As  God  forbid  it  should  be  worse. 

For  lovers  must  be  kinde, 

And  neighbours  must  be  friends; 

And  when  the  folkes  have  dinde, 
Set  up  the  puddings  ends: 

For  tis  an  ancient  rule  in  truth, 

That  thriftines  is  good  in  youth. 


•j,  PBIAB   BAKONS  PBOPHESIE. 

( Ude  men  iim-i  li;i\  e  their  saying, 
Ami  rich  men  must  have  place; 

Slid. is  must  bide  delaying, 
Ami  children  must  say  grace; 

Ami  thiefes  must  hang  and  knaves  must  shift, 

And  silly  fooles  must  have  the  lift. 

And  lawe  must  speake,  wit  judge, 

Men  live  untill  th[e]y  die: 
And  Snot  must  be  a  snudge, 

And  love  have  leave  to  lie; 
And  wretches  worke  and  wantons  play, 
And  who  can  holde  that  will  away  ? 

And  wagges  must  singe  and  dance, 

And  gamsters  plot  for  gaine: 
Who  likes  not  of  his  chance, 

Take  by  to  helpe  the  maine: 
For  he  that  walkes  without  a  head, 
May  quickly  bring  a  foole  to  bed. 

Women  must  have  their  wills, 

Though  men  would  say  them  nay: 

Some  are  such  needfull  ills, 
They  cannot  be  away: 

And  he  that  gives  the  humme  a  hemnie, 

Will  sometimes  fall  aboord  with  them. 

The  horse  must  have  his  hay, 
The  dogge  must  have  a  bone; 


FRIAR    BAKONS   PROPIIESIE.  25 

The  ducke  must  have  a  bay, 

The  hawke  must  have  a  stone, 
And  Jhon  must  not  be  kept  from  Joane, 
For  love  can  never  live  alone. 

And  therefore  thus  in  briefe, 

Let  peace  endure  no  strife; 
Let  no  man  offer  griefe 

Unto  his  neighbour's  wife: 
Let  faire  play  passe  through  every  hand, 
And  let  him  fall  that  cannot  stand. 

Let  God  be  serv'd,  obai'd, 

The  king  both  serv'd  and  lov'de; 

Church  honoured,  duties  paide, 
Mallice  from  mindes  remov'de: 

And  it  may  hap  to  come  to  passe, 

To  be  as  well  as  ere  it  was. 

And  blessed  were  the  daies, 

If  so  the  world  did  goe, 
That  wit  a  thousand  waies, 

Might  reasons  comfort  knowe: 
AVhil  birds  might  sing,  and  men  might  speak, 
And  malice  might  no  musicke  breake. 

That  eyes  might  looke  their  fill, 

Words  might  be  uncontrold; 
And  art  might  have  the  skill 

To  find  the  stone  for  gold: 


26  I'KIAk   BAKONS   PBOPHEBIE. 

Ami  jealous  eyes  might  all  be  blinde, 
That  overlooke  a  honest  niinde. 

That  wealth  should  have  her  grace 

In  liberalise, 
And  honour  give  a  place 

To  every  qualities 
"While  panders,  jesters,  fooles,  and  knaves, 
Might  walke  about  like  silly  slaves. 

A  word  might  be  a  band, 

Where  needles  were  an  oth; 
"While  yea  and  nay  might  stand 

Cnsteed  of  faith  and  troth; 
And  tuch  and  take,  and  pitch,  and  pay, 
Might  drive  all  cunning  tricks  away. 

A  winke,  a  nod,  a  smile, 

Might  shew  the  judgement  just; 

Where  truth  could  not  beguile, 
Her  honest  meaning  trust: 

But  one  in  two,  and  two  in  one, 

Might  make  the  merry  world  alone. 

That  quarrels  might  not  grow 
Of  swaggering,  nor  quaffing, 

But  who  begins  heigh  ho! 

Might  set  the  house  a  laughing: 

o  on7 

"When  not  a  thought  of  villany 
Might  come  in  honest  company. 


FRIAR   BAKONS   PROPHESIE.  27 

And  gossips  might  be  merry, 

And  tattle  when  they  meete, 
And  cheekes  as  red  as  chei-ry 

Might  shew  the  wine  is  sweete; 
When  lovers  are  in  talke  so  sad, 
As  if  they  were  alreadie  had. 

Power  should  be  fearde  for  grace, 

And  la  we  obey'd  for  love; 
And  vertue  take  her  place, 

In  highest  hopes  behove; 
And  wisedome  only  honour  God, 
And  so  should  sinne  be  overtrod. 

Nought  should  be  scorn'de  but  folly, 

Nor  in  regard  but  reason, 
And  nothing  lov'de  but  holy, 

And  nought  in  hate  but  treason; 
And  nought  but  slaunder  banged, 
And  nought  but  murther  hanged. 

And  then  the  world  were  well, 

But  when  will  it  be  so? 
(Alas!)  I  cannot  tell, 

And  therefore  let  it  goe; 
And  as  God  will,  so  let  it  bee, 
It  shall  be  as  it  list  for  mee. 

Let  every  man  mend  one, 
And  I  will  not  be  out; 


28  FRIAR    BARONS  PROPHE81E. 

Ami  John  bo  good  to  Joane, 

( )r  else  be  is  a  lout, 
And  Peter  weave  what  Parnell  spunne; 
Good  night,  John  Line,  and  I  have  donne. 


FINIS. 


NOTES. 


P.  7,  1.  1. — And  made  their  honest  rimes.  Some  of  these 
may  be  seen  in  the  collection  of  metrical  proverbs,  formed  by 
Thomas  Heywood  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
The  "  Sheepeheards  Kalender,"  a  rare  black-letter  book,  may 
also  be  considered  an  illustration  of  this  passage.  This 
latter  work  is  a  strange  compound  of  different  subjects, 
illustrated  with  hideous  wood-cuts ;  but  the  following  specimen, 
selected  from  the  first  part,  may  not  be  unacceptable. 

November. 

I,  November,  will  not  abyde  behynde, 

To  shewe  my  kindely  Tvorthynes.se  and  ure ; 

For  in  my  time,  the  blastes  of  the  wynde 

Abateth  leaves,  and  shedeth  their  verdure  ; 

Wherfore  every  prudent  creature 

Ought  for  to  lyve  right  as  they  would  dye, 

For  all  thinge  taketh  ende  naturally. 

December. 

December  every  man  doth  me  call, 

In  whose  time  the  mother  inviolate 

Delivered  was  in  an  olde  oxe-stall 

Of  Jesu  Christ,  Gods  owne  sonne  incarnate, 

Wherefore  I  thinke  me  the  most  fortunate 

Of  all  the  other,  to  whome  praye  we  then, 

That  we  may  come  unto  his  blisse.     Amen. 


80  NOTES. 

The  beffinnings  and  ends  of  the f owe  seasons  of  the  yeare. 

The  Brite  prime  time  that  thus  doth  begin, 
From  my d  February  nnto  myd  May, 
And  from  myd  May  gommer  is  entred  in, 
To  myd  A.ugust,and  then  is  harvest  day; 
And  IVnniili.il  tyme  Wyntex  entreth  ahvay 
On  Baynt  Clementea  day,  who  so  taketh  heede, 
And  myd  February  it  fayleth  in  deede. 

77///.?  endeth  the  prayse  of  the  twelve  monthes,  with  the 
beginninges  and  aides  of  the  foure  quarters.      And  after 

foloweth  the  fygure  for  to  knoive  in  what  sygne  the  moone  is 
ir,  ry  day. 

P.  9, 1.  4. — Doled.  That  is,  rotten  or  decayed  at  the  top. 
The  term  is  still  in  use  in  the  Eastern  counties. 

P.  10,  1.  7.— Fudge.  To  fit,  to  suit.  The  word  is  not 
uncommon  in  our  early  writers. 

Would  I  sweat  too  !   I'm  monstrous  vex'd,  and  cold  too ; 
And  these  are  but  thin  pumps  to  walk  the  streets  in. 
Clothes  I  must  get ;  this  fashion  will  not  fadge  with  me  ; 
Besides,  'tis  an  ill  winter  wear. 

Wit  without  Money,  iii.  4. 

P.  1 1 , 1.  10.— Crowde.     That  is,  a  fiddle. 

P.  11,1.  14. —  The  moris-daunce  did  not  begin.  A  curious 
notice  of  this  once  popular  amusement,  which  serves  to  show 
the  season  to  which  it  was  formerly  restricted.  Compare  p. 
22.  For  information  respecting  it,  we  can  hardly  do  better 
than  refer  the  reader  to  Douce's  well-known  essay  on  the 
subject. 

P.  11,  1.  20. — Jack  a  Lents.  Puppets  at  which  boys 
threw  cudgels  in  the  Lent  season.  They  are  alluded  to  by 
Shakespeare,  and  contemporary  writers. 

Which,  since  you  are  so  stubborn,  it'  I  forfeit, 
Make  me  a  Jack  "'  /.<  nt.  and  break  my  shins 
For  untagg'd  points  and  counters! 

Tli,   Woman's  Prise,  iv,  4. 


NOTES.  31 

P.  12, 1.  7. — (holes  nor  night  ravens.  The  harbingers  of 
death  and  misfortune. 

Bring  forth  that  fatall  scrich  owle  to  our  house, 
That  nothing  sung  to  us  but  bloud  and  death. 

The  True  Tragedie,  1595. 

P.  13,  1.  11. — /  wis.  In  early  writers,  i-wis  is  of  course  an 
adverb  ;  but  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  was  afterwards 
regarded  as  a  pronoun  and  a  verb,  as  in  the  present  instance. 
The  phrase  goe  too  is  employed  by  Mrs.  Quickly,  in  the 
"  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor." 

P.  14,  1.  \5.—But  now,  §-c.  A  great  deal  of  what  follows 
is  merely  repetition  of  the  previous  portion. 

P.  14, 1  23. — Esteemes.     Fsteemes  in  the  original. 

P.  15, 1.  2.—Seelde.     That  is,  seldom. 

P.  16,  1.  23. — Noio.     Hoio  in  the  original. 

P.  20,  1.  14. — To  see  the  baiting  of  a  beare.  Compare  the 
scene  between  Mistress  Anne  Page,  and  Master  Slender,  in 
the  "  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  ;"  and  a  curious  description  of 
bear-baiting  by  Hentzner,  as  practised  in  England  in  the 
time  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 


RICHARDS,  PRINTER,    100,  ST.  MARTINS    LANK. 


POETICAL  MISCELLANIES. 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES 


A   MANUSCRIPT  COLLECTION 


THE    TIME    OF    JAMES    I. 


EDITED    BY 


JAMES  ORCHARD  HALLIWELL,  Esq.,  F.R.S. 


HON.    M.R.I. A.,    HON".    M.R   S.I..,    P. 8. A.,    ET< 


LONDON. 
PRINTED    FOR    THE    PERCY    SOCIETY, 

BY  T.  RICHARDS,  100,  ST.  MARTIN'S  LANE. 
M.DCCC.XLV. 


COUNCIL 


Cfje  f  ercp  J>octetp< 


President. 
The  Rt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S.  Trkas.  S.A. 
WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq 
WILLIAM  CHAPPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
C.  PDRTON  COOPER,  Esq.  Q.C.,  F.R.S,  FSA. 
PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 
JAMES  HENRY  DIXON,  Esq 
WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.S  A.,  M.R.S.L 
CAPTAIN  JOHNS,  R.M. 
T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 
LEWIS  POCOCK,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
SIR  CUTHBERT  SHARP. 
WILLIAM  SANDYS,  Esq    F.S.A. 
WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S  A. 
THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.  M  A  ,  F.S.A  ,  Secretary 
and  Treasurer. 


PREFACE. 


The  following  pieces  are  selected  from  a  much 
larger  collection  of  similar  poems  preserved  in  a 
manuscript  volume  (12mo.)  of  the  time  of  James  I, 
which  has  recently  come  into  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Andrews,  a  well-known  bookseller  at  Bristol, 
and  to  whose  liberality  I  am  indebted  for  the 
opportunity  of  making  use  of  it  in  this  way  for 
the  Percy  Society.  Various  collections  of  the 
like  kind  are  to  be  found  in  our  public  libraries, 
but  I  know  of  few  more  curious  or  interesting 
than  the  present,  and  the  entire  manuscript  is 
worthy  of  careful  consideration.  As  in  other 
cases,  so  varied  are  the  sources  from  which  such 
MSS.  are  derived, — printed  books,  ballads,  and 
private  documents  of  the  time, — one  great  difficulty 
arises  from  the  certainty  that  no  extent  of  read- 
ing will  enable  us  to  say  positively  that  any  par- 
ticular piece  has  not  been  previously  printed,  unless 
a  source  is  indicated  in  some  way  or  other  in  the 


VI 


original.  It  is,  therefore,  not  improbable  that 
some  such  sources  may  have  been  overlooked  in 
this  instance,  although  they  have  not  at  present 
occurred  to  those  who  might  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected to  have  detected  them,  the  contents  of  the 
following  pages  having  been  submitted  to  several 
gentlemen  peculiarly  well  read  in  this  department 
of  literature.  Should,  however,  any  oversights 
of  the  kind  be  observed,  it  is  hoped  that  the 
extreme  difficulty  of  effectually  providing  against 
them  will  not  be  forgotten. 

J.  O.  H. 

22nd  Feb.  1845. 


POETICAL  MISCELLANIES. 


I. 


0,  thou  prodigious  monster,  moste  accurst, 
What  makes  thou  here  in  men's  societie? 

Back  to  those  desarts  where  thou  hast  hyn  nurst 
By  hruitish  beastes  of  rudest  qualitie. 

And  yet  in  wildest  desart  beasts  are  borne, 

Whose  natures  do  thi  beastlike  natur  scorne. 

And  they,  I  thinke,  together  have  conspir'd 
To  hunt  thee  out  of  that  their  habitation, 

Because  they  fear'd  thou  woldst  have  them  requird 
To  harken  to  thy  hatefull  education; 

If  so,  they  much  deserv'd  to  be  commended, 

Who  from  thiselfe  have  so  themselves  defended. 

But  if  of  beastes  thou  hast  byn  thus  rejected, 
Why  shouldst  thou  hope  of  men  to  b'  intertaind  ? 

Oh,  thou  dost  know  men's  thoughts  are  all  infected, 
And   some    whose  natures,  worse  then  beasts,  are 
stain'd; 

B 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Which  stained  natures  certaine  hope  doth  gaine  thee, 
Though  beasts  reject  thee,  men  will  intertaine  thee! 

And  sure  I  see  thou  hast  not  misconceived, 

For  thou  hast  found  such  as  thou  thoughst  to  finde, 

Who  1m  are  the  forme  of  men,  but  are  bereav'd 
Of  all  good  properties  of  humane  kinde. 

Thus  hast  thou  thought  moste  fitt  to  beare  thi  name, 

Which  is  ingratitude,  reprochefull  shame  1 

Yild  boldfac'd  beast!  why,  shamst  thou  not  to  dwell 
In  this  our  region  of  the  upper  earth? 

Avaunt,  for  shame,  post  down  to  deepest  hell, 
Which  is  the  place  of  thy  unhappy  birthe! 

There  foule  Oblivion,  as  he  doth  confess, 

Begatt  thee;  no,  that  hagg  Unthankfulness. 

Thou  maist  reply  that  I  have  thee  misus'd 
By  taxinge  thee  before  thou  givst  me  cause; 

I  must  confess  thou  hast  not  me  abus'd, 
But  thou  hast  violat'd  those  sacred  lawes 

Of  humane  nature,  due  obedience, 

And,  therefore,  would  I  drive  thee  downe  from  hence. 

If  thou  couldst  have  containd  thi  wretched  wrong 
In  compass  of  the  vulgar  sorte  of  men, 

1  had  not  searcht  into  that  thrustinge  thronge. 
Thus  to  detest  thee  with  my  rurall  pen. 

But  thou  dost  deale  more  perfidiously 

In  wronging  hit  whose  fault  shall  never  dy. 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  .3 

Dread  sacred  lady!  my  late  soveraigne  quene! 

Tis  thi  great  worth  this  worthies  wretch  would  blott; 
Whose  like  was  never,  nor  shall  ere  be  seene, 

Great  shame,  therefore,  thou  art  so  soone  forgott. 
Yet  shalt  thou  never  be  forgot  of  mee, 
Though  such  forgett  thee  as  were  raisd  by  thee! 

Though  suche  forget  thee  as  were  rais'd  by  thee, 
Yet  will  thy  vertues  rare  themselves  preserve; 

And  those  that  can  discerne  what  vertues  bee 
Will  give  thee  truly  that  thou  didst  deserve. 

But  suche  as  serv'd  for  nought  but  private  gaine, 

Did  shew  their  mindes  when  thou  didst  cease  to  raigne. 

They  served  thee  but  to  serve  themselves  by  thee, 
Yet  when  thou  didst  survive  they  did  adore  thee; 

But  since  thou  didst  deceass,  I  can  nott  see 

That  any  of  them  now  daignes  to  deplore  thee. 

Suche  miseiy  on  princes  lyves  attend, 

That  whilst  they  live  thei  cannot  know  their  frend. 

And  thou,  great  princess,  hadst  of  theis  thi  share, 
Els  had  thy  glory  passed  Cintheas  lighte! 

For  in  thi  minde  were  placed  vertues  rare, 
Yet  ill  advise  did  sometimes  dym  thi  sighte. 

This  proofe,  therefore,  upon  thy  life  depend, 

That  flatterers  cannott  be  princes  frend. 

If  this  be  graunted,  then  inferr  we  may 
The  noinber  of  thy  frends  was  very  small ; 


4  POETICAL  MISCELLANIES. 

Though  nombers  did  attend  thee  clay  by  day, 

Thou  hardly  hadet  a  trend  amongst  them  all! 
For  as  they  fedd  thee  then  with  flattery, 
They  now  forgett  the  moste  ungratefully. 

Yet  one  there  is  which  on  thee  did  attend, 
"Whose  minde  immaculate  doth  well  retaine 

The  duties  both  of  servaunt  and  of  frend, 

Which  she  professed  when  thou  here  didst  raigne. 

That  beast,  Ingratitude,  canot  infect  hir, 

For  true  religious  zeale  doth  safe  protect  hir. 

Thrice  honored  Theana,  thou  art  she 

Whose  modesty  hath  wonne  immortall  fame; 

Thou  honorest  deceased  soveraigntie, 

And,  therefore,  dost  deserve  an  honor'd  name. 

For  when  she  liv'd  you  chastly  didst  attend  hir, 

And  being  dead,  you  chastely  didst  defend  hir. 

Thy  noble  name  of  right  should  be  inrold 

In  lines  of  everlastinge  memorie ; 
For  thy  pure  minde  doth  well  itselfe  unfold, 

That  it  discende  from  true  nobilitie. 
True  noble  mindes  do  yeld  true  noble  deedes, 
But  base-bred  thoughts  nought  els  but  basenes  breedes. 

And  if  Eliza  had  byn'  furnished 

With  none  but  suche  attendants  as  thyselfe; 
Hir  fame  then  had  not  byn  diminished 

By  suche  as  did  attend  for  nought  but  pelfe. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

God  graunt  he  that  succeedes  may  well  peruse  hir, 
And  free  himselfe  of  suche  as  did  abuse  hir. 


II. 


A    LOTTERY    PROPOSED    BEFORE    SUPPER    AT    THE    LO:    CHIEF 

JUSTICE    HIS   HOUSE,    IN    THE    FIRST    ENTRANCE    TO    HIR 

MAJESTIE,  LADIES,  GENTLEWOMEN,  AND  STRAUNGERS, 

1602. 


Hir  Majestie.    Wheeles. 
Fortune  must  now  no  more  in  triumph  ride, 
Yours  are  the  wheeles  that  did  hir  chariot  guide. 

La.  Darby  dowager.    A  purse. 

You  thrive,  or  would,  or  may,  your  lot's  a  purse; 
Fill  it  with  gold  and  you  are  ne'r  the  worse. 

La.  Darby  the  yonger.     A  ringe  with  a  posy. 

Your  hand  by  fortune  on  this  ringe  doth  lighte, 
And  yet  the  word  doth  fitt  your  humour  righte. 

La.  Worcester.     A  nutmegge. 
This  nutmegg  hath  a  blank,  but  chance  doth  hide  it, 
"Write  you  your  wish,  and  fortune  will  provide  it. 


f;  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

La.  Cumberland.    A  fallinge  band. 
Fortune  would  have  you  rise,  yet  guides  your  hand 
From  other  lotts  to  take  a  fallinge  bande. 

La.  Warwick.  A  snufkin. 
Tis  sommer,  yet  a  snufkin  is  your  lot; 
But  twilbe  winter  one  day,  doubt  you  not. 

La.  Kildare.     A  girdle. 

By  fortune's  girdle  happy  may  you  bee, 
Yet  they  that  are  less  happie  are  moste  free. 

La.  Darothy.     A  bodkin. 
Even  by  this  bodkin  you  may  live  unharmed, 
Your  bcwty  is  with  vertue  so  well  armed. 

La.  Howard  of  Effingham.     A  paire  of  writinge  tables. 
Theis  tables  may  containe  your  thoughts  in  part, 
But  write  not  all  is  written  in  your  harte. 

La.  Susan  Vere.     A  blanke. 
Wote  you  why  Fortune  gives  to  you  no  prise? 
Good  faith,  she  saw  you  not,  she  wants  her  eies! 

La.  Ann  Clifford.     A  lace. 
Give  hir  the  lace  that  loves  to  be  straite-laeed, 
Litle-go  fortunes  laced  guifte  is  aptly  placed. 

La.  Southwell.     A  paire  of  gloves. 
Fortune  theis  gloves  to  you  in  double  chalenge  sends, 
For  you  hate  fools  and  flatterers,  hir  best  frends. 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES. 

La.  Scroope.     A  maske. 
Want  you  a  maske,  here  fortune  gives  you  one, 
Yet  Nature  gives  the  rose  and  lilly  none. 

La.  Pagett.    G-arters. 
Though  you  have  Fortune's  garters,  you  will  bee 
More  stayd  and  constant  in  your  steps  then  shee. 

Mres.  Bridges.     Pointes. 

You  are  in  every  point  a  lover  true, 

And  therefore  Fortune  gives  theis  points  to  youe. 

Mres.  Thinne.     A  fanne. 

You  love  to  see  and  yet  to  be  unseene, 
Take  you  a  fann  to  be  your  bewties  screene. 

Mres.  Wharton.     A  chaine. 

Because  you  scorne  love's  captive  to  remaine, 
Fortune  hath  sworne  to  leade  you  in  a  chaine. 

Mres.  Nevill.    A  necklace. 

Fortune  gives  your  faire  neck  this  lace  to  weare, 
God  graunt  a  heavier  burden  it  never  beare. 

Mres.  Southwell.  A  plaine  ringe. 
Fortune  hath  sent  you,  happ  it  well  or  ill, 
A  plaine  gold  ringe  to  wedd  you  to  your  will. 

Mres.  Anslow.    A  cnshionet. 

To  hir  that  little  cares  what  lott  she  winnes, 
Chaunce  gives  hir  this  cushionett  for  hir  pinns. 


8  POETICAL    MISCELLANIES. 

La.  Digby.    A  prayer  booke. 
Your  fortune  will  prove  good  anotlier  day, 
In  the  meane  time  take  you  this  booke  to  pray. 

Aires.  Drury.     A  blank. 
You  fainc  would  have,  but  what  you  cannot  tell; 
If  Fortune  give  you  nothing,  she  doth  well. 

La.  Walsingham.     A  stomacher. 
This  stomacher  is  full  of  windowes  wrought, 
Yet  none  through  them  can  looke  into  your  thought. 

La.  Kncvitt.     A  glass. 

Blinde  fortune  doth  not  see  howe  faire  you  bee, 
It  gives  a  glass  that  you  yourselfe  may  see. 

La.  Newton.  A  sizer  case. 
This  sizer  doth  }-our  huswifry  bewray, 
You  love  to  work,  though  you  be  borne  to  play. 

Mres.  Hide.     A  pair  of  knives. 
Fortune  doth  give  theis  paire  of  knives  to  you, 
To  cutt  the  thred  of  love  if  't  be  not  true. 

Mres.  Stranguidgc.     A  coyfe  and  crosscloth. 
Frowne  in  good  earnest,  or  be  sick  in  jest, 
This  coyfe  and  crosscloth  will  become  you  best. 

Mother  of  the  Maides.    A  scarfe. 
Take  you  this  -carte,  binde  Cupid  hand  and  foote, 
So  Love  shall  you  leave  before  he  shoote. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  ! 

Mrs-  Vavasour.     A  handkerchiefe. 
Whither  you  seeme  to  weepe,  or  weepe  indeede, 
This  handkerchief  will  stand  you  well  in  steede. 

A  country  wenche.     A  pair  of  sheres. 
You  whisper  many  tales  in  many  eares, 
To  clipp  your  tongue  your  lot's  a  paire  of  sheares. 

A  country  wenche.     An  apron. 
You  love  to  make  excuses  for  all  thinges, 
An  apron  is  your  lott,  which  hath  no  stringes. 

A  country  wench.     A  reele. 
You  are  high  in  the  instepp,  short  in  the  heele, 
Your  head  is  giddy,  your  lott  is  a  reele. 

No  name.     A  blanke. 
Nothinge  is  your  lott,  that's  more  then  can  be  told, 
For  nothinge  is  more  worth  then  pretious  gold. 

No  name.    A  blank. 

Fortune  is  bountifull,  and  from  hir  store 
Gives  you  as  muche  as  you  were  worth  before. 

No  name.     A  blank. 
Tis  pitty  such  a  hand  should  draw  in  vaine, 
Though  it  gives  nought,  yet  shall  it  pitty  gaine. 

Mres.  Hastingcs.     A  blank. 

You  are  so  dainty  to  be  pleas'd,  God  wot, 
Chaunce  knowes  not  what  to  give  you  for  your  lott. 


10  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

No  name.    A  dialL 
Tliis  diall's  yours;  watch  time,  least  it  be  lost, 
Yet  they  moste  lose  their  time  that  watch  it  most. 

No  name.     A  blanke. 
For  all  thy  witt,  Fortune  might  favour  thee, 
For  God  forbidd  all  fooles  should  happy  bee. 


III. 


TUE   COUNSCELL    OF    A    FREND,    HEARINGE    A    PURPOSE   OF 
MARRIAGE   BY   ANOTHER. 

In  choice  of  wife  preferr  the  modest  chaste, 
Lillies  are  faire  in  shew,  but  foule  in  smell; 

The  sweetest  face  by  age  is  soone  disgracst, 

Then  choose  thy  wife  by  witt,  and  lyvinge  well. 

Who  bringes  thee  wealth  and  many  faultes  withall, 

Presents  thee  hony  mixt  with  bitter  gall. 


MY    CHOICE   IS    MADE. 


Bewtt  in  bodie,  vertu's  in  hir  minde, 

And  well  descended  of  gentility; 
Constant  of  faith,  and  alwaies  to  me  kinde, 

Few  are  hir  yeares,  greate  her  ability. 
Such  is  my  love,  on  hir  is  my  delighte, 
M\  caudle  waste,  now  I  must  bid  good  night. 

Giles  Codkinton. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  11 


IV. 


A    GENTLEWOMAN    THAT   MARRIED     A    YONG    GENT.,    WHO    AFTER 

FORSOOKE   HIR,    WHEREUPPON    SHE    TOOKE    HIR   NEEDLE, 

IN    WHICH    SHE    WAS    EXCELENT,  AND    WORKED 

UPON    HIR    SAMPLER    THUS: 

Come,  give  me  needle,  stitch  cloth,  silke,  and  cliaire, 

That  I  may  sitt  and  sigh,  and  sow  and  singe, 
For  perfect  coollour  to  discribe  the  aire, 

A  subtile  persinge  changinge  constant  thinge. 
No  false  stitch  will  I  make,  my  hart  is  true, 

Plaine  stitche  my  sampler  is  for  to  complaine, 
How  men  have  tongues  of  hony,  harts  of  rue. 

True  tongues  and  harts  are  one,  men  makes  them 
twaine. 
Give  me  black  silk,  that  sable  suites  my  hart, 

And  yet  som  white,  though  white  words  do  deceive, 
No  green  at  all,  for  youth  and  I  must  part, 

Purple  and  blew,  fast  love  and  faith  to  weave. 
Mayden,  no  more  sleepeless  He  goe  to  bedd, 
Take  all  away,  the  work  works  in  my  hedd. 


12  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

V. 


S.  K.  IN  DEFKNCE  OF  LOVE. 


Suche  as  are  skilless  in  all  skill  or  art 
To  teache  the  skilfull,  shew  their  witles  braine, 

Except  such  of  wounds  have  felt  the  smart, 

Proof  doth  us  teache  none  rightly  knows  the  paine, 
He   that  was   never   knowne   who  would   against 
exclaime; 

Even  so  he  that  ne'r  lov'd  folly  great  doth  showe 

Not  skil'd  to  blame  a  thinge  he  doth  not  knowe. 

Eight  so,  he  that  hath  lov'd  as  now  I  doe, 

And  yet  still  must,  should  favour  show,  for  why, 

Deserve  he  did  the  censure  I  now  do, 
For  once  he  was  a  foole  as  well  as  I, 
Or  els  my  love  I  well  may  justifie; 

Regard  thou  that  which  age  may  disallowe, 

Do  think  that  thou  wert  yong  as  I  am  now. 


VI. 

If  all  the  earthe  were  paper  white, 
And  all  the  sea  were  incke, 

Twere  not  inough  for  me  to  write, 
As  my  poore  hart  doth  thinke. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  13 


VII. 


ON  SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH. 


Wilye  Watt,  wilie  "Wat, 

Wots  thou  not  and  know  thou  what, 

Looke  to  thy  forme  and  quat 

In  towne  and  citie. 

Freshe  houndes  are  on  thy  taile, 
That  will  pull  downe  thy  saile, 
And  make  thy  hart  and  quaile, 

Lord  for  the  pittie. 

Lordshipp  is  flagg'd  and  fled, 
Captainshipp  newly  sped, 
Dried  is  the  hogshead's  hed, 

Wilie  Wat  wilie. 

Make  the  hest  of  thy  plea, 
Least  the  rest  goe  awaie, 
And  thou  brought  for  to  saie 

Wily  beguilie. 

For  thy^skaunce  and  pride, 
Thy  bloudy  minde  beside, 
And  thy  mouth  gaping  wide, 

Mischievous  Machiavell. 


1  |.  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Essex  for  vengeance  cries, 

His  blond  upon  the  lies, 

Mountingc  above  the  skies, 

Damnable  fiend  of  hell, 
Mischevous  Matchivell! 


VIII. 


ON  THE  SAME. 


Water  thy  plaints  with  grace  divine, 

And  trust  in  God  for  aye, 
And  to  thy  Saviour  Christ  incline, 

In  Him  make  stedfast  staye. 

Kawe  is  the  reason  that  doth  lie 
Within  thy  treacherous  head, 

To  say  the  soule  of  man  doth  die, 
When  that  the  corpse  is  dead. 

Nowe  may  you  see  the  soodaine  fall 
Of  him  that  thought  to  clime  full  hie, 

A  man  well  knowne  unto  you  all, 

AVhose  state  you  see  doth  stand  Rawlie. 

Time  did  he  take  when  time  did  serve, 

Now  is  his  time  neare  spent; 
Ya  in  for  himselfe  he  craved  still, 

And  never  would  relent. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  15 

For  he  hath  run  a  retchless  race, 
Which  now  hath  brought  him  to  disgrace; 
You  that  do  see  his  soodaine  fall, 
A  warninge  be  it  to  you  all. 


IX. 


ON  THE  SAME. 


Watt,  I  wot  well  thy  overweeninge  witt, 

Lead  by  ambitious  humours,  wrought  thy  fall, 

Like  Phaeton,  that  did  prestime  to  sitt 

In  Phoebus  chaire  to  guide  the  golden  ball, 

Which  overturn'd  did  sett  the  worlde  on  fire, 

And  burnt  himselfe  in  prime  of  his  desire. 

So  thou  that  didst  in  thought  aspire  so  hie 
To  manage  the  affaires  for  Englands  crowne, 

And  didst,  like  Icarus,  attempt  to  flie 

Beyonde  thy  limitts,  now  art  tumbling  downe. 

Thy  waxen  winges  are  melted  by  the  sunne, 

And  in  thy  falle  the  thred  of  life  is  spunn. 

From  thee  the  Sonne  doth  turne  away  his  face, 
From  thee  the  pale-fac'd  moone  doth  take  hir  flight, 

From  thee  the  starres  do  fall  away  apace, 

From  thee  thy  frends  are  fled  and  shun  thy  sight. 

All  fly  from  thee,  exceptinge  only  hope, 

Which  yet  to  breathe  sad  accents  give  thee  scope. 


16  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Thou  hast  byn  counted  passinge  wise  and  wittie, 
Ilad.-t  tin  hi  hast  grace  high  treason  to  avoyed; 

Then  give  me  leave,  dread  soveraigne  Lord,  to  pittie 
So  rare  a  witt  should  he  so  ill  imployed. 

Yea  suche  a  witt  as  I  could  praise  in  reason 

For  any  point,  exceptinge  only  treason. 

I  pitty  that  the  sonimers  nightingale, 

Innnortall  Cinthia's  sometime  deare  delight, 

That  us'd  to  singe  so  sweete  a  madrigale, 

Should  like  an  owle  go  wanderer  in  the  nighte, 

Hated  of  all,  but  pittied  of  none, 

Though  swanlike  now  he  makes  his  dyinge  mone. 

Iladst  thou  continued  loyall  to  the  kinge, 
As  to  the  quene  thou  evermore  was  true, 

My  muse  thy  praise  might  uncontrolled  singe, 
Which  now  is  forest  thy  dismall  happ  to  rue. 

And  in  theis  sable  characters  to  wrighte 

The  dounfall  of  a  sometime  worthy  knighte. 

Ah !  where  is  Cinthia  now,  whose  golden  thred 
Mighte  leade  thee  from  this  laborinth  of  errours? 

She  to  hir  soliar  celestiall  back  is  fled, 

And  nothinge  lefte  for  thee  but  shame  and  terrours. 

Thy  candle  is  put  out,  thy  glass  is  ronne, 

The  grave  must  be  thy  tombe  when  all  is  done ! 

Proude  Gaveston  and  both  the  Spencers  fell, 
Yrt  theis  wore  sometime  favorites  of  a  kynge, 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  1  7 

But  thou  against  thy  soveraigne  didst  rebell, 

Which  to  thy  conscience  needes  must  be  a  stinge; 
111  was  their  happ,  farr  worse  is  thy  estate, 
Whom  both  the  prince  doth  scorne  and  people  hate. 

Humilitie  in  statesmen  is  a  praise, 

Yet  to  imbrace  this  vertue  thou  didst  scorne, 
Supposinge  that  faire  Cinthia's  golden  daies 

Should  still  on  earth  this  iron  age  adorne. 
The  common  people  that  did  hate  thy  pride, 
In  chaunge  of  state  thy  follies  do  deride. 

Renowned  Essex,  as  he  past  the  streets, 
Woulde  vaile  his  bonnett  to  an  oyster  wife, 

And  with  a  kinde  of  humble  congie  greete 
The  vulgar  sorte  that  did  admire  his  life: 

And  now  sith  he  hath  spent  his  livinge  breath, 

They  will  not  cease  yet  to  lament  his  death. 

But  thou,  like  Midas,  surfettinge  with  golde, 
Those  gentle  salutacions  didst  reject; 

And  when  thou  wast  in  greatest  pompe  extolde, 
Not  poore  mens  love  but  feare  thou  didst  effect. 

This  makes  those  men,  whom  thou  didst  lately  scorne, 

Disdaine  thee  now,  and  laugh,  while  thou  dost  moorne. 

Perhapps,  likewise,  that  Essex  angrie  spirite 
Pursues  thy  life  and  for  revenge  doth  crie, 

And  so  the  heavens,  accordinge  to  thy  merite, 
In  his  behalfe  do  acte  this  tragedie. 

c 


18  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Essex  was  made  the  prologue  to  the  playe, 
Which  thou  didst  pcnn  in  an  unluckie  daye. 

Herein  the  kinge  should  play  a  tragique  parte, 
Graye  as  a  champion  stoutly  should  have  fought, 

Rawleigh  should  play  the  divell  by  his  arte, 

Cobham  should  play  the  foole  as  he  was  taught; 

Lame  Brooke  should  holde  the  booke  and  sitt  him 

To  prompt  if  any  mist  or  acted  ill.  [still, 

This  tragedy  was  plotted  but  not  acted, 
Herein  was  treason  cunningly  contrived; 

By  thee,  O  Rawlye,  was  the  same  compacted, 
For  which  of  worldly  joye  thou  art  deprived: 

Thy  life,  thy  wealth,  thy  liberty  and  lande, 

Only  at  mercy  of  the  kinge  doth  stande. 

If  please  the  kinge  to  pardon  thy  offence, 

No  doubt  thou  maist  a  faithfull  subject  prove, 

And  by  thy  witt  and  wisedomes  quintessence 
Recover  to  thyselfe  thy  soveraignes  love. 

But  little  hope  remaines  when  faith  is  fled, 

And  when  thy  handes  seeke  bloud  beware  thi  head. 

God  that  foresaw  thy  treason  did  reveale  it, 
And  blest  the  kinge  in  crossinge  thy  intent; 

In  vaine  could  man  by  policie  conceale  it, 
"When  heaven  against  thi  purposes  is  bent: 

And  man  that  unto  woiddlinges  seemeth  wise 

Is  but  a  foolo  to  Him  that  rules  the  skies. 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  19 


WHAT   IS   LOVE  ? 

To  late  I  finde  that  love  is  nought 
But  folly  and  an  idle  thought; 
A  restles  passion  of  the  minde, 
A  laborinth  of  errors  blinde; 
A  bitter  sweete,  a  pleasant  sowre, 
Got  in  a  yeare,  lost  in  an  howre; 
A  sugred  poyson  mixt  with  gall, 
A  thraldome  free,  a  freedom  thrall, 
Whose  longe  pursuit  brings  little  gaine, 
Uncertain  pleasure,  certaine  paine; 
A  very  sicknes  of  the  thought, 
Conceyt  of  pleasure  deerely  bought; 
Regardinge  neither  right  nor  wronge, 
For  short  delight  repentance  longe; 
A  sighinge  sorrow  mixt  with  gladnes, 
Feare  with  hope,  and  hope  with  madnes  ? 
A  chilli nge  colde,  a  wondrous  passion, 
Exceedinge  man's  imagination; 
Which  none  can  tell  in  whole  ne  part, 
But  only  he  that  feeles  the  smart. 
Errors  in  time  may  be  redrest, 
The  shortest  follies  are  the  best; 
The  difference  is  twixt  Love  and  mee, 
That  he  is  blinde,  and  I  can  see. 

c  2 


20  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 


XI. 


The  moone  doth  change;  yet  not  so  strange, 

The  tymc  is  knowne  full  well; 
But  women's  mindes  change  as  the  windes, 

The  time  can  no  man  tell. 


Xil. 


A    1>RKAME. 


While  as  the  scilent  shady  night 

did  with  hir  curteins  blak 
Orecover  Rheas  fruitfull  face, 

and  heinge  cold  and  wake, 
By  simpathy  with  mortal!  braines 

our  members  make  of  lead, 
And  stealing  all  our  sences, 

make  us  lye  a  while  as  dead. 
Then  while  I  was  in  this  estate, 

the  god  with  golden  winges, 
"Who  entringe  at  the  ports  of  borne, 

so  manie  monsters  bringes, 
And  chaunginge  into  sundry  shapes 

by  straunge  and  subtile  sleight, 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  21 

Doth  make  us  heare  without  our  eares, 

and  see  but  eies  or  lighte; 
And  by  the  hand  of  mistres  lead, 

lo!  here  she  is,  quoth  hee, 
This  strange  and  subtill  god,  I  say, 

that  late  appeard  to  mee; 
Sayinge,  whose  presence  breedes  as  many  joyes 

as  absence  breedes  the  woes, 
Lo,  here  the  harbrowe  of  thy  hart, 

lo!  here  thy  onely  chois! 
Lo,  here  she  is  whom  for  thou  treads 

the  stately  forked  hill, 
Whose  pleasant  grace  beginns  to  fade, 

So  tramped  by  thee  still! 
Lo,  here  she  is  who  makes  the  drinke 

the  silver  christall  springe, 
Of  flyinge-horse  and  ridinge  foule, 

as  auncient  poets  singe. 
Lo,  here  the  subject  and  the  winges 

of  thy  high  flyinge  verse, 
That  mounts  above  the  flamie  vautes, 

and  to  the  heaven  doth  perse. 
With  this  me  thought  she  bow'd  hir  downe, 

and  joynd  the  rubies  sine, 
That  hide  hir  ivorie  ranks  and  smell 

of  nectar  unto  mine. 
Sine  with  hir  hand  soft  and  silke  hand 

about  my  neck  she  layes 
A  tablet  and  an  amethist, 

and  scilent  slipps  hir  wayes ; 


22  POETICAL    MISCELLANIES. 

But  lo!  my  mind  so  passiond  was, 

and  hart  so  stird  withall 
With  joye  extrearae,  as  made  them  sonc 

my  sences  to  recall. 
And  looke  howe  soone  from  sluggish  sleepe 

I  perfectly  awooke, 
Even  as  the  first,  O  miracle! 

into  my  hand  I  tooke. 
Theis  tokens  hoonge  about  my  neck, 

as  I  had  dreamd  before; 
What  deity,  quoth  I,  amaz'd, 

for  this  shall  I  adore? 
Some  god  or  angell  surely  hath 

This  present  to  me  brought, 
For  if  on  any  natural  dreames 

had  ravish'd  byn  my  thought, 
Then  either  of  the  humours  fowre, 

the  chiefe  that  did  abounde, 
By  simpathie  with  brethren  fowre, 

whereof  was  form'd  this  rounde; 
And  with  the  seasons  of  the  yeare, 

would  vexed  have  my  braine. 
If  bloud  domin'd  with  bloudy  jarres, 

in  spring  time,  and  againe, 
If  choler  raign'd  with  raveninge  fires, 

in  sommers  parchinge  heate, 
If  fleagme  did  with  drowninge  flouds, 

when  Hiades  hold  their  seate, 

If  melancholy  earth  and  nighte, 

with  heavy  thinges  and  blake, 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  23 

When  frozen  Saturne  rules  with  snowe, 

the  place  would  surely  take, 
Or  els  the  thinges  I  last  had  thought, 

had  don  or  wisht  to  he, 
They  had,  although  imperfectly, 

in  dreame  appear'd  to  me. 
And  so  by  nature  had  I  dream'd 

the  thinge  I  dream'd  indeede, 
For  I  confest  that  Idee  oft 

my  ravisht  mind  doth  feede; 
But  then  howe  soone  I  had  awakt, 

and  Morphe  flowne  away, 
No  token  had  he  left  behind, 

as  now  this  wedd  it  lay. 
Then  countinge  it  some  heavenly  guift, 

and  sent  me  from  above, 
I  cast  me  narrowly  to  guess 

what  could  the  meaninge  prove; 
And  so  begun  both  up  and  downe 

to  toss,  to  viewe,  to  spie 
The  tablet  and  the  amatheist, 

their  secreates  for  to  trie. 
Thou  Lician  lord,  that  deitie 

whome  Delphos  did  adore, 
Whose  shininge  coache  do  saphires  blew, 

and  rubies  read  decore, 
The  sacred  sisters'  monarch  great, 

the  spirit  that  did  inspire 
With  oracles  the  sibills  sage, 

inflam'd  with  heavenly  fire! 


24  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

0  thou  tluit  misteries  can  reveale, 

iiiid  future  thinges  foresees, 
Assist  my  seekinge  out  of  this, 

and  open  cleare  mine  eies. 
The  amethist  in  forme  of  hart, 

doth  signifie  the  hart, 
And  constant  love  unchangeable, 

that  is  uppon  my  part; 
Ami  as  the  collors  of  this  stone 

are  purple  mixt  with  gray, 
So  flames  my  love  of  earthly  parts, 

consume  me  clay  by  clay. 
The  secreat  vertues  that  are  hidd 

into  this  pretious  stone, 
Endue  me  with  meete  qualities, 

for  servinge  suche  a  one. 
For  as  this  stone  by  secreat  force, 

can  soveraignly  remead 
Theis  dazeled  braines,  whome  Bacchus  streinth 

ore-comes  as  they  were  dead; 
And  can  preserve  us  from  the  harme 

of  the  invenom'd  stinge 
Of  poisoned  cupps,  that  to  our  tombe 

untimely  doth  us  bringe; 
So  hope  I  still  to  be  preserv'd 

by  vertue  from  above, 
From  staggeringe  like  a  dronken  man, 

or  waveringe  into  love. 
But  by  the  soveraigne  antidote  of  hir 

whome  still  I  serve, 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  25 

In  spite  of  all  the  poisoned  lookes 

of  dames,  I  shall  not  swerve; 
And  furthermore,  with  courage  bolde 

this  stone  can  furnishe  mee, 
That  with  my  conqueringe  hand  I  may 

inforce  my  foes  to  flee; 
For  sure  he  cannott  worthy  be, 

to  be  accounted  deare 
By  any  dame,  that  in  his  breast 

a  woman's  hart  doth  beare. 
And,  therefore,  for  my  part  I  vowe, 

if  as  the  rumour  be, 
Of  broiles  and  jarres  I  happen  in, 

effect  the  same  to  see; 
I  shall  not  from  the  enimies 

in  any  way  remove, 
Unkithinge  once  in  honour  of 

my  mistress  and  my  love. 
For  only  not  I  conquerd  were  be, 

And  only  will  I  yeeld 
To  Cupid's  shott,  whose  firy  dartes 

resist  might  never  shield. 
And  lastly,  as  this  stone  hath  force 

a  hunter  for  to  aide, 
In  end  to  catche  his  pray,  (the  fruite 

of  all  his  travailes  made). 
So  as  I  am  a  prentice  past 

into  that  princely  game,  [rocks, 

Whose  hounds  and  homes  through  woods  and 

make  eccho  answer  thame; 


26  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

I  trust  by  vertue  of  this  stone 

to  winn  and  hold  the  pray, 
That  prays  on  me,  and  is  of  all 

my  passion'd  thoughts  the  stay. 
But  lo!   I  longc  to  turne  me  to 

the  tablett  made  of  gold; 
And  all  within  and  out  the  same, 

at  length  for  to  beholde. 
Of  purest  gold  this  table  made, 

Which  by  the  fire  is  fin'd, 
Hir  chastnes  pure  doth  represent, 

in  body  both  and  minde; 
The  cralinge  scores  of  amelinge  blaks, 

that  on  the  golde  are  wroughte, 
The  divers  passions  represent, 

that  waiter  in  hir  thoughte. 
One  of  the  leaves  on  outer  side 

a  naked  man  doth  beare, 
"YVhome  Phoebus  rosts  without  reflex, 

and  stinginge  flyes  do  teare; 
Yet  sittinge  in  the  forrests  greene, 

as  senceless  of  his  harme, 
By  harmony  of  vyols  sweete, 

he  never  irkes  to  charme. 
The  ravisht  fowles  and  beasts  about, 

accoraptinge  so  their  joy, 
As  makes  him  quite  for  to  forgett 

his  grievous  sore  annoy. 
This  man  not  only  represents 

hir  siren  voice  divine. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  27 

(Whose  charminge  notes  make  hardest 

hartes,  and  dullest  eares  incline). 
But  as  his  ditty  saith,  she  please 

the  rest,  he  suffers  paine, 
So  she  hir  princess  serves  of  love 

without  respect  of  gaine. 
The  other  on  the  outer  side 

the  sonne  hath  shininge  bright, 
Into  the  middes  with  starres  about, 

but  dazeled  by  his  light; 
And  as  that  ditty  saies,  as  sunn 

amongs  the  starres  djth  shine, 
So  she  hir  sex  surpasseth  farr 

in  vertues  moste  divine. 
That  sunn,  whom  of  I  sang  before, 

whose  absence  made  me  flee 
Above  the  skies,  0  sunne,  to  seeke 

hir  shadowe  into  thee; 
But  if  into  theise  former  verse, 

I  soard  with  eagles  winges, 
Then,  mistres,  thanke  yourself  for  them 

that  by  your  vertue  singes. 
But  greatest  comfort  is  to  me 

to  view  the  inner  part, 
Whereas  a  hand  doth  hold,  methink, 

my  onely  mistress  hart; 
"While  Cupid,  with  his  bended  bow 

and  golden  arrowe,  aime 
To  shoot  his  subtill  firye  shafte, 

for  pearcinge  of  the  same. 


*2f<  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

But  that  hir  hand  cloth  hold  hir  hart, 

J  take  it  for  to  hce, 
Thai  willingly  she  letts  hir  hart 

he  shott  into  for  mee. 

The  other  on  the  inner  .side 

All  emptie  doth  remain, 
Which,  if  my  guess  deceive  me  not, 

is  ordaind  to  contain 
The  art  of  some  Apellcs  fine, 

the  portrait  of  hir  face, 
To  give  unto  the  workmanshipp 

of  all  the  rest  a  grace. 
For  as  the  rest  doth  represent 

hir  qualities  moste  rare, 
So  should  hirself,  though  vively  no, 

Yet  best  it  can  be  thare. 
And  sure  the  gods  above  they  have 

Decreed  (as  seemes  to  me) 
That  as  the  tablett  and  the  stone 

both  knitt  together  be 
Even  by  a  stringe,  the  tablett  like 

to  hir,  to  me  the  stone, 
So  shall  our  harts,  while  Atrope  cutt 

the  thredd,  be  knitt  in  one. 
Thus  have  I  read  my  dreame,  ye  see, 

with  wise  Apollo's  aide, 
And  if  this  be  the  very  truth 

that  I  herein  have  saide, 
Then  am  I  glad  of  suche  a  guess; 

but  if  I  be  deceaved, 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  29 

And  in  the  openinge  up  a  clreame 

have  either  dream'd  or  reaved, 
Yet  welcome  be  a  good  deceit, 

for  as  into  rny  sleepe 
My  dreame  rejoyc'd  me,  so  my  guess 

in  gladnes  doth  me  keepe. 
Now  may  ye  see,  O  Titan  mine, 

no  distaunce  farr  of  place, 
Nor  other  thoughts  can  out  of  me 

the  though te  of  you  deface; 
In  absence  are  ye  present  still, 

and  ever  so  in  sighte; 
No  wonder  is  what  monarch  may 

Resist  a  woman's  mighte! 


XIII. 


The  happie  life  is  that  which  all  desire, 
But  yet  the  same  is  unto  all  unknowne; 

Some  thinke  it  is  in  them  that  may  aspire 

To  that  they  wishe,  which  is  not  of  their  owne. 

But  I  suppose  the  happie  life  to  rest 

In  scorninge  all  which  is  esteemed  best. 

For  worldly  pompe,  commands,  and  kingdoms  large, 
And  treasures  all  that  earth  and  seas  can  yeld, 


30  POETICAL  MISCELLANIES. 

The  more  receiv'd  the  more  accompt  in  charge, 

Hard  to  obtaine,  moste  harde  from  loss  to  shield 
By  theft,  debate,  warr,  treason,  and  their  trainc; 
Eche  seekes  the  same  with  greedines  to  gaine. 

For  bewty,  strength,  and  praise  of  finest  witt, 
Bruite  beasts  excell  therein  in  ev'ry  kinde; 

And  from  the  same  we  are  provided  fitt, 
Of  chiefe  effects  which  we  by  nature  finde. 

Faire  bewty,  strength,  the  finest  witt,  and  all 

Do  often  prove  the  owner's  greater  fall. 

That  bewty,  strength,  and  witt,  if  wisedome  guide, 
Are  things  of  pride,  and  do  excell,  indeede, 

All  other  thinges,  by  sight  of  eye  descride, 
But  secreat  lyes  that  happy  life  doth  breede; 

And  harbour'd  is  in  worthines  of  minde, 

Wherein  one  may  a  stately  kingdome  finde. 

The  dyademe  is  liberty  of  minde, 

The  scepter  power  to  yeld  to  eche  his  due; 

The  sword  is  force  by  vertue  power  devin'd, 
To  cutt  of  vice  and  vertue  to  ensue. 

The  counsell  grave,  that  do  support  the  state, 

Is  feare  of  God,  which  sinn  and  vice  doth  hate. 

The  subjects  are  th'  affections  of  the  minde, 
Which  will  rebell,  if  they  be  not  restrain'd; 

Which  who  so  rules  a  government  shall  finde, 
Of  state  command,  and  not  with  ease  attain'd. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  31 

The  meane  to  keepe  theis  subjects  still  in  awe, 
Is  reason  pure,  the  ground  and  life  of  lawe. 

For  mightiest  kinges  and  monarchs  of  the  eai'th, 
And  men  of  state;  that  beare  the  greatest  sway, 

Even  over  them  such  rule  affection  bearth, 
That  to  the  same,  as  subjects  they  obay. 

So  he  which  his  affections  subjects  bringes, 

Doth  rule  the  same  that  overruleth  kinges. 

The  treasure  great  that  doth  maintayne  the  state, 
Contentment  is,  with  that  which  may  sufhse; 

Aboundance  breedes  contention  and  debate, 
But  one  content  is  happy,  riche,  and  wise. 

So  he  that  liste  a  happie  life  to  finde, 

Must  seeke  the  same  in  vertues  of  the  minde. 


XIV. 

IN    PRAISE    OF    PEACE    WITH    THE    SPAINE. 

O  Lord  of  hostes,  thou  God  of  peace, 
Whose  workes  are  seene  in  ev'ry  thinge, 

Thy  blessinges  daily  do  increase, 
Upon  our  realmes  and  on  our  kinge. 

All  glorie  to  that  Majesty, 

That  makes  this  league  of  unity! 

Sound  organs,  cornets,  cherefull  voice, 

For  happy  peace  lett  all  rejoyce. 


32  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Where  hatred,  battel],  .sword,  and  warre, 

In  former  raigne  bare  swinge  and  sway; 
Our  peacefull  kinge,  to  end  that  jarr, 
By  league  bath  tane  the  same  away. 
Longe  may  this  league  continue  sure, 
And  shall  our  love  for  ay  endure. 
Sound  organs,  cornets,  &c. 

Let  songes  of  praise  and  thankes  be  had, 

For  kinge,  for  quene,  for  prince,  for  peace; 
Let  prayers  evermore  be  made, 

That  subjects'  love  may  never  cease. 
So  shall  we  live  in  quiet  rest, 
And  kinge  and  subjects  both  be  blest! 
Sound  organs,  cornetts,  &c. 


XV. 


A    SONNKTT. 


My  muse  hath  made  a  wilfull  lye  I  grant; 

I  sange  of  sorrowes  never  felt  by  me. 
I  have  als  great  occasion  for  to  vant, 

My  love  begunn  my  blissing  for  to  be. 
Howe  can  I  then  excuse  so  lowde  a  lye  ? 

O  yes  I  did  it  even  at  hir  desire, 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  33 

Who  made  me  suclie  success  in  love  to  see, 
How  soone  hir  love  had  sett  my  hart  on  fire. 

Since  for  hir  sake  I  press  for  to  aspire, 

To  preache  of  passions  that  I  never  proved ; 

What  should  ye  do  that  have  for  haples  hire, 
The  luckless  lott  of  love,  and  not  he  loved? 

Your  plaintes  I  think  should  move  the  starry  skies, 

And  dent  the  gods  with  shrill  and  carefull  cries. 

Suppose,  madam,  I  ought  not  to  refuse 

What  ye  request,  or  pleases  to  desire, 
Yet  may  I  justly  make  my  owne  excuse, 

In  that  which  last  it  pleased  you  to  require. 
Longe  since,  forsooth,  my  muse  hegun  to  tire, 

Through  daily  faschery  of  my  owne  affaires, 
Which  quencht  in  me  that  heavenly  furious  fire, 

In  place  whereof  came  sad  and  thornie  cares, 
Which  restlessly  no  time  nor  season  spares, 

To  spoile  me  of  my  former  pleasures  quite; 
Who  wont  before  to  use  some  other  wares, 

Or  exercis'd  some  other  workes  to  write; 
Now  are  Castalia's  flouds  dried  up  in  mee, 
Like  sodaine  showres  this  time  of  yeare  ye  see. 

But  what,  madam,  and  shall  I  then  denie 
Your  just  demaund,  and  disobey  the  same? 

No,  ye,  even  ye  shall  carry  to  the  skie 

My  barren  verse,  and  shall  my  muse  inflame. 

v 


;M  POETICAL    MISCELLANIES; 

Was  it  not  onely  your  inchantinge  fame, 

Who  on  hir  wings  aloft  did  carry  ine 
From  native  soyle,  to  follow  on  your  name, 

And  eagle-like  on  Thetis  hue  to  flie? 
Where  she  eommaunded  Neptune  for  to  be 

My  princely  guard  and  Triton,  to  attend 
On  artificiall  flyinge  towres  of  tree, 

Wherein  I  restinge  ran  to  journeys  end. 
Then  since  your  fame  hath  made  me  fly  before, 
Well  may  your  name  my  verses  now  decore. 

O,  cruell  Cupid,  what  a  ruthles  rage, 

What  hatefull  wrath  thou  utters  upon  me! 
No  medicine  my  sicknes  may  asswage, 

No  cataplasme  can  cure  my  wound  I  see. 
Through  dead  shott  alive  I  daily  die, 

I  frye  in  flames  of  that  invenim'd  dart, 
Which  shott  me  sicker  in  at  either  eie, 

Sin  festned  fast  in  my  tormented  hart! 
The  fever  hath  infected  every  part, 

My  bones  are  dried,  their  marrow  melts  away; 
My  sinnowes  feeble  through  my  soaking  smart, 

And  all  my  bloud,  as  in  a  pan  doth  play. 
I  onely  wish  for  ease  of  all  my  paine, 
That  she  might  weet  what  sorrow  I  sustaine. 

Come,  fruitful  thoughts,  that  fertill  ever  flowes, 
And  shew  what  sorrowes  smite  my  heavy  hart; 

The  more  I  muse,  my  griefe  the  greater  growes, 
And  painfull  panges  of  passions  play  their  part. 


POETICAL   MISCELLANIES.  o5 

My  evill  it  is  incurable  by  arte, 

And  keepes  a  contrare  course  to  natur  cleene; 
My  minde  delightes  to  pause  upon  hir  smart, 

And  feede  on  flames  though  secreat  and  unseene. 
But  as  my  breast  a  butt  full  longe  hath  byn 

Of  sightles  shots,  so,  on  the  other  side, 
O,  ye,  my  harts  allurer,  by  my  eyn, 

Respect  with  ruth  the  bale  I  daily  bide. 
Then  since  we  both  like  sorrow  do  sustaine, 
Both  press  to  turne  in  pleasure  all  our  paine. 

As  man,  a  man  am  I  composed  all 

Of  brethren  fowre,  that  did  the  world  compone, 
Yet  suche  a  chaunce  doth  unto  me  befall, 

As  I  of  mankinde  all  am  he  alone, 
Who  of  the  fowre  possesses  onely  one; 

My  flames  of  love  to  firy  heaven  be  past; 
My  aire  in  sighes  evanish'd  is,  and  gone, 

My  wakenes  into  teares  distillinge  fast. 
Now  onely  earth  remaines  with  me  at  last, 

That  am  denuded  of  the  other  three; 
Then,  cruell  dame,  since  unto  suche  a  cast 

Your  onely  love  hath  thus  compelled  me, 
Send  als  my  earth  with  earth  for  to  remaine, 
Or  els  restore  me  to  myselfe  againe. 

Although  that  crooked  crawlinge  Vulcan  lie 

An-under  ashes  cold  ^as  oft  we  see), 
As  senceless  dead,  while  by  his  heate  he  drie 

The  greene  and  fizinge  fagotts  made  of  tree; 

d2 


36  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Yet  will  that  little  sponke  and  flaminge  eie 

Blaze  bravely  forth,  and  sparklinge  all  abreede, 
With  wandlinge  up  (a  wondrous  sight  to  see), 

Kith  cleerely  shine,  and  on  the  fagotts  feede. 
So  am  I  forced  to  confess  indeede 

My  sponke  of  love,  smorde  under  coles  of  shame; 
By  bewties  force,  the  fostrer  of  that  seede, 

Now  buds  and  bursts  in  an  appearinge  flame! 
But  since  your  bewty  hath  this  wonder  wrought, 
I  hope,  madam,  it  shall  not  be  for  nought. 

0,  woman's  witt,  that  wavers  with  the  winde! 

Whom  none  so  well  may  wavy  now  as  I; 
As  weather-cock  thy  stableness  I  finde, 

And  as  the  sea  that  still  can  never  lie. 
But  since  that  time  the  truth  hath  made  me  try, 

That  in  inconstance  thou  art  constant  still; 
My  courage  sayes,  on  Cupid  cease  to  crye, 

That  art  rewarded  thus  for  thy  good  will. 
For  though,  madam,  I  faild  not  to  fulfill 

All  sorte  of  service  to  a  mistress  dew; 
Yet  absence  though  but  for  a  space  did  spill 

The  thankes  deserv'd  of  all  my  service  trew. 
"What  shall  I  say?  I  never  thought  to  see, 
That  out  of  sight  should  out  of  languor  bee. 

If  he  who  takes  the  sight  of  both  his  eies, 
May  justly  mourne  his  miserable  case, 

As  one  whome  to  all  worldly  pleasure  dies, 
When  dreery  darknes  comes  in  Phoebus  place; 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  37 

Howe  muche  the  more  may  I  lament,  alace! 

The  absence  of  my  onely  lampe  of  lighte, 
Since  lizard-like,  I  feede  upon  hir  face, 

And  suck  my  satisfaction  from  hir  sighte. 
Now  more  may  I,  then  marigold,  by  night, 

Beare  blossoms,  when  no  sight  of  sonne  I  have; 
For  ye,  Madam,  have  by  your  bewties  might, 

Bereft  and  brake  my  hart,  your  humble  slave! 
How  many  a  man,  a  flower,  a  corps  in  smart, 
See  blossome  breath,  but  eies,  but  sonne,  but  hart. 

Finis,  Sir  Thomas  Ares/tine  of  Gogar,  Knighte. 


XVI. 


England,  men  say  of  late,  is  bankrupte  growne, 

Th'  effects  do  manifest  the  cause  unknowne; 

Riche  treasures  it  hath,  and  wary  keepers, 

Grave  judges,  counsellors,  in  gaine  no  sleepers; 

Collectors,  auditors,  receyvours  it  hath  many, 

Searchers,  customers,  all  for  the  penny; 

As  for  the  churchmen,  they  both  pray  and  paye, 

Solvat  ecclesia,  so  the  writers  saye. 

Mighte  somme  new  officer  mende  old  disorder? 

Yes,  our  good  steward  may  sett  all  in  order. 

45  3  SO 


38  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

XVII. 

ON   THE    EXECUTION    OF    MAItY    STUART. 


When  doomc  of  death  by  judgments  force  appointed, 

Strayninge  the  lawe  beyonde  all  reache  of  reason, 
Hath  unto  death  condemnd  a  queene  annointed, 

And  founde,   (O,  straunge),  without   alleageanee, 
treason. 
The  axe  that  should  have  done  the  execution, 

Shund  to  cutt  of  a  head  that  had  byn  cround; 
The  hangman  lost  his  wonted  resolution 

To  quitt  a  queene  of  nobless  so  renown'd. 
There  was  remorce  in  hangman  and  in  Steele, 
When  peeres  and  judges  no  remorce  could  feele! 
Graunt,  Lord,  that  in  this  noble  ile  a  queene 
Without  a  head  may  never  more  be  seene. 


XVIII 

TO    ALL    MALCONTENTS   GIVE    THIS   IN    THE    DEYIL's-STABLE. 

Ye  babes  of  Barum, 

AYeepe  ye  no  more; 
Your  mother  the  churche 

Hath  milke  in  store. 
If  children  well  nurst 

Will  not  be  still, 
Birche  and  greene  willow  e 

Must  master  their  will! 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  39 

XIX. 

Faine  with  a  looke  that  lock  my  hart  in  niirthe, 
Merry  in  thought  when  mirth  is  shutt  in  hart; 

Shutt  up  sweete  thought  in  such  a  lively  birth, 

As  may  bringe  forth  such  joyes  as  nev'r  may  part. 

But  when  I  think  that  love  is  rul'd  by  madnes, 

Madnes  doth  make  me  shake  of  former  gladnes. 

Glad  with  a  sigh,  that  turneth  into  teares, 

Torne  with  sharp  drops  that  my  flesh  and  bones 
teareth; 

Bowed  to  the  ground,  bound  with  a  thousand  feares, 
Clamours  and  cryes  my  wofull  eares  still  heareth. 

Hart  that  still  panteth,  looke  for  no  more  easinge, 

Breath  that  drawes  shortnes,  let  death  appear  pleasinge. 

Love,  alas!  farewell,  thy  darts  be  not  seasoned,    [not; 

Bendinge  thei  pearse  not,  so  weake  that  thei  hurt 
Cruelty  sinck  not,  nor  no  reason  is  reasoned, 

Hitt  with  the  strongest,  yet  the  hart  start  not. 
Use  no  more  weapons,  except  thei  do  sinitt  men, 
Use  no  more  dartinge,  if  darts  do  not  kill  men. 

Sorrow,  make  harbour  in  my  balefull  harte ; 

Griefe,  goe,  and  be  sad  sorrow's  neighbour  ever; 
Anguish,  come  scourge  me  with  thine  endless  smart; 

Torture,  lett  paine  and  torments  part  me  never. 
Cru'l  unkind,  whose  disdayne  hath  made  me  cursed, 
Shame  to  thy  life,  sith  shame  thyselfe  hath  nursed. 


10  POETICAL   MISCELLANIES. 

Pleasure,  depart  where  sorrow  now  remaineth; 

Joy,  fly  away,  and  come  not  where  grief'e  restetli; 
Solace  must  die,  since  anguish  daily  paineth; 

Rest,  leave  thy  rest,  sith  torture  still  inolesteth. 
My  lovinge  hart,  that  never  lov'd  but  one, 
Receives  his  death  by  none  but  hir  alone. 

Pacience,  for  paines  with  paine  must  be  contented, 
And  quietnes  shall  alwaies  now  be  weepinge; 

Mones  will  be  still,  though  mourninges  be  repented, 
Griefe,  paine  and  smart  can  never  more  be  sleeping. 

Pleasure  and  joye  are  dead  and  almoste  rotten, 

Solace  and  rest  begonn  and  all  forgotton. 


XX. 


Hearinge  songs  of  sorrowes  monings, 
Where  deepe  sadnes  wrought  with  gronings, 
Patience  all  alone  was  sleepinge, 
And  pitty  sigh'd  with  bitter  weepinge. 
Love  and  vertues  eies  were  bleedinge, 
Hope  a  heavy  happ  was  reedinge, 
And  amongst  them  all  discovered, 
That  which  cannot  be  recovered. 
Nature  wailed,  oh !  death  have  moved, 
Death  hath  slayne  hir  best  beloved. 
Virgins  mourne  with  endless  measure, 
llavinge  lost  their  chiefest  treasure. 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  41 

Come,  sweet  muses,  leave  your  singinge, 
Let  your  hands  your  hands  be  wringinge; 
Teare  your  haires  of  golden  wyers, 
Sith  you  lost  your  whole  desires. 
Leave  your  dauncinge,  with  your  playinge, 
Hope  and  joye  is  now  decayinge. 
Nymphes,  leave  of  your  wonted  places, 
Pleasures  will  be  your  disgraces; 
Sporte  no  more  with  rounds  returninge, 
Lett  your  bowers  be  sett  on  burninge. 
"With  your  teares  then  quench  the  fires, 
Love  and  pittye  this  requires. 
Then  make  cries  crie  with  heavines, 
And  lett  plaints  be  on  readines. 
Dole  and  dolour  with  your  anguishe, 
Shew  the  cause  of  my  sad  languishe, 
And  lett  griefe  with  endless  smartinge 
Tribute  pay  for  his  departinge. 


XXI. 


Nowe  at  last  leave  of  lamentinge, 
Over  longe  thy  care  hath  lasted, 

Overmuche  thy  hart  tormentinge, 
Over  soone  thy  joyes  are  wasted. 


\1  POETICAL    MISCELLANIES. 

Cease  thy  haplea  lielplcss  cryinge, 
Breathe  no  more  thy  sighes  in  vaine! 

All  in  vaine  thy  sclfe  relyinge, 
To  blinde  fortunes  welcome  gaine. 

Now  at  length  thou  maist  discerne, 
That  at  first  thou  couldst  not  see, 

That  at  first  thou  wouldst  not  lerne, 
That  at  last  thy  death  will  be! 

But  I  wil  be  well  contented, 

Death  shall  never  be  lamented. 


XXII. 


THE    FOLLY    OF    LOVK. 


The  time  when  firste  I  fell  in  love, 
Which  now  I  muste  lament; 

The  yeare  wherein  I  loste  suche  time, 
To  compas  my  content. 

The  day  wherein  I  sawe  too  late 

The  follie  of  a  lover; 
The  houre  wherein  I  had  suche  loss 

As  1  cannot  recover. 


POETICAL    MISCELLANIES.  43 

And  laste,  the  minute  of  mishap, 

Which  makes  mee  thus  to  plaine 
The  doleful  fruites  of  lovers  suites, 

As  labor  loste  in  vaine, 

Doth  make  mee  solemnly  proteste, 

As  I  with  paine  doe  prove, 
There  is  no  time,  yeere,  day,  or  houre, 

Or  minute  good  to  love. 


NOTES. 


P.  1,1.  1. — In  the  same  volume  is  a  poem  of  several  pages, 
entitled,  A  proper  new  ballad  of  the  Countess  who  would  be 
a  notorious  woman  out  of  Italy,  and  of  a  pandress  or  pro- 
moter of  love  amonge  the  Augustine  nunnes  ;  translated  out  of 
Cornish  or  Devonshire  into  true  Suffolk,  and  is  to  be  sunge 
to  the  tune  of  Lighte  of  Love,  or  Uptailes  all,  as  you  can 
devise.  At  the  end  is  written,  By  me  Shake  Singleton,  and  are 
to  be  sold  at  the  signe  of  the  shippe  called  the  Quittance. 
The  greater  part  of  this  hallad  is  exceedingly  unintelligible, 
but  it  seems  to  refer  chiefly  to  some  local  scandal.  I  give  a 
few  of  the  first  lines,  which  contain  names  that  may  lead  to 
the  discovery  of  the  particular  satire. 

"  Gramercies  Watt,  Mets,  M  esters  and  the  rest, 
This  ill  bred  dames  will  ha  a  game  at  chest, 
And  swear  to  me  thi  knights  be  not  turned  knaves, 
Thy  rookes  turne  flesh-crowes  or  devouring  slaves. 
Birdes  of  the  night  that  haunt  where  carion  lies, 
And  come  to  it  like  magotts  or  like  flies. 
Was  't  not  inough  your  sister  was  sent  downe 
And  bad  confest,  but  she  must  come  to  towne 
Like  to  a  countess,  though  none  tooke  hir  so, 
But  stopt  their  noses  and  still  cried,  "  fo  !" 
Because  hir  carcase  was  not  yet  made  clere 
Of  Southwells  bocher  basterd  buried  at  Poplere  ? 
Fy,  William,  fy  !  Matt's  ballad  is  no  Bible, 
Nor  doth  thy  pockett  yeld  the  truthe, 

though  ne'er  without  a  lible  ; 
Davy  dare  do  and  Doctor  Wrights, 

what  thou  darst  not  gainsaye, 


n;  notes. 

For  tliny  dar  come  upon  the  stage 

where  (linn  ihirst  not  to  play. 
Ami  yet  yon  act  it  prately, 

hut  chiefly  in  the  darko, 

The  curtainea  spread  and  candles  out, 
and  no  dogge  lefte  to  barke. 

It  will  not  surve  your  turue  to  Bay, 

twas  done  in  pupleage, 
For  even  your  Sonne,  if  he  had  liv'd, 

had  nowe  byn  past  a  page. 
Hut  tell  me,  faith,  when  wilt  thou  sue 

the  livery  of  this  Sonne, 
When  this  new  gotten  babe  doth  beare 

the  hore  haires  on  his  chiune." 

P.  1,  1.  1. — O,  thou  prodigious  monster.]  This  piece 
evidently  refers  to  some  favourite  of  Elizabeth's,  who  had 
shown  little  gratitude  or  respect  for  the  memory  of  his 
sovereign. 

P.  2,  1.  <).--  VUd.\  The  common  Elizabethan  form  of  the 
word  vile. 

"  Tilings  base  and  vild,  holding  no  quantity, 
Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dignity." 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  i.  3. 

P.  13,  1.  1. — Sir  Waller  Raleigh.]  These  curious  sati- 
rical pieces  on  Raleigh  strongly  exhibit  the  popular  feeling 
of  the  time  against  him.  Prince  Henry  is  said  to  have  been 
one  of  the  few  who  were  inclined  to  favour  him  after  his  fall. 

P.  1(3, 1.  10. —  Wanderer  in  the  nighte.]  The  same  phrase 
occurs  in  Shakespeare's  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream." 

P.  16, 1.  19.— Cinthia.]     That  is,  Queen  Elizabeth. 

P.  10,  1.  1.— What  is  Love?]      Mr.  Collier  informs  me  he 


NOTES.  47 

has  met  with  this  in  some  printed  collection.     Another  poem 
of  the  same  kind  begins  thus  : — 

"  Now  what  is  Love?  I  praie  thee,  tell. 
It  is  that  fountaine  and  that  well 
Where  pleasure  and  repentance  dwell. 
It  is  perhaps  that  sauncing  hell, 
That  tols  all  into  heaveu  or  hell : 
And  this  is  Love,  as  I  heare  tell." 

The  Phcsnix  Nest,  1593. 

P.  23, 1.  14.—  Wedd.']     That  is,  a  pledge,  a  pawn. 

P.  23, 1.  26.— Decore.]     That  is,  to  beautify.     See  p.  34. 

P.  26,  1.  10.— Fin'd.]     That  is,  refined. 

P.  42, 1.  11. — The  time,  <$•<■.]  This  is  added  from  another 
collection  of  the  same  date.  It  is  found  also  with  variations 
in  the  rare  collection  entitled  the  Phanix  Nest,  4to.  Lon- 
don, 1593. 


RICHARDS,  PRINTER,    ICO, .VI.    MARTIN  s    l./NE. 


THE 

CROWN  GARLAND  OF  GOLDEN  ROSES. 


THE 


CROWN    GARLAND 


GOLDEN    ROSES. 


PART   II. 

FROM    THE    EDITION    OF    16^9. 


LONDON. 
PRINTED    FOR    THE    PERCY    SOCIETY, 

BY  T.  RICHARDS,  100,  ST.  MARTIN'S  LANE. 
M.DCCC.XLV. 


COUNCIL 


€\)t  $mp  £>owtg< 


President. 
The  Rt.  Hon.  LORD  BRAYBROOKE,  F.S.A. 

THOMAS  AMYOT,  Esq.  F.R.S.  Tubas.  S.A. 
WILLIAM  HENRY  BLACK,  Esq 
WILLIAM  CHArPELL,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
J.  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
C.  PURTON  COOPER,  Esq.  Q.C.,  F.R.S.,  F.SA. 
PETER  CUNNINGHAM,  Esq. 
JAMES  HENRY  DIXON,  Esq. 
WILLIAM  JERDAN,  Esq.  F.SA.,  M.R.S.L. 
CAPTAIN  JOHNS,  R.M. 
T.  J.  PETTIGREW,  Esq.  F.R.S.,  F.S.A. 
LEWIS  POCOCK,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
SIR  CUTHBERT  SHARP. 
WILLIAM  SANDYS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
WILLIAM  J.  THOMS,  Esq.  F.S.A. 
THOMAS  WRIGHT,  Esq.   MA,  F.S  A.,  Secretary 
and  Treasurer. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Early  editions  of  popular  Garlands  are  so  rarely 
to  be  found,  that  it  has  been  thought  desirable  to 
reprint,  by  way  of  appendix  to  the  "  Crown 
Garland"  of  1612,  the  additional  ballads  contained 
in  the  almost  equally  rare  edition  of  1659. 

Although  many  of  the  ballads  are  to  be  found 
in  comparatively  modern  collections,  the  present 
copies  seemed  deserving  of  republication,  as  in 
most  cases  they  afford  the  earliest  authority  for 
the  text. 

An  edition  of  the  "  Crown  Garland,"  printed  in 
1692,  is  in  the  British  Museum,  and  another, 
the  date  of  which  is  cut  off,  is  preserved  in  the 
Pepysian  Library. 

The  edition  of  1692  corresponds  in  its  contents 
with  that  of  1659,  now  reprinted,  and  for  the  loan 
of  which  the  Percy  Society  are  indebted  to  the 
liberality  of  Mr.  J.  Payne  Collier. 


THE    CROWN-GARLAND 


GOLDEN  ROSES. 


ADDITIONAL   BALLADS 

FROM  THE  EDITION  OF  1659. 


A    SERVANT  S    SORROW    FOR    THE    LOSS    OF   HIS   LATE  ROYAL  MIS- 
TRESS, QUEEN  ANN,  WHO  DIED  AT  HAMPTON  COURT. 

The  tune  is  "  In  sad  and  ashy  Weeds." 

In  dole  and  deep  distress, 

Poor  soul,  I,  sighing,  make  my  moan, 
A  doom  of  heaviness 

Constrains  my  heavy  heart  to  groan. 

Then  hapless  I, 

That  thus  must  cry 
Against  those  Sisters  three ; 

Which,  to  my  pain, 

Her  life  have  ta'en, 
That  late  did  comfort  me. 


THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

In  sable  weeds  I  mourn 

My  princess'  absence  to  condole, 
Who  never  can  return 

Unto  my  sad  forsaken  soul. 

Yet  will  I  sliow 

The  grounds  of  woe, 
Of  such  as  mourners  be, 

For  sorrowing  care 

Will  be  my  share, 
Wben  none  will  comfort  me. 

My  golden  sun  is  fled, 

And  clearest  day  beset  with  clouds, 
A  hollow  sheet  of  lead 

My  late  beloved  princess  shrouds  : 

For  whose  sweet  sake 

This  moan  I  make, 
As  all  the  world  may  see ; 

There  is  no  joy 

But  in  annoy, 
Then  who  can  comfort  me  ? 

With  grief  I  waste  away, 

Rememb'ring  oft  my  gracious  queen, 
We  servants  all  may  say, 

And  witness  well  what  she  hath  been. 
A  princess  kind, 
[Of  royal  mind], 
Adorn'd  with  courtesy, 
Rut  now  a  grave 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES. 

That  grace  will  have, 
And  none  will  comfort  me  ! 

Oh!  let  my  careful  eyes 

To  sadness  court  and  country  move, 
No  mourning  may  suffice 

To  tell  my  dear  affecting  love  ; 

Nor  worlds  of  woe 

Cannot  well  show 
The  griefs  that  settled  be 

Within  my  breast, 

So  much  distrest, 
So  none  can  comfort  me  ! 

Yet  mourners  there  be  store, 

Of  kings,  of  states,  of  princes  high, 
Who  sadly  do  deplore 

The  want  of  that  sweet  majesty, 

Who  spent  [her]  days 

In  virtuous  ways, 
And  doing  good  we  see  ; 

Her  liberal  hand 

Ador[n]'d  this  land, 
Which  much  doth  comfort  me. 

My  sovereign  lord,  King  James, 

Lamenting,  moans  his  turtle  dear, 
And  princely  Charles  out-streams 
Full  many  a  sad  and  sorrowful  tear ; 
So  [th]at  that  race 
Of  royal  grace,  b  2 


THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

And  blooms  of  majesty, 

Conjoin  in  one 

For  to  make  moan, 
Yet  none  will  comfort  me! 

The  Palsgrave  of  the  Rhine, 

With  Denmark's  most  true  honoured  king, 
Unto  sad  sorrow's  shrine 

Some  sacrificing  tears  will  bring. 

Elizabeth  ! 

Thy  mother's  death 
A  mournful  news  will  be, 

To  fill  those  courts 

With  sad  reports ; 
Yet  no  man  comforts  me. 

Methinks  the  Netherlands, 

And  German  princes  of  her  kin, 
Possess'd  with  sorrow  stands, 

And  sadly  thus  their  grief  begin  : 

Farewell !   adieu  ! 

Sweet  queen,  so  true  ! 
Thy  life  much  miss'd  will  be  ; 

For  rich  and  poor 

Fed  on  thy  score, 
But  now  none  comforts  me. 

Where'er  her  highness  went, 

Sweet  bounty  freely  she  bestow \1. 
The  sifts  that  God  her  sent 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES. 

Unto  the  world  she  nobly  show'd  : 

Which  many  ways 

Advanc'd  her  praise, 
So  full  of  good  was  she, 

The  which  did  move 

All  men  to  love ; 
But  now  none  comforts  me. 

You  ladies  fair  and  fine, 

Attendants  on  this  royal  queen, 
Her  grace  is  made  divine, 

On  this  dull  earth  not  to  be  seen. 

Her  soul  is  flown 

Up  to  that  throne 
Where  angels  reigning  be, 

Whilst  I  aspire 

To  vain  desire ; 
For  now  none  comforts  me. 

Oh!  blessed  be  that  mould 

Which  shall  contain  so  sweet  a  prize  ! 
Keep  safe  the  same  enroll'd, 

Untouch'd,  unseen  of  mortal  eyes, 
Till  from  this  earth, 
A  second  birth 
Of  newness  framed  be ; 

And  till  that  hour, 
Preserve  this  flower, 
Whose  goodness  comforts  me  ! 


TIIF,   CROWN-GARLAND 

A  queen  and  mother  dear, 
A  wife,  a  daughter  to  a  king, 

A  sister  royal  here, 

And  grandam  as  renown  doth  ring 
Which  rich  born  fame 
Hatli  grae'd  her  name, 

Though  all  now  buried  be  ; 
Yet  after-days 
Shall  sound  her  praise, 

Which  greatly  comforts  me. 


THE    GOOD    SHEPHERD'S    SORROW    FOR    THE    DEATH    OF    HIS 
BELOVED    SON. 

To  a  New  Tune. 


In  sad  and  ashy  weeds 

I  sigh,  I  pine,  I  grieve,  I  mourn, 
My  oats  and  yellow  reeds 
I  now  to  jet  and  ebon  turn. 

My  urged  eyes, 

Like  winter  skies, 
My  furrowed  cheeks  o'erflow  ; 

All  heaven  knows  why 

Men  mourn  as  I; 
And  who  can  blame  my  woe? 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES. 

In  sable  robes  of  night 

My  days  of  joy  apparel'd  be, 
My  sorrows  see  no  light, 

My  light  through  sorrows  nothing  see. 

For  now  my  sun 

His  date  hath  run, 
And  from  my  sphere,  doth  go 

To  endless  bed 

Of  folded  lead, 
And  who  can  blame  my  woe  ? 

My  flocks  I  now  forsake, 

That  silly  sheep  my  grief  may  know, 
And  lilies  loathe  to  take 

That  since  his  fall  presume  to  grow. 
I  envy  air, 
Because  it  dare 
Still  breathe.,  and  he  not  so, 
Hate  earth  that  doth 
Entomb  his  youth, 
And  who  can  blame  my  woe  ? 

Now  a  poor  lad,  alone, 

(Alone  how  can  such  sorrow  be?) 
Not  only  men  make  moan, 

But  more  than  men  make  moan  with  me 
The  gods  of  greens, 
And  mountain  queens, 
The  fairy-circled  row, 


THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

The  muses  nine, 
The  nymphs  divine, 
Do  all  condole  my  woe. 

You  awful  gods  of  skies ! 

If  shepherds  may  you  question  thus, 
What  d[ei]ty  to  supply, 

Took  you  this  gentle  star  from  us  ? 

Is  Hermes  fled  ? 

Is  Cupid  dead  ? 
Doth  Sol  his  seat  forego  ? 

Or  Jove  his  joy  „. 

He  stole  from  Troy  ? 
Or  who  hath  fram'd  this  woe  ? 

Did  not  mine  eyes,  O  heaven ! 

Adore  your  light  as  well  before  ? 
But  that  amidst  you  seven, 

You  fixed  have  one  planet  more ! 

You  may  well  raise, 

Now  double  days 
On  this  sad  earth  below, 

Your  powers  have  won 

Another  sun, 
And  who  can  blame  our  woe  ? 

At  your  great  hands  I  ask 

This  boon,  which  you  may  easily  grant, 
That,  till  my  utmost  mask 

Of  death,  I  still  may  moan  his  want. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES. 

Since  his  divine 
Parts  with  you  shine, 

Too  bright  for  us  below, 

And  Earth's  sad  breast 
Entombs  the  rest, 

Yet  mine  is  all  the  woe. 


CORIDON  S  COMFORT. 

The  second  part  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 
To  the  same  tune. 

Peace,  shepherd,  cease  to  moan, 

In  vain  is  all  this  grief  and  woe, 
For  him  that's  from  us  gone, 

And  can,  alack  !  return  no  more. 

But  yet,  indeed, 

The  oaten  reed, 
And  mirth  thou  late  didst  know, 

I  blame  thee  not, 

If  now  forgot, 
For  who  can  blame  thy  woe  ? 

The  breath  had  once  a  sound, 

Harmonious,  as  in  sighing  spent, 
The  temples  once  were  bound 

With  chaplets,  or  a  pleasant  scent. 
Now  Cyprus  wear, 
Thy  grief  and  care 


10  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

To  all  the  world  [to]  show, 

The  pipe  so  sweet 

Thy  lips  so  meet, 
And  who  can  blame  thy  woe? 

The  murmur  of  the  brook, 

Hath  been  delightful  [to  thine  ear], 
Much  pleasure  hast  thou  took, 
Sweet  Philomela's  note  to  hear  ; 

To  see  that  quire, 

From  bush  to  brier 
Leap  lightly  to  and  fro, 

The  summer's  queen, 

Attir'd  in  green, 
But  now  'tis  nothing  so  ! 

To  see  the  queen  of  flowers, 

"When  hoary  Hiem's  part  is  done, 
Deck  up  those  summer  bowers, 
Defend  us  from  the  parching  sun. 

To  see  the  ground 

Embroidered  round, 
And  every  tree  to  show 

His  virid  dye, 

Hath  pleas'd  thine  eye, 
But  now  'tis  nothing  so  ! 

Too  well  I  know,  thy  sheep 
At  random  graze  upon  the  plain, 

Grief  lulls  thee  now  asleep, 

And  now  thou  wak'st  to  grief  again  ! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  1J 

Asleep,  awake, 

For  his  dear  sake, 
Some  sign  of  sorrow  show, 

No  bed  of  rest 

Can  ease  thy  breast; 
And  who  can  blame  thy  woe? 

No  man  the  man  that  knew, 

For  whom  our  fainting  bodies  wear 
These  robes  of  saddest  hue, 

And  woes  more  black  imbreasted  bear, 

Can  well  forbear 

To  shed  a  tear, 
Griefs  still  will  overflow; 

Pale  sorrow's  curse 

Hath  still  such  force; 
Then  who  can  blame  my  woe? 

Thy  woes  I  cannot  blame, 

But  in  sorrows  bear  a  part, 
Yet  now  to  patience  frame, 

And  see  the  salve  cures  all  our  smart. 

This  bud  is  dead, 

Is  gone,  is  fled, 
But  in  his  place  doth  grow 

A  flower  as  fair, 

As  fresh  as  rare, 
And  he  cures  all  our  woe. 


12  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 


A    MOURNFUL   DITTY  OF   THE    DEATB    OF  THE   FAIR   ROSAMOND, 
KINO    IIKNKV   THE   SECOND'S  CONCUBINE. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Flying  Fame." 

When  as  King  Henry  rul'd  this  land, 

the  second  of  that  name  ; 
Besides  the  queen,  he  dearly  lov'd 

a  fair  and  princely  dame. 

Most  peerless  was  her  beauty  found, 

her  favour,  and  her  grace ; 
A  sweeter  creature  in  the  world 

did  never  prince  embrace. 

Her  crisped  locks,  like  threads  of  gold, 

appear'd  to  each  man's  sight; 
Her  comely  eyes,  like  orient  pearls, 

did  cast  a  heavenly  light. 

The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheeks, 

did  such  a  colour  drive; 
As  though  the  lily  and  the  rose 

for  mastership  did  strive. 

Yea,  Rosamond,  fair  Rosamond! 

her  name  was  called  so; 
To  whom  dame  Elenor,  our  queen, 

was  known  a  mortal  foe. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  13 

The  king,  therefore,  for  her  defence, 

against  the  furious  queen; 
At  AVoodstock  builded  such  a  bower, 

the  like  was  never  seen. 

Most  curiously  this  bower  was  built, 

of  stone  and  timber  strong; 
An  hundred  and  fifty  doors 

did  to  this  bower  belong. 

And  they  so  cunningly  contriv'd, 

with  turnings  round  about; 
That  none  but  by  a  clue  of  thread, 

could  enter  in  or  out. 

And  for  his  love,  and  lady's  sake, 

that  was  so  fair  and  bright; 
The  keeping  of  this  bower  he  gave 

unto  a  valiant  knight. 

But  fortune,  that  doth  often  frown, 

where  she  before  did  smile; 
The  king's  delight,  the  lady's  joy, 

full  soon  she  did  beguile. 

For  why  the  king's  ungracious  son, 

whom  he  did  high  advance; 
Against  his  father  raised  wars, 

within  the  realm  of  France. 


I  !  TIIF.  CROWN-GARLAND 

T? 1 1 1  yet,  before  our  comely  king 

the  English  land  forsook, 
Of  Rosamond,  his  lady  fair, 

his  last  farewell  he  took. 

"  O,  Rosamond !  the  only  rose 
that  pleaseth  best  mine  eye; 

The  fairest  rose  in  all  the  world, 
to  feed  my  fantasy! 

"  The  flower  of  mine  affected  heart, 
whose  sweetness  doth  excel; 

My  royal  Rose,  a  thousand  times 
I  bid  thee  now  farewell! 

"  For  I  must  leave  my  fancy's  flower, 
my  sweetest  Rose,  a  space, 

And  cross  the  seas  to  famous  France, 
proud  rebels  to  abase. 

"  But  yet,  my  Rose,  be  sure  thou  shnlt 

my  coming  shortly  see; 
And  in  my  heart,  while  hence  I  am, 

I'll  bear  my  Rose  with  me." 

"When  Rosamond,  that  lady  bright, 

did  hear  the  king  say  so. 
The  sorrow  of  her  grieved  heart, 

her  outward  parts  did  show. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  15 

And  from  her  clear  and  crystal  eyes, 

the  tears  gusht  out  apace; 
Which  like  the  silver  pearled  dew. 

Ran  down  her  comely  face. 

Her  lips,  like  to  a  coral  red, 

did  wax  both  wan  and  pale, 
And  for  the  sorrow  she  conceiv'd, 

her  vital  spirits  did  fail. 

And  falling  down  all  in  a  swound, 

before  King  Henry's  face, 
Full  oft  within  his  princely  arms, 

her  corpse  he  did  embrace. 

And  twenty  times,  with  wat'ry  eyes, 

he  kist  her  tender  cheek, 
Until  he  had  reviv'd  again, 

her  senses  mild  and  meek. 

':  Why  grieves  my  Rose,  my  sweetest  Rose?" 

the  king  did  often  say; 
"  Because,"  quoth  she,  "  to  bloody  wars 

my  lord  must  part  away." 

"  But  sith  your  grace  in  foreign  coasts, 

among  your  foes  unkind, 
Must  go  to  hazard  life  and  limb, 

why  should  I  stay  behind  ? 


16  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

"  Nay,  rather  let  me,  like  a  page, 
your  shield  and  target  bear  ; 

That  on  my  breast  the  blow  may  light, 
that  shall  annoy  you  there. 

"  0!  let  me  in  your  royal  tent, 

prepare  your  bed  at  night; 
And  with  sweet  baths  refresh  your  grace, 

at  your  return  from  fight. 

"So  I  your  presence  may  enjoy, 

no  toil  I  will  refuse; 
But  wanting  you,  my  life  is  death, 

which  doth  true  love  abuse!" 

"  Content  thyself,  my  dearest  friend, 

thy  rest  at  home  shall  be 
In  England's  sweet  and  pleasant  soil; 

for  travel  fits  not  thee. 

"  Fair  ladies  brook  no  bloody  wars, 
sweet  peace  their  pleasures  breed; 

The  nourishers  of  their  heart's  content, 
which  fancy  first  doth  feed. 

"  My  Rose  doth  rest  in  Woodstock  bower, 

with  music's  sweet  delight; 
While  I,  among  the  piercing  pikes, 

against  my  foes  do  fight. 


OF    GOLDEN    ROSES.  17 

"  My  Rose  in  robes  of  pearl  and  gold. 

with  diamonds  richly  dight; 
Shall  dance  the  galliards  of  my  love, 

whilst  I  my  foes  do  smite. 

"  And  you,  Sir  Thomas,  whom  I  trust 

to  be  my  love's  defence; 
Be  careful  of  my  gallant  Rose 

when  I  am  parted  hence." 

And  therewithal  he  fetch'd  a  sigh, 

as  though  his  heart  would  break; 
And  Rosamond,  for  very  grief, 

not  one  plain  word  could  speak. 

And  at  their  parting  well  they  might 

in  heart  be  grieved  sore: 
After  that  day  fair  Rosamond 

did  see  the  king  no  more. 

For  when  his  grace  had  pass'd  the  seas, 

and  into  France  was  gone  ; 
Queen  Elenor,  with  envious  heart, 

in  Woodstock  came  anon. 

And  forth  she  call'd  this  trusty  knight, 

which  kept  this  curious  bower; 
Who  with  his  twined  clue  of  thread, 

came  from  that  famous  flower. 

c 


]S  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  when  that  they  had  wounded  him, 
the  queen  this  thread  did  get, 

And  went  where  lady  Rosamond 
was  like  an  angel  set. 

But  when  the  queen,  with  steadfast  eyes, 

beheld  her  heavenly  face, 
She  was  amazed  in  her  mind, 

at  her  exceeding  grace. 

"  Cast  off  thy  robes  from  thee,"  she  said, 

"  that  rich  and  costly  be; 
And  drink  thee  off  this  deadly  draught, 

which  I  have  brought  for  thee." 

But  presently  upon  her  knee, 

sweet  Rosamond  did  fall; 
And  pardon  of  the  queen  she  crav'd 

for  her  offences  all. 

"  Take  pity  of  my  youthful  years," 

fair  Rosamond  did  cry; 
"  And  let  me  not  with  poison  strong 

enforced  be  to  die. 

"  I  will  renounce  this  sinful  life, 

and  in  a  cloister  bide; 
Or  else  be  banish'd,  if  you  please, 

to  range  the  world  so  wide. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  10 

"  And  for  the  fault  which  I  have  done, 

though  I  was  forc'd  thereto ; 
Preserve  my  life,  and  punish  me 

as  you  think  good  to  do." 

And  with  these  words,  her  lily  hands 

she  wrung  full  often  there; 
And  down  along  her  lovely  cheeks 

proceeded  many  a  tear. 

But  nothing  could  this  furious  queen, 

therewith  appeased  be; 
The  cup  of  deadly  poison  fill'd, 

as  she  sat  on  her  knee, 

She  gave  that  comely  dame  to  drink, 

who  took  it  in  her  hand, 
And  from  her  bended  knees  arose, 

and  on  her  feet  did  stand: 

And  casting  up  her  eyes  to  heaven, 

she  did  for  mercy  call; 
And  drinking  up  the  poison  strong, 

her  life  she  lost  withal. 

And  when  that  death  through  every  limb. 

had  done  her  greatest  spite; 
Her  chiefest  foes  did  plain  confess 

she  was  a  glorious  wight. 

c  2 


tM)  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Her  body  then  they  did  entomb, 
when  life  was  fled  away, 

At  Godstow,  near  to  Oxford  town, 
as  may  be  seen  this  day. 


a   most  rare  and  excellent  history  of  the  duchess  of 
Suffolk's  calamity. 


To  the  tune  of  "  Queen  Dido." 


"When  God  had  taken  for  our  sin, 

That  prudent  prince  K.  Edward  away, 

Then  bloody  Bonner  did  begin 
His  raging  malice  to  bewray; 

All  those  that  did  God's  wrord  profess, 

Are  persecuted  more  or  less. 

Thus  whilst  the  Lord  did  on  us  lower, 
Many  in  prison  he  did  throw, 

Tormenting  them  in  Lollard's  tower, 
Whereby  they  might  the  truth  forego; 

Then  Cranmer,  Ridley,  and  the  rest, 

Were  burn'd  in  fire,  whom  Christ  profest. 

Smithfield  wTas  then  with  faggots  fill'd, 
And  many  places  more  beside; 

At  Coventry  was  Sanders  kill'd, 

At  Worcester  eke  good  Hooper  died. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  21 

And  to  escape  this  bloody  day, 
Beyond  seas  many  went  away. 

Amongst  the  rest  that  sought  relief, 
And,  for  their  faith,  in  danger  stood, 

Lady  Elizabeth  was  the  chief, 

King  Henry's  daughter,  of  royal  blood, 

Within  the  Tower  did  prisoner  lie, 

Looking  each  day  when  she  should  die. 

The  Duchess  of  Suffolk  seeing  this, 
Whose  life  likewise  the  tyrant  sought; 

Then  in  the  hope  of  heavenly  bliss, 

Within  God's  word  her  comfort  wrought; 

For  fear  of  death  was  fain  to  fly, 

And  leave  her  house  most  secretly. 

That  for  the  love  of  Christ  alone, 
Her  lands  and  goods  she  left  behind; 

Seeking  still  for  that  precious  stone, — 
The  word  of  truth,  so  rare  to  find! 

She,  with  her  nurse,  husband,  and  child, 

In  poor  array  their  sight  beguil'd. 

Thus  through  London  they  passed  along, 

Each  one  did  take  a  several  street; 
Thus,  all  unknown,  escaping  wrong, 

At  Billingsgate  they  all  did  meet: 
Like  people  poor,  in  Gravesend  barge 
They  simply  went  with  all  their  charge. 


22  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  along  from  Gravesend  town, 

With  journeys  short,  on  foot  they  went; 

Unto  the  sea's  coast  they  came  down, 
(To  pass  the  seas  was  their  intent); 

And  God  provided  so  that  day, 

That  they  took  ship  and  sail'd  away. 

And  with  a  prosperous  gale  of  wind, 
In  Flanders  safe  they  did  arrive; 

This  was  to  their  great  ease  of  mind, 

And  from  their  hearts  much  woe  did  drive. 

And  so  with  thanks  to  God  on  high, 

They  took  their  way  to  Germany. 

Thus  they  travell'd  still  disguised; 

Upon  the  high-way  suddenly, 
By  cruel  thieves  they  were  surpris'd, 

Assailing  their  small  company; 
And  [all]  their  treasure  and  their  store 
They  took  away,  and  beat  them  sore. 

The  nurse,  in  middle  of  the  fight, 

Laid  down  the  child  upon  the  ground; 

She  ran  away  out  of  their  sight, 
And  never  after  that  was  found. 

Then  did  the  duchess  make  great  moan, 

With  her  good  husband  all  alone. 

The  thieves  had  their  horses  kill'd, 
And  all  their  money  quite  had  took; 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  23 

The  pretty  baby,  almost  spill'd, 

"Was  by  the  nurse  likewise  forsook; 
And  they  far  from  their  friends  did  stand, 
All  succourless  in  a  strange  land. 

The  skies  likewise  began  to  scowl, 
It  hail'd,  and  rain'd  in  piteous  sort, 

The  way  was  long,  and  piteous  foul; 
Then  (may  I  now  full  well  report), 

Their  grief  and  sorrow  was  not  small, 

When  this  unhappy  chance  did  fall. 

Sometime  the  duchess  bore  the  child, 

As  well  as  ever  she  could  be, 
And  when  the  lady  kind  and  mild 

Was  weary,  then  the  child  bore  he. 
And  thus  they  one  and  other  eas'd, 
And  with  their  fortunes  were  well  pleas'd. 

And  after  many  weary  steps, 

All  wet-shod,  both  in  dirt  and  mire, 

After  much  grief  their  heart  it  leaps, 
For  labour  doth  some  rest  require. 

A  town  before  them  they  did  see, 

But  lodg'd  therein  they  could  not  be. 

From  house  to  house  then  they  did  go, 
Seeing  where  they  that  night  might  lie; 

But  want  of  money  was  their  woe, 
And  still  the  babe  with  cold  did  cry. 


24  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

With  cap  and  knee  they  court'sy  mak<-, 
But  none  on  them  would  pity  take. 

Lo!  here  a  princess  of  great  blood 
Doth  pray  a  peasant  for  relief ! 

With  tears  bedewed  as  she  stood, 
Yet  few  or  none  regards  her  grief. 

Her  speech  they  could  not  understand. 

But  gave  her  money  in  her  hand. 

When  all  in  vain  their  pains  were  spent, 
And  that  they  could  not  house-room  get, 

Into  a  church-porch  then  they  went, 
To  stand  out  of  the  rain  and  wet. 

Then  said  the  duchess  to  her  dear, 

"  Oh!  that  we  had  a  fire  here." 

Then  did  her  husband  so  provide, 

That  fire  and  coals  he  got  with  speed; 

She  sat  down  by  the  fire  side 

To  dress  her  daughter,  that  had  need. 

And  while  she  dress'd  it  in  her  lap, 

Her  husband  made  the  infant  pap. 

Anon  the  sexton  thither  came, 

And  finding  them  there  by  the  fire. 

The  drunken  knave,  all  void  of  shame, 
To  drive  them  out  was  his  desire; 

And  spurning  forth  that  noble  dame, 

Her  husband's  wrath  it  did  inflame. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  ! 

And  all  in  fury  as  he  stood, 

He  wrung  the  church  keys  out  of  his  hand, 
And  struck  him  so  that  all  of  blood 

His  head  ran  down,  where  he  did  stand: 
Wherefore  the  sexton  presently 
For  help  and  aid  aloud  did  cry. 

Then  came  the  officers  in  haste, 

And  took  the  duchess  and  her  child, 

And  with  her  husband  thus  they  pass'd, 
Like  lambs  beset  with  tigers  wild; 

And  to  the  governor  were  brought, 

Who  understood  them  not  in  aught. 

Then  Master  Bartu,  brave  and  bold, 

In  Latin  made  a  gallant  speech, 
Which  all  their  miseries  did  unfold, 

And  their  high  favour  did  beseech: 
With  that  a  doctor  sitting  by, 
Did  know  the  duchess  presently. 

And  thereupon  arising  straight, 

With  words  abashed  at  his  sight, 
Unto  them  all  that  there  did  wait, 

He  thus  broke  forth  in  words  aright: 
"  Behold,  within  your  sight,"  quoth  he, 
"  A  princess  of  most  high  degree!" 

With  that  the  governor  and  the  rest 
Were  all  amaz'd  the  same  to  hear, 


26  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

Who  welcomed  this  new-come  guest 

With  reverence  great,  and  princely  cheer; 
And  afterwards  conveyed  they  were 
Unto  their  friend,  Prince  Casimir. 

A  son  she  had  in  Germany, 

Peregrine  Bartu  call'd  by  name, 

Surnam'd  the  good  Lord  Willoughby, 
Of  courage  great,  and  worthy  fame: 

Her  daughter  young,  which  with  her  went, 

Was  afterwards  Countess  of  Kent. 

For  when  Queen  Mary  was  deceas'd, 
The  duchess  home  return'd  again: 

Who  was  of  sorrow  quite  releas'd, 
By  Queen  Elizabeth's  happy  reign: 

Whose  godly  life  and  piety, 

We  all  may  praise  continually. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  27 


THE  SECOND  PART. 


THE  LAMENTABLE  FALL  OF  THE  GREAT  DUCHESS  OF  GLOUCESTER, 

THE    WIFE    OF    DUKE    HUMPHREY:    HOW    SHE    DID    PENANCE 

IN    LONDON    STREETS,    BAREFOOTED,    WITH    A    WAX 

CANDLE  IN  HER  HAND:    AND  HOW  AT  LAST  SHE 

WAS  BANISHED  THE  LAND,  WHERE,  IN  EXILE, 

IN    THE    ISLE   OF    MAN,    SHE   ENDED 

HER    DAYS    IN    WOE. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Fortune,  my  foe." 


I  once  a  duchess  was  of  great  renoun, 
My  husband  near  allied  to  England's  crown, 
The  good  Duke  Humphrey  titled  was  his  name, 
Till  fortune  frown'd  upon  his  glorious  fame. 

Henry  the  Fifth,  that  king  of  gallant  grace, 
Of  whom  my  husband  claim'd  a  brother's  place, 
And  was  protector  made  of  his  young  son, 
When  princely  Henry's  thread  of  life  was  spun. 


28  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Henry  the  Sixth,  a  child  of  nine  months  old, 
Then  rul'd  this  land,  with  all  our  barons  bold; 
And  in  brave  Paris  crowned  king  of  France, 
Fair  England  with  more  honour  to  advance. 

Then  sway'd  Duke  Humphrey  like  a  glorious  king, 
And  was  protector  over  every  thing, 
Even  as  he  would,  to  please  his  heart's  desire; 
But  envy  soon  extinguish'd  all  his  fire. 

In  height  of  all  his  pompal  majesty, 

From  Cobham  house  with  speed  he  married  me, 

Fair  Ellinor,  '  the  pride  of  ladies  all,' 

In  court  and  city  people  did  me  call. 

Then  flaunted  I  in  Greenwich's  stately  towers, 
My  winter's  mansions,  and  my  summer's  bowers; 
Which  gallant  house  now  since  those  days  hath  been 
The  palace  brave  of  many  a  king  and  queen. 

The  silver  Thames,  that  sweetly  pleas'd  mine  eye, 
Procur'd  me  golden  thoughts  of  majesty; 
The  kind  contents  and  murmur  of  the  water, 
Made  me  forget  the  woes  that  would  come  after. 

No  gallant  dame  nor  lady  in  this  land, 
But  much  desired  in  my  love  to  stand; 
My  golden  pride  encreased  day  by  day, 
As  though  such  pleasures  never  would  decay. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  29 

On  gold  and  silver  looms  my  garments  fair 
Were  woven  still,  by  women  strange  and  rare, 
Embroidered  curiously  with  Median  silk, 
More  white  than  thistle-down,  or  morning's  milk. 

My  coaches,  and  my  stately  pamper'd  steeds, 
"Well  furnish'd  in  their  gold-betrapped  weeds, 
With  gentle  gildings  in  the  summer  nights, 
Still  yielded  me  the  evening's  sweet  delights. 

A  hundred  gentlemen  in  purple  chains, 
As  many  virgin  maids  were  still  in  trains, 
The  queen  of  Egypt  with  her  pomp  and  glory, 
For  pleasure  could  not  equal  this  my  story. 

But  yet  at  last  my  golden  sun  declined, 
And  England's  court  at  these  my  joys  repined; 
For  soon  my  husband,  in  his  honoured  place 
Amongst  the  barons  reaped  some  disgrace. 

Which  grudge  being  grown  and  sprung  up  to  that  height, 
Unto  his  charge  they  laid  some  crime  of  weight; 
And  then  in  prison  cast,  good  royal  duke, 
Without  misdeed  he  suffered  vile  rebuke. 

They  took  from  him  his  great  protector's  name, 
Through  causes  which  those  peers  did  falsely  frame, 
And  after,  overcome  with  malice  deep, 
My  noble  lord  they  murdered  in  his  sleep. 


30  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

The  kind  young  king,  having  thus  his  uncle  lost, 
Was'day  by  day  with  troubles  vext  and  crost; 
For  such  ambition  in  the  land  then  bred, 
That  from  the  factious  house  of  York  took  head. 


/ 


O,  kingly  Lancaster!  my  husband's  line, 
His  death  began  his  fall  as  well  as  mine; 
For  being  dead,  his  livings  and  his  lands 
They  seized  all  into  king  Henry's  hands. 


And  after  turn'd  me,  friendless,  out  of  door, 
To  spend  my  days  like  to  a  woman  poor; 
Discharging  me  from  all  my  pompal  train, 
But  Elenor  would  a  lady  still  remain. 

The  noble  spirit  of  a  woman's  will, 
Within  my  breast  did  burn  in  fury  still, 
And  raging  so  in  my  revengeful  mind, 
Till  I  the  murderers  of  my  lord  did  find. 

But  knowing  them  to  be  of  power  and  might, 
Of  whom  no  justice  could  by  law  take  right, 
But  yet,  to  nourish  up  my  thoughts  in  evil, 
I  crav'd  the  help  of  hell,  and  of  the  devil. 

To  practise  witch-craft  then  was  my  intent, 

And  therefore  for  the  witch  of  Ely  sent, 

And  for  old  Bolingbroke,  of  Lancashire, 

Of  whom,  for  charms,  the  land  stood  much  in  fear, 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  31 

We  slept  by  day,  and  walkt  by  midnight  hours, 
(The  time  the  spells  have  force  and  greatest  powers), 
The  twilights,  and  the  dawning  of  the  morns, 
When  elves  and  fairies  take  their  gliding  forms. 

Red  streaming  blood  fell  down  my  azur'd  veins, 
To  make  characters  in  round  circled  [strains]; 
With  dead  men's  sculls,  by  brimstone  burned  quite, 
To  raise  the  dreadful  shadows  of  the  night. 

All  this,  by  black  enchanting  arts,  to  spill 
Their  hated  bloods,  that  did  Duke  Humphrey  kill: 
My  royal  lord!  untimely  ta'en  from  me ! 
Yet  no  revengement  for  him  could  I  see. 

For  by  the  hand  of  justful-dooming  heaven, 
We  were  prevented  all,  and  notice  given, 
How  we,  by  witchcraft,  sought  the  spoil  of  those 
That  secretly  had  been  Duke  Humphrey's  foes. 

Wherefore,  my  two  companions  for  this  crime 
Did  suffer  death,  ere  natui-e  spent  their  time; 
Poor  Elenor,  I,  because  of  noble  birth, 
Endur'd  a  stranger  punishment  than  death. 

It  pleased  so  the  council  of  my  king, 

Me  to  disrobe  of  every  gorgeous  thing, 

My  chains,  my  rings,  and  jewels  of  such  prize, 

Were  chang'd  to  rags  more  base  than  rugged  frieze. 


32  THE   CROWN-OARLAND 

And,  by  command,  along  each  London  street, 
To  go  in  penance,  wrapped  in  a  sheet, 
Bare-footed,  with  a  taper  in  my  hand; 
The  like  did  never  lady  in  this  land. 

My  feet,  that  lately  trod  the  steps  of  pleasure, 
Now  flinty  stones  so  sharp  were  forc'd  to  measure; 
Yet  none  alive,  where  I  did  come  or  go, 
Durst  shed  one  trickling  tear  at  this  my  woe. 

Break,  heart,  and  die!  here  ended  not  my  pain, 
I  judged  was  an  exile  to  remain, 
And  go  a  banish'd  lady  from  this  place, 
Where,  in  my  blooming  youth,  I  liv'd  in  grace. 

The  remnant  of  those  years  which  God  me  gave, 
Poor  banish'd  Elenor  spent  to  find  her  grave; 
And  left  this  land,  where  she  was  bred  and  born, 
In  foreign  soils  for  her  misdeeds  to  mourn. 

The  Isle  of  Man,  encompass'd  by  the  sea, 
To  England  named  so  unto  this  day, 
Imprison'd  me  within  the  wat'ry  round, 
Till  time  and  death  found  me  a  burying  ground. 

Full  nineteen  years  in  sorrow  thus  I  spent, 
Without  one  hour  or  minute  of  content, 
Rememb'ring  former  joys  of  modest  life, 
Whilst  I  bore  name  of  good  Duke  Humphrey's  wife. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  S3 

The  loss  of  Greenwich  towers  did  grieve  nie  sore, 
But  death  of  my  dear  love  ten  thousand  more; 
Yea,  all  the  joys,  once  in  my  bower  and  hall, 
Are  darts  of  grief  to  wound  me  now  withal. 

Farewell,  dear  fiiends!  farewell  my  courtly  trains! 
My  late  renown  is  turn'd  to  ling'ring  pains; 
My  melody  of  musick's  silver  sound, 
Are  snakes  and  adders  hissing  on  the  ground. 

The  downy  bed[s],  whereon  I  lay  full  oft, 
Are  sun-burnt  heaps  of  moss,  now  seeming  soft; 
And  waxen  tapers  lighting  me  to  bed, 
Be  stars  about  the  silver  moon  bespread. 

Instead  of  wine  I  now  drink  waters  clear, 
Which  pays  for  my  delightful  banquets  dear; 
Thus  changeth  stately  pomp  and  courtly  joys, 
"When  pleasure  endeth  with  such  deep  annoys. 

My  beauteous  cheeks,  where  Cupid  danc'd  and  play'd, 
Are  wrinkled  grown,  and  quite  with  grief  decay'd ; 
My  hair  turn'd  white,  my  yellow  eyes  stark  blind, 
And  all  my  body  altered  from  her  kind. 

Bing  out  my  knell,  you  birds  in  top  of  sky! 
Quite  tir'd  with  woes,  here  Elenor  needs  must  die! 
Beceive  me,  earth,  into  thy  gentle  womb, 
A  banish 'd  lady  craves  no  other  tomb ! 

D 


34  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Thus  died  the  famous  duchess  of  our  land, 
Controll'd  by  changing  fortune's  stern  command; 
Let  those  that  sit  in  place  of  high  degree 
Think  on  their  ends,  that  like  to  hers  may  be. 


A    COURTLY    NEW    SONG    OF    THE    PRINCELY    WOOING    OF  THE 
FAIR    MAID   OF    LONDON    BY    KING   EDWARD. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Bonnie  sweet  Robin." 


Fair  angel  of  England,  thy  beauty  so  bright 
Is  all  my  heart's  treasure,  my  joy  and  delight! 
Then  grant  me,  sweet  lady,  thy  true  love  to  be, 
That  I  may  say  '  Welcome,  good  fortune  to  me.' 

The  turtle  so  true,  and  chaste  in  her  love, 
By  gentle  persuasions  her  fancy  will  move, 
Then  be  not  entreated,  sweet  lady,  in  vain, 
For  nature  requireth  what  I  would  obtain. 

That  phenix  so  famous,  that  liveth  alone, 
Is  vowed  to  chastity,  being  but  one; 
But  be  not,  my  darling,  so  chaste  in  desire, 
Lest  thou,  like  the  phenix,  do  penance  in  fire. 

But,  alas!  gallant  lady,  I  pity  thy  state, 
In  being  resolved  to  live  without  mate; 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  35 

For  if  of  our  courting  the  pleasures  you  knew, 
You  would  have  a  liking  the  same  to  ensue. 

Long  time  I  have  sued  the  same  to  obtain, 
Yet  am  I  requited  with  scornful  disdain; 
But  if  you  will  grant  your  good  favour  to  me, 
You  shall  be  advanced  to  princely  degree. 

Promotions  and  honours  may  often  entice 
The  chastest  that  liveth,  though  never  so  nice: 
What  woman  so  worthy  but  will  be  content 
To  live  in  [a]  palace  where  princes  frequent? 

Two  brides  young  and  princely  to  church  I  have  led, 
Two  ladies  most  lovely  have  decked  my  bed, 
Yet  hath  thy  love  taken  more  root  in  mine  heart 
Than  all  their  contentment  whereof  I  had  part. 

Your  gentle  hearts  cannot  men's  tears  much  abide, 

And  women  most  angry  when  least  they  do  chide; 
Then  yield  to  me  kindly,  and  say  that  at  length 
Men  do  want  mercy,  and  poor  women  strength. 

I  grant  that  fair  ladies  may  poor  men  resist, 
But  princes  may  conquer  and  love  whom  die}-  list; 
A  king  may  command  her  to  lie  \>y  his  Bide 
AVhose  feature  deserveth  to  be  a  king's  bride. 

In  granting  your  love  you  shall  have  renown, 
Your  head  shall  be  decked  with  England's  fair  crownj 

d2 


36  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Thy  garment  so  gallant  with  gold  shall  be  wrought, 
If  true  love  for  treasure  of  thee  may  be  bought. 

Great  ladies  of  honour  shall  'tend  on  thy  train, 
Most  richly  attired  in  scarlet  of  grain; 
A  chamber  most  princely  thy  person  shall  keep, 
"Where  virgins  with  music  shall  rock  thee  asleep. 

If  any  more  pleasures  thine  heart  can  invent, 
Command  them,  sweet  lady,  thy  mind  to  content; 
For  kings'  gallant  courts,  where  princes  do  dwell, 
Afford  such  sweet  pastimes  as  ladies  love  well. 

Then  be  not  resolved  to  die  a  true  maid, 
But  print  in  thy  bosom  the  words  I  have  said, 
And  grant  a  king  favour  thy  true  love  to  be, 
That  I  may  say,  '  "Welcome,  sweet  lady,  to  me.' 


THE    FAIR    MAID    OF    LONDON  S   ANSWER    TO    KING    EDWARD  S 
WANTON    LOVE. 

To  the  same  tune. 


0  wanton  King  Edward!  'tis  labour  in  vain 
To  follow  the  pleasures  thou  canst  not  attain; 
Which  getting  thou  losest,  and  having  dost  waste  it, 
The  which  if  thou  purchase,  is  spoil['d]  if  thou  hast  it. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  o 

But  if  thou  obtaiu'st  it  thou  nothing  hast  won, 
And  I,  losing  nothing,  yet  quite  am  undone; 
But  if  of  that  jewel  a  king  do  deceive  me, 
No  king  can  restore,  though  a  kingdom  he  give  me. 

My  colour  is  changed  since  you  saw  me  last, 
My  favour  is  banisht,  my  beauty  is  past; 
The  rosy-red  blushes  that  sat  on  my  cheeks 
To  paleness  is  turn'd,  which  all  men  mislikes. 

I  pass  not  what  princes  for  love  do  protest, 
The  name  of  a  virgin  contenteth  me  best; 
I  have  not  deserved  to  sleep  by  thy  side, 
Nor  to  be  accounted  for  King  Edward's  bride. 

The  name  of  a  princess  I  never  did  crave, 
No  such  type  of  honour  thy  handmaid  will  havej 
My  breast  shall  not  harbour  so  lofty  a  thought, 
Nor  be  with  rich  favors  to  wantonness  brought. 

If  wild  wanton  Rosamond,  one  of  your  sort, 
Had  never  frequented  King  Henry's  brave  court, 
Such  heaps  of  deep  sorrow  she  never  had  seen, 
Nor  tasted  the  rage  of  a  [harsh]  jealous  queen. 

All  men  have  their  freedom  to  show  their  intent, 
They  win  not  a  woman  except  she  consent; 
Who,  then,  can  impute  to  men  any  fault, 
Who  still  go  upright,  till  women  do  halt? 


38  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Tis  counted  a  kindness  in  men  for  to  try, 
And  virtue  in  women  the  same  to  deny; 
For  woman  inconstant  can  never  be  prov'd, 
Until  by  their  betters  therein  they  be  mov'd. 

If  women  and  modesty  once  do  but  sever, 
Then  farewell  good  name  and  credit  for  ever! 
And,  royal  King  Edward,  let  me  be  exil'd 
Ere  any  man  knows  that  my  body's  defil'd. 

No,  no,  my  old  father's  reverend  tears 
Too  great  an  impression  within  my  soul  bears; 
Nor  shall  his  bright  honour  the  blot  by  me  have, 
To  bring  his  grey  hairs  with  grief  to  the  grave. 

The  heavens  forbid  that  when  I  shall  die, 
Any  such  sin  should  upon  my  soul  lie: 
If  I  have  thus  kept  me  from  doing  this  sin, 
My  heart  shall  not  yield  with  a  prince  to  begin. 

Come  rather  with  pity,  and  weep  on  my  tomb, 
Then,  for  my  birth,  curse  my  dear  mother's  womb, 
That  brought  forth  a  blossom  that  stained  the  tree, 
With  wanton  desires  to  shame  her  and  me ! 

Leave  me,  most  noble  king,  tempt  not  in  vain, 
My  milk-white  affection  with  lewdness  to  stain; 
Though  England  will  give  me  no  comfort  at  all, 
Yet  Emrland  will  grant  me  a  sad  burial. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  39 


THE    STORY  OF  ILL  MAY-DAY  IN  THE    TIME    OF    KING    HENRY  THE 
EIGHTH,    AND    WHY    IT    WAS    SO   CALLED:     AND    HOW    Ql 
KATHERINE    BEGGED    THE   LIVES   OF    TWO    THOUSAND 
LONDON    'PRENTICES. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Essex's  good  night." 


Peruse  the  stories  of  this  land, 

Ami  with  advisement  mark  the  same; 
And  you  shall  justly  understand 

How  ill  May-day  first  got  the  name. 
For  when  King  Henry  Eighth  did  reign, 

And  rul'd  our  famous  kingdom  here; 
His  royal  queen  he  had  from  Spain, 

With  whom  he  liv'd  full  many  a  year. 

Queen  Katherine  named,  as  stories  tell, 

Sometime  his  elder  brother's  wife, 
By  which  unlawful  marriage  fell 

An  endless  trouble  during  lii'e. 
But  such  kind  love  he  still  conceiv'd 

Of  his  fair  queen,  ami  <<['  her  friends, 
Which  bring  by  Spain  and  France  perceived, 

Their  journeys  fast  for  England  bends. 

And  with  good  leave  were  suffered 

Within  our  kingdom  here  t<>  stay; 
Winch  multitudes  made  victuals  dear, 

And  all  things  else,  from  day  to  day. 


40  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

For  strangers  then  did  so  increase, 
By  reason  of  King  Henry's  queen; 

And  privilege  in  many  a  place 
To  dwell,  as  was  in  London  seen. 

Poor  tradesmen  had  small  dealing  then, 

And  who  but  strangers  bore  the  bell? 
Which  was  a  grief  to  Englishmen, 

To  see  them  here  in  London  dwell. 
Wherefore,  God  wot,  upon  May  eve, 

As  prentices  on  maying  went, 
Who  made  the  magistrates  believe 

At  all  to  have  no  other  intent. 

But  such  a  May-game  it  was  known. 

As  like  in  London  never  were, 
For  by  the  same  full  many  a  one 

With  loss  of  life  did  pay  full  dear. 
For  thousands  came  with  Bilboa  blade, 

As  with  an  army  they  could  meet; 
And  such  a  bloody  slaughter  made 

Of  foreign  strangers  in  the  street, 

That  all  the  channels  ran  down  with  blood 
In  every  street  where  they  remain'd; 

Yea,  every  one  in  danger  stood, 
That  any  of  their  part  maintain'd. 

The  rich,  the  poor,  the  old,  the  young, 
Beyond  the  seas  though  born  and  bred, 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  41 

By  prentices  there  suffered  wrong, 

When  armed  thus  they  gathered  head. 

Such  multitudes  together  went, 

No  warlike  troops  could  them  withstand; 
Nor  yet  by  policy  them  prevent, 

"What  they  by  force  thus  took  in  hand: 
Till  at  the  last  King  Henry's  power 

This  multitude  encompass'd  round, 
"Where  with  the  strength  of  London's  tower, 

They  were  by  force  suppress'd  and  bound. 

And  hundreds  hang'd,  by  martial  law, 

On  sign-posts  at  their  masters'  doors, 
By  which  the  rest  were  kept  in  awe, 

And  frighted  from  such  loud  uproars. 
And  others  which  the  fact  repented,. 

(Two  thousand  prentices  at  least), 
"Were  all  unto  the  king  presented, 

As  mayors  and  magistrates  thought  best. 

With  two  and  two  together  tied, 

Through  Temple-bar  and  Strand  they  go, 
To  "Westminster,  there  to  be  tried, 

With  ropes  about  their  necks  also. 
But  such  a  cry  in  every  street 

Till  then  was  never  heard  nor  known, 
By  mothers  for  their  children  sweet, 

Unhappily  thus  overthrown. 


42  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Whose  bitter  moans  and  sad  laments 

Possess  the  court  with  trembling  fear; 
Whereat  the  queen  herself  relents, 

Though  it  concern'd  her  country  dear. 
What  if,  quoth  she,  by  Spanish  blood 

Have  London's  stately  streets  been  wet, 
Yet  will  I  seek  this  country's  good, 

And  pardon  for  these  young  men  get. 

Or  else  the  world  will  speak  of  me, 

And  say  Queen  Katherine  was  unkind; 
And  judge  me  still  the  cause  to  be, 

These  young  men  did  these  fortunes  find. 
And  so,  disrob'd  from  rich  attires, 

With  hair  hang'd  down,  she  sadly  hies, 
And  of  her  gracious  lord  requires 

A  boon,  which  hardly  he  denies. 

"  The  lives,"  (quoth  she),  "  of  all  the  blooms 

Yet  budding  green,  these  youths  I  crave  ; 
O,  let  them  not  have  timeless  tombs, 

For  nature  longer  limits  gave!" 
In  saying  so,  the  pearled  tears 

Fell  trickling  from  her  princely  eyes, 
Whereat  his  gentle  queen  he  cheers, 

And  says,  "  Stand  up^  sweet  lady,  rise! 

The  lives  of  them  I  freely  give, 

No  means  this  kindness  shall  debar, 

Thou  hast  thy  boon,  and  they  may  live 
To  serve  me  in  my  Boulogne  war." 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  43 

No  sooner  was  this  pardon  given, 

But  peals  of  joy  rung  through  the  hall, 

As  though  it  thunder'd  down  from  heaven, 
The  queen's  renown  amongst  them  all. 

For  which,  (kind  cpueen),  with  joyful  heart, 

She  gave  to  them  both  thanks  and  praise, 
And  so  from  them  did  gently  part, 

And  liv'd  beloved  all  her  days: 
And  when  King  Henry  stood  in  need 

Of  trusty  soldiers  at  command, 
These  prentices  prov'd  men  indeed, 

And  fear'd  no  foes  of  warlike  band. 

For  at  the  seige  of  Tours,  in  France, 

They  showed  themselves  brave  Englishmen: 
At  Boulogne  too  they  did  advance 

Saint  George's  lusty  standard  then. 
Let  Tourenne,  Tournay,  and  those  towns 

That  good  King  Henry  nobly  won, 
Tell  London's  prentices'  renowns, 

And  of  their  deeds  by  them  there  done. 

For  ill  May-day,  and  ill  May-games, 

Perform'd  in  young  and  tender  days, 
Can  be  no  hind'rance  to  their  fames, 

Or  strains  of  manhood,  any  ways. 
But  now  it  is  ordain'd  by  law, 

We  see  on  May-day's  eve  at  night, 
To  keep  unruly  youths  in  awe, 

By  London's  watch  in  armour  bright. 


44  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

Still  to  prevent  the  like  misdeed,  [came ; 

Which  once  through  head-strong  young  men 
And  that's  the  cause  that  I  do  read 

May-day  doth  get  so  ill  a  name. 


THE     LIFE     AND     DEATO     OF     THE     TWO     LADIES     OF     FINSUURY 

THAT  GAVE    MOOR-FIELDS   TO    THE    CITY,    FOR   THE 

MAIDENS   OF   LONDON    TO    DRY    CLOTHES   IN. 

To  the  tune  of  "  Where  is  my  true  Love  ?" 


You  gallant  London  damsels, 

Awhile  to  me  give  ear, 
And  be  you  well  contented 

With  that  you  now  shall  hear: 
The  deeds  of  two  kind  ladies 

Before  you  shall  appear, 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair ! 

At  Finsbury  there  dwelled 

A  gallant  noble  knight, 
That  for  the  love  of  Jesus  Christ 

Desired  for  to  fight; 
And  so  unto  Jerusalem 

He  went,  in  armour  bright. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  45 

And  charged  both  his  daughters 

Unmarried  to  remain, 
Till  he  from  blessed  Palestine 

Returned  back  again, 
And  then  two  loving  husbands 

For  them  he  would  attain. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

"When  he  was  gone  from  fair  England, 

A  knight  of  Rhodes  to  be, 
His  daughters  they  were  well  content, 

Though  born  of  good  degree, 
To  keep  themselves  in  mean  estate, 

Of  living  orderly. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

The  eldest  of  the  two  was  nam'd 

Fair  Mary,  as  is  said, 
Who  made  a  secret  vow  to  God 

To  live  and  die  a  maid; 
And  so  a  true  professed  nun, 

Herself  with  speed  array 'd. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

Her  garments  were  of  mourning  black, 

Befitting  her  desires, 
"Where  at  the  house  of  Bethlehem, 

The  abbess  she  requires 
An  entertainment  to  be  made, 

To  their  melodious  quires. 

O  sweet  singing  maidens  so  fair! 


46  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Where  in  the  nunnery  she  remain'd 

Beloved  many  a  year, 
Still  spending  day  and  night  in  prayers 

For  her  old  father  dear: 
Refusing  worldly  vanities, 

"With  joy  and  pleasant  cheer. 

O  heavenly  blest  maidens,  so  fair! 

And,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ, 

A  holy  cross  did  build, 
Which  some  have  seen  at  Bedlam  gate, 

Adjoining  to  Moor-field. 
These  be  the  blessed  springing  fruits, 

That  chastity  doth  yield. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

If  that  England's  great  royal  Queen 
I  should  be  made,  quoth  she, 

Not  half  so  well  contented  then, 
Good  ladies,  should  I  be. 

There  is  no  life  that 's  half  so  sweet 
As  virgin's  life,  I  see. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

Nor  will  I  taste  the  joys  of  love 

Belong  to  marriage  bed, 
Nor  to  a  king  consent  to  yield 

My  blooming  maiden-head, 
Till  from  my  father  I  do  hear, 

To  be  alive  or  dead. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  47 

So,  virgin-like,  she  spent  her  clays, 

About  this  pleasant  spring; 
And  us'd  herself,  from  time  to  time, 

Upright  in  every  thing; 
Which  caus'd  the  ladies  of  this  land 

Her  noble  praise  to  sing. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

The  younger  of  the  sisters,  nam'd 

Dame  Annis,  fair  and  clear, 
Who  framed  there  a  pleasant  well, 

By  her  esteemed  dear; 
Where  wives  and  maidens  daily  came 

To  wash,  both  far  and  near. 

0,  heaven-blest  maidens,  so  fair! 

In  it  were  all  her  earthly  joys, 

Her  comfort  and  delight, 
About  the  same  remaining  still 

With  pleasure  day  and  night; 
As  glorious  as  the  golden  sun, 

In  all  his  beams  so  bright. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

The  lovely  ladies  of  the  land 

Unto  dame  Annis  went, 
Persuading  her  this  single  life 

Was  not  the  best  content. 
The  married  sort  cloth  most  command, 

Being  still  to  pleasures  bent. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


48  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  daily,  troops  of  London  dames 

Unto  her  did  repair, 
"With  purest  lawn  and  cambric  fine, 

To  wash  both  clear  and  fair: 
And  rich  embroider'd  furnitures 

Of  child-bed  linen  rare. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

Thus  lived  these  two  sisters  here, 

As  you  have  heard  it  told; 
Till  time  had  chang'd  their  beauteous  cheeks, 

And  made  them  wrinkled,  old. 
Then  from  their  father  news  was  brought, 

How  he  was  wrapt  in  mould. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

For  the  king  of  England  soon, 

The  Duke  of  Normandy, 
Returned  from  Jerusalem 

With  fame  and  victory; 
And  brought  their  father's  heart  in  lead, 

Here  buried  for  to  be. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 

This  heart  that  spill'd  his  dearest  blood 

For  Jesus  Christ  in  heaven, 
Being  thus  unto  his  daughters  twain, 

In  kindness  brought  and  given, 
Was  mourned  for  three  hundred  days, 

From  morning  unto  even. 

O  maidens  of  London,  so  fair! 


OF   GOLDEN    R08E8.  1!) 

And  then  with  lamentations, 

Sweet  maidens,  being  weary, 
Their  aged  father's  noble  heart 

Most  solemnly  did  bury, 
And  gave  the  place  their  father's  name, 

As  says  our  English  story. 

O  maidens  of  London  so  fair! 

Old  Sir  John  Fines,  he  had  the  name, 

Being  buried  in  that  place, 
Now  since  then  called  Finsbury, 

To  his  renown  and  grace; 
"Which  times  to  come  shall  not  outwear 

Nor  yet  the  same  deface. 

O  maidens  of  London  so  fair! 

And  likewise,  when  those  maidens  died, 

They  gave  those  pleasant  fields 
Unto  our  London  citizens, 

Which  they  most  bravely  build; 
And  now  are  made  most  pleasant  walks 

That  great  contentment  yield 

To  maidens  <>('  London  so  fair. 

Where  lovingly  both  man  and  wife 

May  take  the  evening  air, 
And  London  dames  to  dry  their  clothes 

May  thither  still  repair, 
For  that  intent  most  freely  given 
By  these  two  damsels  fair, 

Unto  the  maidens  of  London  for  ever. 
E 


50  THE    CROWN-GARLAND 


AN    EXCELLENT    SONG    MADE    OF   THE    SUCCESSORS    OF    KING 
EDWARD   THE    FOURTH. 

To  the  tune  of  "  O,  man  in  desperation." 


When  as  the  king  of  England  died, 

Edward  the  Fourth  by  name, 
He  had  two  sons  of  tender  years 

For  to  succeed  the  same: 
Then  Richard,  Duke  of  Gloucester, 

Desiring  kingly  sway, 
Devised  by  treason  how  to  make 

His  nephews  both  away. 

He  with  the  duke  of  Buckingham 

Did  closely  then  contrive 
How  he  unto  the  English  crown, 

Might  happily  atchieve: 
Betwixt  them  both  they  laid  a  plot, 

And  both  together  went 
To  Stony- Stratford,  where  they  met 

Our  king  incontinent. 

This  sweet  young  king  did  entertain 

His  uncle  lovingly; 
Not  thinking  of  their  secret  drift 

And  wicked  treachery. 
But  then  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 

To  set  abroach  the  thing, 


OF    GOLDEN    ROSES.  51 

Began  a  quarrel  for  the  nonce, 
With  them  that  kept  the  king. 

And  there  they  did  arrest  Lord  Gray, 

The  brother  to  the  queen; 
Her  other  brother,  Lord  Rivers, 

In  durance  then  was  seen: 
Sir  Thomas  Vaughan  they  likewise 

Did  then  and  there  arrest; 
Thus  was  the  king  of  all  his  friends 

On  sudden  dispossest. 

The  king  doth  for  his  uncles  plead, 

And  would  their  sureties  be; 
But  both  these  dukes  would  in  no  case 

To  his  request  agree: 
In  brief,  these  noblemen  were  sent 

To  Pomfret  Castle  soon, 
Where  secretly  and  suddenly, 

They  there  to  death  were  doom. 

Then  forth  they  brought  the  king  alone 

To  London  with  great  speed, 
Using  persuasion  in  such  sort, 

Not  to  mislike  their  deed: 
But  when  to  London  he  was  come, 

For  him  they  had  prepar'd 
The  Bishop's  palace,  there  to  hold, 

But  safely  under  guard. 

e  2 


52  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

And  then  Duke  Richard  takes  on  him 

The  keeping  of  the  king; 
Naming  himself  Lord  Protector, 

His  purpose  about  to  bring: 
Devising  how  to  get  in  hold 

The  other  brother  too, 
The  which  the  cardinal  undertook 

Full  cunningly  to  do. 

The  cardinal  then,  all  in  haste, 

Unto  the  queen  did  come, 
Using  persuasions  in  such  sort, 

He  got  the  other  son: 
And  then  they  both  incontinent 

Unto  the  Tower  were  sent, 
After  which  time  they  ne'er  came  forth, 

For  death  did  them  prevent. 

Duke  Richard  having  found  the  means 

To  work  these  princes'  death, 
Did  cause  James  Tyrrel's  hired  men 

Full  soon  to  stop  their  breath: 
Miles  Forrest,  and  James  Diggens  both, 

These  wicked  careless  men, 
Were  made  the  instruments  of  blood, 

To  work  the  murder  then. 

These  princes  lying  in  their  bed, 
Being  sweetly  arm  in  arm, 

Not  thinking  of  this  vile  intent, 
Or  meaning  any  harm; 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  53 

These  villains  in  their  feathered  beds 

Did  wrap  them  up  in  haste, 
And  with  the  clothes  did  smother  them, 

Till  life  and  breath  was  past. 

But  when  they  were  so  murdered, 

Where  laid  no  man  did  know; 
But  mark!  the  judgment  of  the  Lord 

Did  sharp  revenge  soon  show. 
Betwixt  these  dukes  within  short  space, 

Such  discord  there  was  bred, 
That  Buckingham,  (to  please  the  king,) 

Was  forc'd  to  lose  his  head. 

Then  Richard  in  his  kingly  seat 

No  rest  nor  ease  could  find, 
The  murder  of  his  nephews  did 

So  sore  torment  his  mind: 
He  never  could  take  quiet  rest, 

His  life  he  still  did  fear, 
His  hand  upon  his  dagger  was, 

And  none  might  come  him  near. 

At  length  the  Earl  of  Richmond  came 

With  such  a  puissant  band, 
That  this  usurping  king  was  forc'd 

In  his  defence  to  stand: 
And  meeting  him  in  Bosworth  field, 

They  fought  with  heart  full  fain; 
But  God,  (for  shedding  princes'  blood), 

Caus'd  Richard  to  be  slain. 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Then,  being  dead,  upon  a  horse 

All  nak'd  as  he  was  horn, 
His  flesh  sore  cut  and  mangled, 

His  hair  all  rent  and  torn: 
And  then  Earl  Richmond,  worthily, 

For  this  his  deed  of  fame, 
Of  England  he  was  crowned  king, 

Henry  the  Seventh  by  name. 

From  whose  most  royal  loins  did  spring 

That  famous  king  of  might, 
Henry  the  Eighth,  whose  worthy  deeds 

Our  chronicles  recite. 
Who  dying,  left  his  land  and  crown 

To  Edward,  his  sweet  son; 
Whose  gracious  reign  all  England  ru'd 

His  time  so  soon  was  run. 

His  sister  Mary  did  succeed, 

Next  princess  in  this  land, 
But  in  her  time  blind  ignorance 

Against  God's  truth  did  stand: 
Which  caused  many  a  martyr's  blood 

Be  shed  in  ruthful  case, 
But  God  did  England's  woes  regard, 

And  turn'd  those  storms  to  grace. 

At  length  the  other  sister  came, 

Elizabeth,  late  queen; 
And  she  reliev'd  her  subjects'  hearts 

From  grief  and  sorrow  clean: 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  55 

She  spent  her  days  in  peace  and  joy, 

And  died  God's  servant  true, 
And  now  enjoys  a  place  in  heaven, 

Amongst  the  blessed  crew. 

Next  her  succeeding  mighty  James, 

Likewise  of  Henry's  race, 
His  majesty  with  royal  right, 

Deserves  this  worthy  place : 
Whose  progeny  God  long  preserve 

This  kingdom  for  to  sway, 
And  send  all  subjects  loyal  hearts 

Their  soveraign  to  obey. 


THE  PRINCELY   SONG  OF   THE  SIX   QUEENS  THAT  WERE  MARRIED 
TO   HENRY    THE    EIGHTH,    KING    OF    ENGLAND. 


The  tune  is  "  Welladay." 


When  England  fame  did  ring, 

Royally,  royally, 
Of  Henry  the  Eighth,  our  kin« 

AH  the  world  over: 
Such  deeds  of  majesty 
Won  he  most  worthily, 
England  to  glorify, 

By  the  hand  of  fair  heaven. 


56  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

His  royal  father  dead, 

Curiously,  curiously, 
Was  he  then  wrapt  in  lead, 

As  it  appeareth: 
Such  a  tomb  did  he  make 
For  his  sweet  father's  sake, 
As  the  whole  world  may  speak 

Of  his  gallant  glory. 

England's  brave  monument, 

Sumptuously,  sumptuously, 
Kings  and  queens  gave  consent, 

To  have  it  there  graced. 
Henry  the  Eighth  was  he 
Builded  in  gallantry, 
With  golden  bravery, 

In  this  rich  chapel. 

And  after  did  provide, 

Carefully,  carefully,  S'sfS 

To  choose  a  princely  bride, 

For  his  laud's  honour. 
His  brother's  widow  he 
Married  most  lawfully, 
His  loving  wife  to  be, 

Royal  Queen  Katherine. 

Which  queen  he  loved  dear 

Many  a  clay,  many  a  day, 
Full  two  and  twenty  year, 

Ere  they  were  parted. 


bis  first 

wife. 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  57 

From  this  renowned  dame 
Mary  his  daughter  came, 
Yet  did  his  bishops  frame 
To  have  her  divorced. 

When  as  Queen  Katherine  knew 

How  the  king,  how  the  king 
Prov'd  in  love  most  untrue, 

Thus  to  forsake  her; 
Good  Lord !  what  bitter  woe 
Did  this  fair  princess  show, 
Unkindly  thus  to  go 

From  her  sweet  husband. 

"  Oh!  my  kind  sovereign  dear," 

Said  the  queen,  said  the  queen, 
"  Full  two  and  twenty  year 

Have  I  been  married: 
Sure  it  will  break  my  heart 
From  thee  now  to  depart, 
I  ne'er  play'd  wanton's  part, 

Royal  King  Henry!" 

All  this  availed  nought, 

Woful  queen,  woful  queen, 
A  divorce  being  wrought, 

She  must  forsake  him: 
Never  more  in  his  bed 
Laid  she  her  princely  head: 
Was  e'er  wife  so  bestead, 

Like  to  Queen  Katherine? 


58 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 


Amongst  our  Englishmen 
Of  renown,  of  renown, 

The  Earl  of  Wiltshire  then 
Had  a  virtuous  fair  daughter. 

A  brave  and  princely  dame, 

Anna  Bullein  by  name, 

This  virgin  was  by  fame 
Made  wife  to  King  Henry! 


Anna 
Bullein 

:  : 

wile. 


From  this  same  royal  queen, 

Blessedly,  blessedly, 
As  it  was  known  and  seen, 

Came  our  sweet  princess, 
England's  Elizabeth, 
Fairest  queen  on  the  earth  ; 
Happy  made  by  her  birth, 

Was  this  brave  kingdom. 

When  Anna  Bullein's  place 
Of  a  queen,  of  a  queen, 

Had  been  for  three  years'  space, 
More  was  her  sorrow: 

In  the  king's  royal  head 

Secret  displeasure  bred, 

That  cost  the  queen  her  head 
In  London's  strong  tower. 


Then  took  to  wife  Lady  Jane, 

Lovingly,  lovingly, 
That  from  the  Seymours  came, 

Nobly  descended: 


J  alio 
Seymour, 
Ins  third 

wile. 


OF  GOLDEN   KOSES.  59 

But  her  love  bought  she  dear, 
She  was  but  queeu  one  year; 
Jn  child-bed  she  died,  we  hear, 
Of  royal  King  Edward. 

England,  then  understand, 

Famously,  famously, 
Princes  three  of  this  land 

Thus  came  from  three  queens: 
Katherine  gave  Mary  birth; 
Anna,  Elizabeth; 
Jane,  Edward  by  her  death, 

All  crowned  in  England. 

After  these  married  he 

All  in  fame,  all  in  fame,  r,Anu  °.f. 

Cleves,  his 

A  dame  of  dignity,  f™£h 

Fair  Ann  of  Cleves: 
Her  sorrow  soon  was  seen, 
Only  six  months  a  queen! 
Graces  but  growing  green, 

So  quickly  divorced. 

Yet  liv'd  she  with  grief  to  see, 

Wof ull  queen !  wofull  queen ! 
Two  more  as  well  as  she, 

Married  unto  King  Henry. 
To  enjoy  love's  delights 
On  their  sweet  wedding  nights, 
Which  were  her  proper  rights; 

Mournful  young  princess! 


GO 


THE   CROWN-GARLAND 


First  a  sweet  gallant  dame, 
Nobly  born,  nobly  born, 
Which  had  unto  her  name 
Fair  Katherine  Howard: 
But  ere  two  years  were  past, 
Disliking  grew  so  fast, 
She  lost  her  head  at  last: 
Small  time  of  glory! 


Katherine 

Howard,  his 

fifth  wife. 


After  her,  Katherine  Parr 

Made  he  queen,  made  he  queen, 

Late  wife  to  Lord  Latimer, 
Brave  English  baron! 

Tiiis  lady  of  renown 

Deserved  not  a  frown, 

Whilst  Henry  wore  his  crown 
Of  thrice  famous  England. 


Katherine 
Parr,  his 
sixth  wile. 


Six  royal  queens  you  see, 

Gallant  dames!  gallant  dames! 

At  command  married  he, 
Like  a  great  mo.iarch. 

Yet  lives  his  famous  name 

"Without  spot  or  defame, 

From  royal  kings  he  came, 
Whom  all  the  world  feared. 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  61 


T11E  LAMENTABLE  COMPLAINT  OF  QUEEN  MARY  FOR  THE 

UNKIND  DEPARTURE  OF  KING    PHILIP,  IN  WHOSE 

ABSENCE  SHE  FELL  SICK,  AND  DIED. 

The  tune  is,  "  Crimson  Velvet." 


Mary  doth  complain; 

Ladies,  be  jou  moved 
With  my  lamentations 

And  my  bitter  moans: 
Philip  King  of  Spain, 

Whom  in  heart  I  loved, 
From  his  royal  queen 

Unkindly  now  is  gone. 
Upon  my  bed  I  lie, 
Sick  and  like  to  die: 

Help  me,  ladies,  to  lament! 
For  in  heart  I  bear, 
He  loves  a  lady  dear 

Better  can  his  love  content. 
Oh  Philip !  most  unkind, 
Bear  not  such  a  mind, 

To  leave  the  daughter  of  a  king: 
Gentle  Prince  of  Spain, 
Come,  oh  come  again, 

And  sweet  content  to  thee  I'll  bring. 


62  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

For  thy  royal  salve, 

This  my  country's  danger, 
And  my  subjects'  woes 

I  daily  do  procure: 
My  burning  love  to  slake, 

Noble  princely  stranger! 
And  the  same  to  move, 

Where  it  was  settled  sure, 
Divers  in  this  land 

Against  my  foes  did  stand, 
Pawning  their  lives  therefore: 

And  for  the  same  were  slain, 
Gentle  king  of  Spain ! 

Streets  ran  down  with  purple  gore. 
Forty  thousand  men, 

All  in  armour  then, 
This  noble  kingdom  did  provide 

To  marry  England's  queen, 
Before  thou  shouldst  be  seen, 

Or  I  be  made  thy  gallant  bride. 

But  now  my  great  good  will 

I  see  is  not  regarded  ; 
And  my  favours  kind 

Are  here  forgotten  quite : 
My  good  is  paid  with  ill, 

And  with  hatred  rewarded: 
I,  unhappy  queen, 

Left  here  in  woful  plight, 


OF   GOLDEN    ROSES.  03 

On  our  English  shove 

Never  shall  I  more 
Thy  comely  personage  behold: 

Nor  upon  the  throne, 
Gloriously  be  shown 

In  thy  purple  robes  of  gold. 
Oh!  my  heart  is  slain! 

Sorrow,  care,  and  pain 
Dwell  within  my  sobbing  brest : 

Death  approacheth  near  me, 
Because  thou  wilt  not  cheer  me, 

Thou  gallant  king  of  all  the  west! 

Those  jewels,  and  those  rings, 

And  that  golden  treasure, 
First  to  win  my  love, 

Thou  broughtest  out  of  Spain ; 
Now  unto  me  bring 

No  delight,  no  pleasure, 
But  a  sorrowful  tear, 

Which  ever  will  remain: 
Thy  picture  when  I  see, 

Much  amazeth  me, 
Causeth  tears  amain  to  flow: 

The  substance  being  gone, 
Pleasures  I  have  none, 

But  lamenting  sighs  of  woe: 
The  chair  of  state  adorned, 

Seems  as  if  it  mourned, 
Binding  up  mine  eyes  with  weeping: 


(!4  THE    CROWN-GARLAND 

And  when  that  I  [am]  led 
Unto  my  marriage  hed, 

Sorrow  keeps  me  still  from  sleeping. 

Come,  you  ladies  kind! 

Bring  my  gown  of  sable, 
For  I  now  must  mourn 

The  absence  of  my  lord: 
You  see  my  love-sick  mind 

Is  no  longer  able 
To  endure  the  sting 

Of  Cupid's  pricking  sword: 
My  dying  heart  doth  rest 
In  Philip's  princely  breast, 

My  bosom  keeps  no  heart  at  all: 
But  ever  will  abide, 
In  secret  by  his  side  ; 

And  follow  him  through  bower  and  hall. 
Though  I  live  disdained, 
Yet  my  love  unfeigned 

Shall  remain  both  chaste  and  pure, 
And  evermore  shall  prove 
As  constant  as  the  dove, 

And  thus  shall  Mary  still  endure. 

Ring  out  my  dying  knell, 

Ladies  so  renowned! 
For  your  queen  must  die, 

And  all  her  pomp  forsake  ; 
England,  now  farewell! 


OF   GOLDEN   ROSES.  65 

For  the  fates  have  frowned, 
And  now  ready  stand 

My  breathing  life  to  take: 
Consume  with  speed  to  air, 
Fading  ghost  is  fair, 

"With  my  milk-wings  go  fly: 
Where,  sitting  on  the  throne, 

Let  my  love  be  shown, 
That  for  his  sake  is  forc'd  to  die. 

Be  for  ever  blessed, 

Though  I  die  distressed, 
Gallant  king  of  high  renown ! 

The  queen  now  broken-hearted, 
From  this  world  is  parted, 

In  the  heavens  to  wear  a  crown. 


THE   BATTLE  OF   AGINCOURT,  BETWEEN  THE  ENGLISHMEN 
AND  FRENCHMEN. 

The  tunc  is,  "  Flying  Fame." 


A  council  grave  our  king  did  hold 
With  many  a  lord  and  knight, 

That  they  may  truly  understand 
That  France  did  hold  bis  right. 


66  THE   CROWN-GARLAND 

Unto  the  king  of  France  therefore 

Ambassadors  were  sent 
That  he  might  fully  understand 

His  mind  and  his  intent. 

Desiring  him  in  friendly  wise 

His  lawful  right  to  yield, 
Or  else  he  vowed  by  dint  of  sword 

To  win  the  same  in  field. 

The  king  of  France,  with  all  his  lords 
Which  heard  his  message  plain, 

Unto  our  brave  ambassadors 
Did  answer  in  disdain. 

And  feign'd  our  king  was  yet  too  young, 

And  of  too  tender  age  ; 
Therefore  we  weigh  not  of  his  wars, 

Nor  fear  not  his  courage. 

His  knowledge  is,  in  feat  of  arms, 

As  yet  but  very  small ; 
His  tender  joints  more  fitter  were 

To  toss  a  tennis  ball. 

A  tun  of  tennis-balls  therefore, 

In  pride  and  great  disdain. 
He  sent  unto  our  noble  king, 

To  recompense  his  pain. 


OP   GOLDEN    ROSES.  67 

Which  answer  when  our  king  did  hear, 

He  waxed  wrath  in  heart, 
And  said  he  would  such  balls  provide 

Should  make  all  France  to  smart. 

An  army  then  our  king  did  raise, 

Which  was  both  good  and  strong, 
And  from  Southampton  is  our  king 

With  all  his  navy  gone. 

In  France  he  landed  safe  and  sound, 

With  all  his  warlike  train, 
Unto  the  town  Harfleur  next 

He  marched  up  amain. 

But  when  he  had  besieg'd  the  same, 

Against  the  fenced  walls 
To  batter  down  their  stately  towers 

He  sent  his  English  balls. 

This  done,  our  noble  English  king 

March'd  up  and  down  the  land, 
And  not  a  Frenchman  for  his  life 

Durst  once  his  force  withstand: 

Until  he  came  to  Agincourt. 

Whereas  it  was  his  chance 
To  find  the  king  in  readiness, 

With  all  his  power  in  France. 


68  THE  CROWN-GARLAND 

A  mighty  host  he  lmd  prepar'd 

Of  armed  souldiers  then, 
Which  were  no  less,  by  just  account, 

Than  forty  thousand  men. 

Which  sight  did  much  amaze  our  king, 

For  he  and  all  his  host 
Not  passing  fifteen  thousand  had 

Accounted  with  the  most. 

The  king  of  France,  which  well  did  know 

The  number  of  our  men, 
In  vaunting  pride  unto  our  prince 

Did  send  a  herald  then 

To  understand  what  he  would  give 

For  ransom  of  his  life, 
When  they  in  field  had  taken  him, 

Amidst  their  bloody  strife. 

And  then  our  king  with  cheerful  heart 

This  answer  soon  did  make, 
And  said,  "  before  this  comes  to  pass, 

Some  of  your  hearts  shall  quake! 

And  to  your  proud  presumptuous  prince 
Declare  this  thing,"  quoth  he, 

"  Mine  own  heart-blood  shall  pay  the  price, 
None  else  he  gets  of  me!" 


OF  GOLDEN   ROSES.  69 

With  that  bespoke  the  Duke  of  York, 

"  O  noble  king,"  quoth  he, 
"  The  leading  of  this  battle  brave 

Vouchsafe  to  give  to  rue!" 

"  God  a  mercy,  cousin  York,"  quoth  he, 

"  I  grant  thee  thy  request ; 
Then  march  thou  on  couragiously, 

And  I  will  lead  the  rest." 

Then  came  the  bragging  Frenchmen  down, 

With  cruel  force  and  might, 
With  whom  our  noble  king  began 

A  hard  and  cruel  fight. 

The  archers  they  discharg'd  their  shafts 

So  thick  as  hail  from  sky, 
That  many  a  Frenchman  in  the  field 

That  happy  day  did  die. 

The  horsemen  tumbled  on  the  stakes, 

And  so  their  lives  they  lost, 
And  many  a  Frenchman  there  was  ta'en 

As  prisoners  to  their  cost. 

Ten  thousand  men  that  day  were  slain 

Of  enemies  in  the  field, 
And  as  many  prisoners 

That  day  were  forc'd  to  yield. 


70  THE   CROWN-GARLAND. 

Tims  had  our  king  a  happy  <l;iy, 
And  victory  over  France, 

Ami  brought  them  quickly  under  foot 
That  late  in  pride  did  prance. 

The  Lord  preserve  our  noble  king, 
And  grant  to  him  likewise, 

The  upper  hand  and  victory 
Of  all  his  enemies! 


NOTES. 


P.  1. — Anne,  Queen  of  James  I,  died  at  Hampton  Court 
on  the  1st  of  March,  1(518-19,  according  to  our  computation, 
and  this  song  must  have  been  written  immediately  after  her 
death.  It  was  reprinted  in  the  third  volume  of  "  A  Collection 
of  Old  Ballads,"  second  edition,  1738.  There  are  many 
inaccuracies  in  that  copy,  but  it  serves,  nevertheless,  to  restore 
some  passages  in  this. 

P.  2,  last  line  but  two — "  Of  royal  mind."]  This  line  is 
omitted  in  the  Crown  Garland,  but  is  found  in  the  other  copy. 

P.  3, 1.  3.—"  Oh!  let  my  care- full  eyes."]  In  the  old  bal- 
lads, "  Oh  !  let  my  ireful  cries." 

P.  3,  1.  12. — So  none  can  comfort  me."]  In  old  ballads, 
"  That  none  can  comfort  me,"  which  is  probably  the  correct 
reading. 

P.  3, 1.  17.— In  the  Crown  Garland  it  stands  thus,  "  Who 
spent  their  days,"  and  in  the  21st  line  the  "n"  is  omitted  in 
"  adorn' 7/." 

P.  3,  last  line  but  one. — In  the  Crown  Garland  it  is  "  So 
at  that  race,"  and  in  the  old  ballads,  "  So  as  that  race." 

P.  6. — The  first  song  was  sung  to  the  tune  of  "  In  sad  and 
ashy  weeds,"  which  was  once  very  popular,  although  now  un- 
known. It  is  supposed  that  the  words  are  only  to  be  found  in 
this  collection. 


72  NOTES. 

P.  8,  1.  6. — The  original  roads,  "  What  ditty  to  supply." 

P.  10, 1.  1. — In  the  original,  "  To  all  the  world  of  show." 

P.  10,  1.6. — Hath  been  delightful  to  thineear."]  The  three 
last  words  are  added  to  complete  the  measure.  The  line  is 
defective  in  the  original. 

P.  12. — Deloney's  ballad  of  Fair  Rosamond  has  been 
reprinted  by  the  Percy  Society  in  "  Strange  Histories,  (1607). 
That  is  the  earliest  and  most  authentic  copy,  but  there  are 
some  errors  in  it  that  may  be  corrected  from  this  ;  such  as, 
"  And  falling  down  all  in  a  sound,"  for  "  swound,"  i.e.  swoon  ; 
"  My  Rose  in  robes  and  pearls  of  gold"  for  "  My  Rose  in 
robes  of  pearl  and  gold,"  &c. 

"  Flying  Fame"  was  the  tune  to  which  "  Chevy  Chace," 
and  many  other  ballads  were  sung.  See  "  National  English 
Airs,"  p.  1. 

P.  20.— The  ballad  of  the  "  Duchess  of  Suffolk's  Calam- 
ity" is  also  printed  iu  "  Strange  Histories."  There  are  many 
verbal  differences  in  this  copy.  Another  will  be  found  in  the 
Roxburgh  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  94,  and  in  the  Bagford  Col- 
lection, British  Museum. 

P.  20,  last  line. — "  At  Worcester  eke  good  Hooper  died."] 
This  should  be,  "  At  Gloucester,"  Sec,  as  in  "  Strange  His- 
tories." 

P.  26 — Instead  of  the  two  last  lines,  we  have,  in  "  Strange 
Histories," — 

"  For  whose  life  and  prosperity 
We  may  praise  God  continually," 

which  prove  the  ballad  to  have  been  written  during  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth,  although  that  edition  was  printed  four  years 
after  her  death. 

P.  27. — Another,  but  inferior  copy  of  this  ballad  will  be 
found  in  "  A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  vol.  ii.  p.  92.  The 
tune  of  "  Fortune  my  foe,"  called  the  hanging  tune,  from  the 


NOTES.  73 

number  of  "  last  dying  speeches  and  confessions"  that  were 
sung  to  it,  will  be  found  in  "  National  English  Airs,"  vol.  i. 
p.  33,  and  the  words  in  the  Bagford  Collection,  Brit.  Mus. 

P.  3 1 , 1.  6. — The  last  word, "  strains,"  is  taken  from  the  copy 
in  the  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,  instead  of  "  veins,"  as  in  the 
Crown  Garland,  which  belongs  to  the  line  above. 

P.  34. — "  Fair  Angel  of  England."]  A  copy  of  this  bal- 
lad is  in  the  Bagford  Collection,  British  Museum,  "  Printed 
for  W.  O.,  and  are  to  be  sold  by  the  booksellers  of  Pye 
Corner,  and  London  Bridge ;"  black  letter ;  another  in  the 
Roxburgh  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  58.  The  tune  "  Bonny  sweet 
Robin,"  will  be  found  in  the  "  National  English  Airs." 

P.  39.— The  story  of  "  111  May-Day."]  This  ballad  is  to 
be  found  in  "  The  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  vol.  iii.  p.  54. 
It  has  been  reprinted  by  Evans,  and  in  the  "  Songs  of  the 
London  Prentices  and  Trades."  The  tune  of  "  Essex's  good 
night"  will  be  found  in  Elizabeth  Rogers'  "  Virginal  Book," 
MS.,  in  the  British  Museum. 

P.  43,  last  line  but  four. — "  Or  strains  of  manhood,  any 
ways."]  This  should  be  "  or  stains  of  manhood,  as  in  the  copy 
in  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads." 

P.  50. —  When  as  the  King  of  England  died.]  This  ballad 
is  also  to  be  found  in  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  (vol. 
iii.  p.  131),  and  it  is  reprinted  with  many  others  from  the  same, 
in  Evans's  excellent  Collection.  There  is  a  ballad  begin- 
ning, "  When  Edward  was  in  England  king,"  in  the  Rox- 
burgh Collection. 

P.  52,  v.  2,  1.  1. — In  the  Old  Ballads  this  line  stands  thus  : 
— "  The  Cardinal  then,  all  in  haste,"  which  is  more  metrical. 

P.  52,  v.  3,  1.  5. — Evans  corrects  the  name  "James  Dig- 
gens"  to  "  John  Dighton,"  quoting  from  Hollinshed. 

P.  55. — When  England  fame  did  ring.~\  This  ballad  is 
also  to  be  found  in  Old  Ballads,  vol.  iii.  p.  72.     The  ballad  of 


74  NOTES. 

"  VVclladay,"  to  the  tunc  of  which  it  was  sung,  is  reprinted  by 
Mr.  Collyer.  Vide  "Old  Ballads"  printed  for  the  Percy  So- 
ciety. The  tune  is  preserved  in  an  ancient  Lute  Book,  (Wil- 
liam Ballet's),  in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 

1'.  65,  1.  5  and  0. — "  Fading  ghost  is  fair, 

With  my  milk  wings  go  fly." 

In  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  vol.  iii.  p.  90,  these 
lines  vary,  and  are  more  intelligible  : — 

"  Fading  ghost  prepare 
With  my  milk-wings  to  fly." 

P.  05.—"  The  Battle  of  Agincourt."]  This  ballad  is  to  lie 
found  in  the  "  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,"  and  in  Evans's 
Collection.     In  both  copies  the  last  verse  but  three  is  omitted. 


FINIS. 


LONDON: 
RICHARDS,   PRINTER,   ST.    MARTIN'S    LANE. 


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