Chapter I: SAW, sweet LICIA, when the Spider ran (1)

Within your house, to weave a worthless web;
You present were, and feared her with your fan:
So that, amazèd, speedily she fled.
She, in your house, such sweet perfumes did smell;
And heard the Muses with their notes refined:
Thus, filled with envy, could no longer dwell;
But straight returned, and at your house repined.
"Then tell me, Spider, why of late I saw
Thee lose thy poison, and thy bowels gone?
Did these enchant and keep thy limbs in awe,
And made thy forces to be small or none?
No, no! Thou didst, by chance, my LICIA see;
Who, for her look, MINERVA seemed to be."

SONNET XLIX.

IF that I die, fair LICIA, with disdain;
Or heartless live, surprisèd with thy wrong:
The heavens and earth shall accent both my pain,
And curse the time so cruel and so long.
If you be kind, my Queen, as you are fair;
And aid my thoughts that still for conquest strive:
Then will I sing, and never more despair,
And praise your kindness whilst I am alive.
Till then I pay the tribute of my tears,
To move thy mercy and thy constant truth.
Respect, fair Love, how these with sorrow wear
The truest heart; unless it find some ruth.
Then grace me, Sweet, and with thy favour raise me;
So shall I live, and all the World shall praise thee.

SONNET L.

A' LICIA sigh! and say, Thou art my own.
Nay, Be my own! as you full oft have said.
So shall your truth unto the world be known:
And I, resolved; where now I am afraid.
And if my tongue eternize can your praise,
Or silly speech increase your worthy fame;
If aught I can, to heaven your worth can raise,
The Age to come shall wonder at the same.
In this respect, your love, sweet Love, I told;
My faith and truth I vowed should be for ever.
You were the cause, if that I were too bold;
Then pardon this my fault, or love me never
But if you frown, I wish that none believe me:
For, slain with sighs, I'll die before I'll grieve thee.

SONNET LI.

WHEN first the Sun, whom all my senses serve,
Began to shine upon this earthly round;
The heavens for her, all graces did reserve;
That, PANDOR'-like, with all she might abound.
APOLLO placed his brightness in her eyes,
His skill presaging, and his music sweet.
MARS gave his force. All force she now defies.
VENUS, her smiles; wherewith she MARS did meet
Python, a voice. DIANA made her chaste.
CERES gave plenty. CUPID lent his bow;
THETIS, her feet. There PALLAS wisdom placed.
With these, she, Queen-like, kept a World in awe
Yet all these honours deemèd are but pelf:
For she is much more worthy, of herself.

SONNET LII.

O SUGARED talk! wherewith my thoughts do live.
O brows! Love's trophy, and my senses' shrine.
O charming smiles! that death or life can give.
O heavenly kisses! from a mouth divine.
O wreaths! too strong, and trammels made of hair!
O pearls! enclosèd in an ebon [_ivory_] pale.
O rose and lilies! in a field most fair,
Where modest white doth make the red seem pale.
O voice! whose accents live within my heart.
O heavenly hand! that more than ATLAS holds.
O sighs perfumed! that can release my smart.
O happy they! whom in her arms she folds.
Now if you ask, Where dwelleth all this bliss?
Seek out my Love! and she will tell you this.

_An Ode._

LOVE, I repent me that I thought
My sighs and languish dearly bought:
For sighs and languish both did prove
That he that languished sighed for love.
Cruel rigour, foe to State,
Looks disdainful, fraught with hate,
I did blame: but had no cause
(Love hath eyes, but hath no laws).
She was sad, and could not choose
To see me sigh, and sit and muse.
We both did love, and both did doubt [_fear_]
Lest any should our love find out.
Our hearts did speak by sighs most hidden;
This means was left: all else forbidden.
I did frown, her love to try
She did sigh, and straight did cry.
Both of us did signs believe
Yet either grievèd friend to grieve.
I did look, and then did smile:
She left sighing all that while.
Both were glad to see that change;
Things in love that are not strange.
Suspicion, foolish foe to Reason,
Caused me seek to find some treason
I did court another Dame.
(False in love, it is a shame!)

She was sorry this to view,
Thinking faith was proved untrue.
Then she swore, She would not love
One, whom false She once did prove.
I did vow I never meant
From promise made, for to relent.
The more I said, the worse she thought:
My oaths and vows were deemed as nought.
"False!" She said, "how can it be,
To court another; yet love me?
Crowns and Love no partners brook:
If she be liked, I am forsook!
Farewell, False! and love her still!
Your chance was good, but mine was ill.
No harm to you: but this I crave,
That your new Love may you deceive!
And jest with you, as you have done,
For light's the love that's quickly won."
"Kind and fair Sweet, once believe me!
Jest I did; but not to grieve thee.
Court I did, but did not love.
Words, and sighs, and what I spent
In show to her; to you were meant.
Fond [_foolish_] I was, your love to cross
(Jesting love oft brings this loss).
Forget this fault! and love your friend,
Which vows his truth unto the end!"
"Content," She said, "if this you keep."
Thus both did kiss, and both did weep.
For women long they cannot chide:
As I, by proof, in this have tried.

_A Dialogue betwixt two Sea Nymphs, DORIS and GALATEA, concerning POLYPHEMUS._

Briefly translated out of LUCIAN.

[See pages 125-128.]

THE Sea Nymphs late did play them on the shore,
And smiled to see such sport was new begun:
A strife in love, the like not heard before;
Two Nymphs contend, Which had the conquest won?
DORIS the fair, with GALATE did chide.
She liked her choice, and to her taunts replied.

DORIS.

Thy Love, fair Nymph! that courts thee on this plain,
As shepherds say, and all the World can tell,
Is that foul rude Sicilian CYCLOP-swain.
A shame, sweet Nymph, that he with thee should mell [_mix_]!

GALATEA.

Smile not, fair DORIS! though he foul do seem.
Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace!
He's worth my love, and so I him esteem.
Renowned by birth, and comes of NEPTUNE's race.
NEPTUNE, that doth the glassy ocean tame;
NEPTUNE, by birth from mighty JOVE which came.

DORIS.

I grant an honour to be NEPTUNE's child;
A grace to be so near with JOVE allied:
But yet, sweet Nymph! with this be not beguiled;
Where Nature's graces are by looks descried.
So foul, so rough, so ugly-like a Clown;
And worse than this, a Monster with one eye.
Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a Crown!
But fair is Beauty. None can that deny.

GALATEA.

Nor is he foul, or shapeless, as you say
Or worse: for that he clownish seems to be.
Rough, Saytr-like, the better he will play:
And manly looks the fitter are for me.
His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard:
His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one.
This me contents; and others makes afeard.
He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none. With one eye.

DORIS.

Nay, then I see, sweet Nymph: thou art in love;
And loving, doat'st; and doating, dost commend
Foul to be Fair. This oft do Lovers prove.
I wish him fairer, or thy love an end!

GALATEA.

DORIS, I love not: yet I hardly bear
Disgraceful terms, which you have spoke in scorn.
You are not loved: and that's the cause I fear.
For why, my Love of JOVE himself was born.
Feeding his sheep of late, amidst this plain.
When as we Nymphs did sport us on the shore:
He scorned you all, my love for to obtain.
That grieved your hearts. I knew as much before.
Nay, smile not Nymphs! The truth I only tell.
For few can brook that others should excel.

DORIS.

Should I envy that Blind did you that spite;
Or that your shape doth please so foul a Groom?
The Shepherd thought of milk. You looked so white.
The Clown did err, and foolish was his doom.
Your look was pale, and so his stomach fed:
But far from fair, where white doth want his red.

GALATEA.

Though pale my look; yet he my love did crave.
And lovely You, unliked, unloved, I view.
It's better far, one base, than none, to have.
Your fair is foul, to whom there's none will sue.
My Love doth tune his love unto his harp:
His shape is rude; but yet his wit is sharp.

DORIS.

Leave off, sweet Nymph! to grace a worthless Clown.
He itched with love; and then did sing, or say.
The noise was such as all the Nymphs did frown,
And well suspected that some ass did bray.
The woods did chide, to hear this ugly sound:
The prating ECHO scorned for to repeat.
This grisly voice did fear the hollow ground,
Whilst Art-less fingers did his harp-strings beat.

Two bear whelps in his arms this Monster bore:
With these new puppies did this Wanton play!
Their skins were rough; but yet your loves were more.
He fouler was and far more fierce than they.
I cannot choose, sweet Nymph! to think, but smile,
That some of us thou fearest, will thee beguile.

GALATEA.

Scorn not my Love! until it can be known
That you have one that's better, of your own.

DORIS.

I have no Love: nor, if I had, would boast:
Yet wooed have been by such as well might speed.
But him to love, the Shame of all the coast!
So ugly foul, as yet, I have no need.
Now thus we learn what foolish love can do?
To think him fair, that's foul and ugly too.
To hear this talk I sat behind an oak;
And marked their words and penned them as they spoke.

_Ad Lectorem, distichon cujusdam de Autore._

_Lascivi quæres fuerit cur carminis Autor: Carmine lascivus, mente pudicus erat._

_A Lover's Maze_.

[It will be seen that Three of these Stanzas go together, rhyming in their first words: _True, True, New_.--_Sweet, Sweet, Meet_, &c.]

TRUE are my thoughts: my thoughts that are untrue.
Blind are my eyes: my eyes that are not blind.
New is my love: my love that is not new.
Kind is that Fair: that Fair that is not kind.
Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest Fair, my love;
Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.

True are my thoughts: because they never flit.
Untrue my thoughts: because they me betrayed.
Blind are my eyes: because in clouds I sit.
Not blind my eyes: because I looks obeyed.
Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest Fair, may view
In sight, in love, nor blind, nor yet untrue.

New is my love: because it never dies.
Old is my love: because it ever lives.
Kind is that Fair: because it hate denies.
Unkind that Fair: because no hope it gives.
Thus new my love, and still that Fair unkind,
Renews my love; and I no favour find.

Sweet are my dreams: my dreams that are not sweet.
Long are the nights: the nights that are not long.
Meet are the pangs: these pangs that are unmeet.
Wronged is my heart: my heart that hath no wrong.
Thus dreams and night, my heart, my pangs, and all,
In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall.

Sweet are my dreams: because my Love they show.
Unsweet my dreams: because but dreams they are.
Long are the nights: because no help I know.
Meet are the nights: because they end my care.
Thus dreams and nights, wherein my Love takes sport,
Are sweet, unsweet; are long, and yet too short.

Meet are my pangs: because I was too bold.
Unmeet my pangs: because I loved so well.
Wronged was my heart: because my grief it told.
Not wronged. For why? My grief it could not tell.
Thus you, my Love, unkindly cause this smart;
That will not love to ease my pangs and heart.

Proud is her look: her look that is not proud.
Done all my days: my days that are not done.
Loud are my sighs: my sighs that are not loud.
Begun my death: my death not yet begun.
Thus looks and days, and sighs and death, might move
So kind, so fair, to give consent to love.

Proud is her look: because she scorns to see.
Not proud her look: for none dare say so much.
Done are my days: because they hapless be.
Not done my days: because I wish them such.
Thus looks and days increase this loving strife;
Not proud, not done, nor dead, nor giving life.

Loud are my sighs: because they pierce the sky.
Not loud my sighs: because they are not heard.
My death begun: because I heartless cry.
But not begun: because I am debarred.
Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give:
Both life deny, and both do make me live.

Bold are her smiles: her smiles that are not bold.
Wise are her words; those words that are not wise.
Cold are her lips: those lips that are not cold.
Ice are those hands: those hands that are not ice.
Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and She
Bold, wise, cold, ice, love's cruel torments, be.

Bold are her smiles: because they anger slay.
Not bold her smiles: because they blush so oft.
Wise are her words: because they wonders say.
Not wise her words: because they are not soft.
Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,
So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.

Cold are her lips: because they breathe no heat.
Not cold her lips: because my heart they burn.
Ice are her hands: because the snow's so great.
Not ice her hands: that all to ashes turn.
Thus lips and hands, cold ice, my sorrow bred;
Hands, warm white snow; and lips, cold cherry red.

Small was her waist: the waist that was not small.
Gold was her hair: the hair that was not gold.
Tall was her shape: the shape that was not tall.
Folding the arms: the arms that did not fold.
Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,
Did make me love; and loving made me waste.

Small was her waist[13]: because I could it span.
Not small her waste: because she wasted all.
Gold was her hair: because a crown it wan.
Not gold her hair: because it was more pale.
Thus smallest waist[14], the greatest waste doth make;
And finest hair, most fast a lover take.

Tall was her shape: because she touched the sky.
Not tall her shape: because she comely was.
Folding her arms: because she hearts could tie,
Not folded arms: because all bands they pass.
Thus shape, and arms, with love my heart did fly;
That hers I am, and must be till I die.

Sad was her joy: her joy that was not sad.
Short was her stay: her stay that was not short.
Glad was her speech: her speech that was not glad.
Sporting those toys: those toys that were not sport.
Thus was my heart, with joy, speech, toys, and stay,
Possessed with love; and so stolen quite away.

Sad was her joy: because she did suspect.
Not sad her joy: because her joy she had.
Short was her stay: because to small effect.
Long was her stay: because I was so sad.
Thus joy and stay both crossed a lover's sport;
The one was sad, the other too too short.

Glad was her speech: because she spake her mind.
Not glad her speech: because afraid to speak.
Sporting her toys: because my love was kind.
Not toys in sport: because my heart they break.
Thus speech and toys my love began in jest:
Sweet, yield to love! and make thy servant blest!

Tread you the Maze, sweet Love, that I have run:
Mark but the steps, which I imprinted have.
End but your love, whereas my thoughts begun:
So shall I joy, and you a Servant have.
If not, sweet Love, then this my suit deny:
So shall you live, and so your Servant die.

_An Elegy._

DOWN in a bed, and on a bed of down;
LOVE, She, and I to sleep together lay.
She, like a wanton, kissed me with a frown,
"Sleep, sleep!" she said; but meant to steal away.
I could not choose but kiss, but wake, but smile,
To see how She thought us two to beguile.

She feigned a sleep. I waked her with a kiss.
A kiss to me she gave, to make me sleep.
"If I did wrong, sweet Love, my fault was this;
In that I did not you thus waking keep.
Then kiss me, Sweet! that so I sleep may take;
Or let me kiss, to keep you still awake!"

The night drew on, and needs she must be gone.
She wakèd LOVE, and bid him learn to wait.
She sighed, She said, to leave me there alone:
And bid LOVE stay; but practise no deceit.
LOVE wept for grief, and sighing made great moan:
And could not sleep, nor stay, if she were gone.

"Then stay, sweet Love!" A kiss with that I gave.
She could not stay; but gave my kiss again.
A kiss was all that I could get or crave:
And, with a kiss, She bound me to remain.
"A' LICIA!" still I in my dreams did cry,
"Come, LICIA, come! or else my heart will die."

ELEGY II.

1.
DISTANCE of place, my Love and me did part;
Yet both did swear, We never would remove!
In sign thereof, I bade her take my heart;
Which did, and doth, and cannot choose but, love.
Thus did we part, in hope to meet again;
Where both did vow most constant to remain.

2.
A she there was that passed betwixt us both;
By whom each knew how other's cause did fare:
For men to trust men in their love are loath.
Thus had we both of love a Lover's care.
_Haply he seeks his sorrows to renew,
That for his love, doth make another sue._

3.
By her a kiss, a kiss to me She sent;
A kiss for price more worth than purest gold.
She gave it her. To me the kiss was meant.
A she to kiss: what harm if she were bold?
Happy those lips, that had so sweet a kiss!
For heaven itself scarce yields so sweet a bliss.

4.
This modest she, blushing for shame of this,
Or loath to part from that she liked so well,
Did play false play; and gave me not the kiss:
Yet my Love's kindness could not choose but tell.
Then blame me not, that kissing, sighed and swore,
"I kissed but her, whom you had kissed before!"

5.
"Sweet, love me more! and blame me not, sweet Love!
I kissed those lips: yet, harmless, I do vow:
Scarce would my lips from off those lips remove;
For still, methought, sweet Fair, I kissèd you.
And thus kind love, the sun of all my bliss,
Was both begun, and ended, in a kiss.

6.
"Then send me more; but send them by your friend!
Kiss none but her! nor her, nor none at all.
Beware by whom such treasures you do send!
I must them lose, except I for them call.
And love me, Dear! and still still kissing be!
Both like and love but none, sweet Love! but me!

ELEGY III.

1.
IF sad Complaint would shew a Lover's pain;
Or Tears express the torments of my heart:
If melting Sighs would ruth and pity gain;
Or true Laments but ease a Lover's smart:

2.
Then should my Plaints the thunder's noise surmount;
And Tears, like seas, should flow from out my eyes.
Then Sighs, like air, should far exceed all count;
And true Laments with sorrow dim the skies.

3.
But Plaints and Tears, Laments and Sighs I spend:
Yet greater torments do my heart destroy.
I could all these from out my heart still send;
If, after these, I might my Love enjoy.

4.
But heavens conspire; and heavens I must obey:
That seeking love, I still must want my ease.
_For greatest joys are tempered with delay:
Things soon obtained do least of all us please._

5.
My thoughts repine, and think the time too long.
My love impatient wisheth to obtain.
I blame the heavens, that do me all this wrong:
To make me loved; and will not ease my pain.

6.
No pain like this, to love and not enjoy.
No grief like this, to mourn and not be heard.
No time so long as that which breeds annoy.
No hell like this, to love and be deferred.

7.
But heaven shall stand, and earth inconstant fly;
The sun shall freeze, and ice inconstant burn;
The mountains flow, and all the earth be dry:
Ere time shall force my loving thoughts to turn.

8.
"Do you resolve, sweet Love! to do the same:
Say that you do, and seal it with a kiss!
Then shall our truths [_troths_] the heavens' unkindness blame;
That cannot hurt, yet shew their spite in this.

9.
"The silly Prentice, bound for many years,
Doth hope that time his service will release;
The town besieged, that lives in midst of fears,
Doth hope in time the cruel wars will cease;

10.
"The toiling Ploughman sings in hope to reap;
The tossèd bark expecteth for a shore;
The boy at school to be at play doth leap,
And straight forgets the fear he had before:

11.
"If those, by hope, do joy in their distress;
And constant are, in hope to conquer time:
Then let not hope in us, sweet Friend! be less;
And cause our love to wither in the prime.

"Let us conspire, and time will have an end;
So both of us in time shall have a friend."

FINIS.

[Footnote 13: _Spelt_ waste _in the original edition--E.A._]

[Footnote 14: _Spelt_ waste _in the original edition--E.A._]

The Rising to the Crown of
RICHARD the Third.

Written by himself.

"THE Stage is set, for Stately matter fit:
Three Parts are passed, which Prince-like acted were.
To play the Fourth requires a Kingly wit;
Else shall my Muse, their Muses not come near.
Sorrow sit down, and help my Muse to sing:
For weep he may not, that was called a King.

"SHORE's Wife, a subject though a Princesse mate,[15]
Had little cause her fortune to lament:
Her birth was mean, and yet she lived with State.
The King was dead before her honour went.
SHORE's wife might fall, and none can justly wonder
To see her fall that useth to lie under.

"ROSAMOND was fair, and far more fair than she:
Her fall was great, and but a woman's fall.
Trifles are these. Compare them but with me!
My fortunes far, were higher than they all.
I left this land, possessed with civil strife!
And lost a Crown! mine honour! and my life!

"ELSTRED I pity, for she was a Queen:
But for myself, to sigh I sorrow want.
Her fall was great; but greater falls have been.
_Some falls they have, that use the Court to haunt._
A toy did happen, and this Queen dismayed:
But yet I see not why she was afraid.

"Fortune and I, for so the match began,
Two games we played at Tennis for a Crown.
I played right well, and so the First I wan:
She scorned the loss, whereat she straight did frown
We played again: and then I caught my fall.
England, the Court; and RICHARD was the ball.

"Nor weep I now, as children that have lost:
But smile to see the Poets of this Age,
Like silly boats in shallow rivers tost,
Losing their pains, and lacking still their wage,
To write of Women, and of Women's falls;
Who are too light for to be Fortune's balls.

"A King I was, and RICHARD was my name;
Born to a Crown when first my life began.
My thoughts ambitious, ventured for the same;
And from my nephews I the Kingdom wan.
Nor do I think that this my honour stained:
A Crown I sought, and I a Kingdom gained.

"Time-tyrant Fate did fit me for a Crown.
My father's fall did teach me to aspire.
He meant, by force, his brother to put down;
That so himself might hap to rise the higher.
And what he lost by fortune, I have won:
A Duke, the father: yet a King, the son.

"My father, RICHARD Duke of YORK was called:
Three sons he had, all matchless at that time.
I, RICHARD, youngest to them both was thralled;
Yet two of us unto the Crown did climb.
EDWARD, and I, this realm as Kings did hold:
But GEORGE of CLARENCE could not, though he would.

"Sad Muse! set down, in terms not heard before,
My sable fortune, and my mournful tale.
Say what thou canst! and wish thou couldst say more!
My bliss was great; but greater was my bale.
I rose with speed: and so did fall as fast.
Great was my glory; but it would not last.

"My brother GEORGE did plot for to be King.
Sparks of ambition did possess us all.
His thoughts were wise; but did not profit bring.
I feared his Rising, and did make him fall.
My reaching brain did doubt what might ensue.
I scorned his life, and so he found it true.

"My brother GEORGE, men say, was slain by me
A brother's part to give his brother wine;
And for a Crown, I would his butcher be!
(From [?] Crowns with blood, the brighter they will shine)
To gain a kingdom, still it me behoved
That all my lets [_hindrances_] full soundly were removed.

"HENRY the Sixth, deprivèd of his Crown,
Fame doth report, I put him to the death.
Thus Fortune smiled, though after she did frown
A dagger's stab, men say, did stop his breath.
I careless was, both how, or who, were slain;
So that thereby a Kingdom I could gain.

"Clusters of grapes full ripened with the heat,
Nor smaller timber builded on a height,
Fall not so fast as persons that are great:
Losing their honours, bruisèd with their weight.
But fewer means, the faster I did rise!
And to be King, I Fortune did despise.

"My thoughts, ambitious spread, began to fly:
And I, a Crown did follow with full wing.
My hope was small; but yet I meant to try.
I had no right: yet longed to be a King.
Fear, or Suspect, amazed me not at all:
If I _were_ crossed, the worst was but to fall.

"The lion fierce, despoilèd of his prey,
Runs not with speed so fast as did my thought.
My doubtful mind forbade me long to stay:
For why, a Kingdom was the thing I sought.
Now was the time when this was to be done;
Or blame my thoughts, because they it begun.

"My brother died, and left two sons behind;
Both under age, unfit to guide the land:
This right fell out according to my mind;
For now these two were rulèd with my hand.
'England's great Lord,' the subjects did me call;
And I was made Protector over all.

"But as the wolf defends the harmless sheep:
Whose bloody mouth can hardly be content
Until he spoil what he was set to keep;
And silly [_innocent_] sheep be all to pieces rent.
So still a Crown did hammer in my head:
Full of mistrust, till both these two were dead.

"The elder son with speed to London came;
And walls forsook where he had lived before.
London, the place of greatest strength and fame;
The island's treasure; and the English store.
For him, Lord RIVERS was appointed guide:
The King's own uncle by his mother's side.

"RIVERS was wise; but him I could not brook.
I well foresaw what harm there might ensue:
This to prevent, with speed I counsel took;
And, as I thought, so did I find it true.
For if that RIVERS should obtain his mind;
My heart's desire, then hardly could I find.

RIVERS and GREY, of treason I accused:
And told the Prince what both they did intend.
My tale was false, and I the King abused:
Thus both their lives unjustly did I end.
The King was young, and greater was the grief
And, needs, my words did urge him to belief.

"Not long this past; but hasting to the Queen
A post was sent to shew what did befall;
And who the Actors of this fact had been:
The Lord Protector was the cause of all.
The Queen amazed, did wonder at this news:
And scarce did think it; yet she could not choose.

"Possessed with fear: four daughters and her son,
She thence conveyed into a sacred place [_sanctuary_].
Supposing true, the harm but now begun;
And that I thought to murder all her race.
She, York's Archbishop did entreat for aid;
Who in the Abbey not far distant laid.

"The Bishop came, and mourning found the Queen;
Who did lament the fortune of her son;
The realm's distress, the like before not seen;
Her own misfortune; and the State undone.
Thus sighed the Queen, and wished her State were less;
And prayed that heavens would give the King success.

"'My Lord,' she said, 'my thoughts presage some ill;
And mournful sorrow seizeth on my heart.
This sudden news with grief my soul doth fill;
And I, for fear, do quake in every part.
In this distress, we cannot hope to live;
Except this sacred place some safety give.'

"He then replied, 'Dread Sovereign, do not faint!
A causeless fear in wisdom do withstand!
Yield not too soon, with grief to make complaint;
When no such cause approaching is at hand.
_For feeble minds, through weakness, coin new fears;
When stronger hearts, true grief more wisely bear._

"'And if they crown some other, not your son;
A thing unlike, yet fear what may befall!
Then shall the same unto this child be done;
Whom brother's right, by due, a King shall call:
But tyrants' force will hardly be so bold;
During the time the other is in hold.'

"Then more advised, he told her what he thought.
She and her son some causes had to fear;
And England's Seal he therefore with him brought,
Which by his Place he customed was to bear.
Thus he resolved to leave the Seal behind,
Till wiser thoughts straight altered had his mind.

"The Bishop home returnèd in all haste;
And sadly sat, suspecting what might fall.
But then my coming made them all aghast;
And for the Bishop I did straightway call.
I knew his deed, and blamed him to his face;
And for the Seal, another had his Place.

"Thus tyrant hate possessed me for a Crown:
My mind, the anvil of a thousand harms.
I raised my friends: my foes I cast them down.
This made the subjects flock to me in swarms.
My will was strong, I made it for a law.
_For basest minds are rulèd best by awe._

"I called the Council; and did straight persuade
From mother's side to fetch the other son.
My drift was further than they well could wade:
I gave them reasons why it must be done.
'The King a playmate wanted for his years;
And could not well be fitted with his Peers.'

"The Card'nal went on message to the Queen;
And used persuasions for her other child.
He plainly said, Her fear had causeless been;
Nor need she doubt by me to be beguiled.
I was Protector, chosen by consent;
With Council grave, all treason to prevent.

"'And I protest,' quoth Card'nal, 'on my life!
(For so indeed the Card'nal did suppose).
Your son, with safety, shall cut off this strife;
And you, nor place, nor land, nor son, shall lose.
Dread Sovereign, grant! and let your son be free:
If he hath harm; then set the fault on me!'

"The Queen was moved; and quaking did reply:
'A mother's love doth breed a mother's fear;
And loath I am those mischiefs for to try,
With doubtful hazard of a thing so dear.
I doubt, my Lord, the nearest of his blood;
In true intent scarce wisheth any good.

"'The Laws do make my son his mother's Ward;
Religion bids I should not slack my care;
And Nature binds mine own for to regard:
These, and his health, good Lord, good reasons are
To make my fear no smaller than it is;
Whilst fear persuades what harm may come of this.

"'Yet take my son; and with my son, take all!
Come, kiss me, son! Thy mother's last farewell!
Thy years, sweet boy! suspect not what may fall.
Nor can my tongue for tears thy fortune tell.
But hardly Crowns, their kindred will discern;
As you, sweet child! I fear yet long shall learn.

"'GOD bless thee, son! and I, my son, thee bless!
Thy mother's comfort, and thy brother's life!
Nay, weep not, son! GOD send thee good success;
And safe defend thee from that tyrant's knife!
Card'nal farewell, be careful of my son!
For once I vowed, this never to have done.'

"I and the Council in Star Chamber were:
To whom the Card'nal did in haste resort,
Who brought the child, which ended all my fear.
The mother's care he briefly did report.
I kissed the child, and took it to my arm;
Thus none did think I meant it any harm.

"Then as the wolf, half famished for his prey;
Or hungry lion, that a lamb had got:
My thirsty mind, I meant his blood should stay;
And yet the wisest not perceive my plot.
To the Tower in haste, I sent him to his brother:
And there, with speed, I both at once did smother.

"Now two there were but living, in my way;
BUCKINGHAM and HASTINGS both, to cross my mind.
The one was 'headed straight without delay;
The other, favours did unto me bind.
To match our children, I did him persuade;
And Earl of HERTFORD, he himself be made.

Now as the sea, before the storm doth swell;
Or fumes arise before we see the flame:
So whispering bruit began my drifts to tell;
And _all_ imparted unto babbling Fame.
I deemed it danger, speech for to despise;
For, after this, I knew a storm would rise.

"London's Lord Mayor, I used for my turn;
And caused him speak, what treason had been done.
I, by these means, the people's hearts did turn;
And made them eye me as the Rising Sun.
Thus whilst I meant the island to bring under:
The people's heads on news I set to wonder.

Then, at the Cross, I caused a Doctor preach,
To tell the subjects what I wished them know.
The man was cunning, and had skill to teach:
Out of my brain I made his Sermon flow.
Thus everywhere I did such notice give,
As all did cry, 'Heavens, let King RICHARD live!'

"So did I live, and callèd was a King.
Friends swarmed so fast as bees unto the hive.
_Thus basest means, the highest fortunes bring._
The Crown obtained did cause my thoughts revive.
I scorned my friends; and those did most despise
That were the means by which I did arise.

"Blood and Revenge did hammer in my head.
Unquiet thoughts did gallop in my brain.
I had no rest till all my friends were dead;
Whose help I used, the Kingdom to obtain.
My dearest friend I thought not safe to trust:
Nor scarce myself; but that, perforce, I must.

"Nor speak I now as if I did repent;
Unless for this a Crown I bought so cheap.
For meaner things men, wits and lives have spent;
Which blood have sown, and Crowns could never reap.
Live RICHARD long! the honour of thy name:
And scorn all such as do thy fortune blame.

"Thus have I told, how I a Crown did win;
Which now torments me that I cannot sleep.
Where I do end, my sorrow did begin;
Because I got which long I could not keep.
My verse is harsh, yet, Reader, do not frown!
I wore no garland; but a golden Crown.

[Footnote 15: ? = Prince's mate, or Princess made.--E. A.]

FINIS.

TO THE READER.

Courteous Reader, for my own fault, I refer thee to my Preface, but for the Printer's, I crave pardon. The excuse is just, if thou knew the cause. I desire thee therefore to correct the greater [faults], thus; the lesser, of thyself; and to pardon all.

[The corrections have been embodied in the text. E.A.]

Sir ROBERT CAREY, Lord Warden of the Middle Marches; and afterwards Earl of MONMOUTH.

_Account of the Death of Queen ELIZABETH; and of his ride to King JAMES at Edinburgh, 25th-27th March 1603._

[_Memoirs_, pp. 135-156; written about 1627, but first published by Lord CORK in 1759.]

IN this state was this Middle March when JAMES came in King of England: and in all the time I continued Officer there, GOD so blessed me and all the actions I took in hand, that I never failed of any one enterprise: but they were all effected to my own desire and the good of that Government. Thus passed I forty-two of my years; [? 1560-1602], GOD assisting with his blessing and mighty protection.

After that all things were quieted and the Border in safety, towards the end of five years [1598-1603] that I had been Warden there; having little to do, I resolved upon a journey to Court, to see my friends and renew my acquaintance there. I took my journey about the end of the year [_which, according to the old reckoning, ended on the 24th March: say then, March 1603_].

When I came to Court [_at Richmond_], I found the Queen ill disposed, and she kept her inner lodging.

Yet she, hearing of my arrival, sent for me.

I found her in one of her withdrawing chambers, sitting low upon her cushions. She called me to her.

I kissed her hand, and told her, It was my chiefest happiness to see her in safety and health, which I wished might long continue.

She took me by the hand, and wrung it hard; and said "No, ROBIN, I am not well!" and then discoursed with me of her indisposition, and that her heart had been sad and heavy for ten or twelve days: and, in her discourse, she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great sighs.

I was grieved, at the first, to see her in this plight: for, in all my lifetime before, I never knew her fetch a sigh, but when the Queen of Scots was beheaded. Then [in 1587], upon my knowledge, she shed many tears and sighs; manifesting her innocence that she never gave consent to the death of that Queen.

I used the best words I could to persuade her from this melancholy humour; but I found, by her, it was too deep rooted in her heart; and hardly to be removed.

This was upon a Saturday night [? _19th March 1603_]: and she gave command that the Great Closet should be prepared for her to go to Chapel the next morning.

The next day, all things being in a readiness; we long expected her coming.

After eleven o'clock, one of the Grooms [of the Chambers] came out, and bade make ready for the Private Closet; for she would not go to the Great.

There we stayed long for her coming: but at last she had cushions laid for her in the Privy Chamber, hard by the Closet door; and there she heard service.

* * * * *

From that day forwards, she grew worse and worse. She remained upon her cushions four days and nights, [? _Saturday 19th to Tuesday 22nd March 1603_] at the least. All about her could not persuade her, either to take any sustenance, or [to] go to bed.

* * * * *

I, hearing that neither her Physicians, nor none about her, could persuade her to take any course for her safety, feared her death would soon after ensue. I could not but think in what a wretched estate I should be left: most of my livelihood depending on her life. And hereupon I bethought myself with what grace and favour I was ever received by the King of Scots, whensoever I was sent to him. I did assure myself it was neither unjust, nor unhonest, for me to do for myself; if GOD, at that time, should call her to his mercy. Hereupon I wrote to the King of Scots, knowing him to be the right heir to the Crown of England; and certified him in what state Her Majesty was. I desired him not to stir from Edinburgh: and if, of that sickness she should die, I would be the first man that should bring him news of it.

* * * * *

The Queen grew worse and worse, because she would be so: none about her being able to persuade her to go to bed. [The Earl of NOTTINGHAM] my Lord Admiral was sent for: who (by reason of my sister [CATHARINE]'s death, that was his wife) had absented himself some fortnight from [the] Court.

What by fair means, what by force, he gat her to bed. There was no hope of her recovery, because she refused all remedies.

* * * * *

On Wednesday, the 23rd of March [1603], she grew speechless. That afternoon, by signs, she called for her [Privy] Council: and by putting her hand to her head, when the King of Scots was named to succeed her, they all knew he was the man she desired should reign after her.

About six at night, she made signs for [JOHN WHITGIFT] the Archbishop, and her Chaplains to come to her. At which time, I went in with them; and sat upon my knees full of tears to see that heavy sight.

Her Majesty lay upon her back; with one hand in the bed, and the other without.

The [Arch]bishop kneeled down by her, and examined her first of her faith: and she so punctually answered all his several questions by lifting up her eyes, and holding up her hand, as it was a comfort to all beholders.

Then the good man told her plainly, What she was; and What she was to come to: and though she had been long a great Queen here upon earth; yet shortly she was to yield an account of her stewardship to the King of Kings.

After this, he began to pray: and all that were by did answer him. After he had continued long in prayer, till the old man's knees were weary, he blessed her, and meant to rise and leave her.

The Queen made a sign with her hand.

My sister [PHILADELPHIA, Lady] SCROOPE, knowing her meaning, told the Bishop, The Queen desired he would pray still.

He did so for a long half-hour after; and then thought to have left her.

The second time she made sign to have him continue in prayer.

He did so for half an hour more, with earnest cries to GOD for her soul's health; which he uttered with that fervency of spirit as the Queen, to all our sight, much rejoiced thereat: and gave testimony to us all, of her Christian and comfortable end.

By this time, it grew late; and every one departed: all but her Women that attended her.

This that I heard with my ears, and did see with my eyes, I thought it my duty to set down, and to affirm it for a truth upon the faith of a Christian; because I know there have been many false lies reported of the end and death of that good Lady.

* * * * *

I went to my lodging, and left word with one in the Cofferer's Chamber to call me, if that night it was thought she would die; and gave the Porter an angel [_10s. = £2 now_] to let me in at any time, when I called.

* * * * *

Between one and two of the clock on Thursday morning [25th March 1603], he that I left in the Cofferer's Chamber, brought me word, "The Queen was dead."

I rose, and made all haste to the Gate [of Richmond Palace], to get in.

There I was answered, I could not enter: the Lords of the [Privy] Council having been with him [_the Porter_] and commanded him that none should go in or out, but by Warrant from them.

At the very instant, one of the Council [Sir EDWARD WOTTON, _afterwards_ Lord WOTTON; see page 526] the Comptroller [of the Household] asked, Whether I was at the Gate?

I said, "Yes."

He said, If I pleased, he would let me in.

I desired to know how the Queen was.

He answered, "Pretty well."

I bade him "Good Night!"

He replied and said, "Sir, if you will come in; I will give you my word and credit you shall go out again at your own pleasure."

Upon his word, I entered the Gate, and came up to the Cofferer's Chamber: where I found all the Ladies weeping bitterly.

* * * * *

He [the _Comptroller_] led me from thence to the Privy Chamber; where all the [Privy] Council was assembled.

There I was caught hold of; and assured I should not go for Scotland till their pleasures were further known.

I told them, "I came of purpose, to that end."

* * * * *

From thence, they all went to [Sir ROBERT CECIL] the Secretary's Chamber: and, as they went, they gave a special command to the Porters, that none should go out at the Gates but such servants as they should send to prepare their coaches and horses for London.

Thus was I left, in the midst of the Court, to think my own thoughts till they had done counsel. I went to [GEORGE, Lord HUNSDON] my brother's chamber: who was in bed, having been over-watched many nights before.

I got him up with all speed; and when the [Privy] Council's men were going out of the Gate, my brother thrust to the Gate.

The Porter, knowing him to be a Great Officer, let him out. I pressed after him, and was stayed by the Porter.

My brother said angrily to the Porter, "Let him out, I will answer for him!" Whereupon I was suffered to pass: which I was not a little glad of.

I got to horse, and rode to the Knight Marshal's Lodging by Charing Cross; and there stayed till the Lords [of the Privy Council] came to Whitehall Garden.

I stayed there till it was nine a clock in the morning; and hearing that all the Lords were in the Old Orchard at Whitehall, I sent the [Knight] Marshal to tell them, That I had stayed all that while, to know their pleasures; and that I would attend them, if they would command me any service.

They were very glad when they heard I was not gone: and desired the [Knight] Marshal to send for me; and I should, with all speed, be despatched for Scotland.

The [Knight] Marshal believed them; and sent Sir ARTHUR SAVAGE for me.

I made haste to them.

One of the [Privy] Council, [Sir WILLIAM KNOLLYS] my Lord of [BANBURY] that now is [see page 526], whispered the [Knight] Marshal in the ear, and told him, If I came; they would stay me, and send some other in my stead.

The [Knight] Marshal got from them; and met me coming to them, between the two Gates. He bade me, Be gone! for he had learned, for certain, that if I came to them, they would betray me.

* * * * *

I returned, and took horse between nine and ten a clock; and [by] that night rode to Doncaster [_162 miles from London; and 235 miles from Edinburgh_].

The Friday night [the 26th], I came to my own house at Widdrington [_298 miles from London; and 99 miles from Edinburgh_]; and presently took order with my Deputies [of the Middle Marches, HENRY WIDDRINGTON and WILLIAM FENWICK; see page 499] to see the Borders kept in quiet; which they had much to do: and gave order [that], the next morning, the King of Scotland should be proclaimed King of England [at Widdrington]; and at Morpeth [_289 miles from London_] and Alnwick [_306 miles from London_].

Very early, on Saturday [27th March 1603], I took horse [at Widdrington] for Edinburgh; and came to Norham [_331 miles from London, 8 miles South of Berwick, and 66 miles from Edinburgh_], about twelve at noon. So that I might well have been with the King at supper time: but I got a great fall by the way [_i.e. after leaving Norham_]; and my horse, with one of his heels, gave me a great blow on the head, that made me shed much blood. It made me so weak, that I was forced to ride a soft pace after: so that the King was newly gone to bed by the time I knocked at the gate [of Holyrood House, Edinburgh].

* * * * *

I was quickly let in; and carried up to the King's Chamber. I kneeled by him, and saluted him by his title of "England, Scotland, France, and Ireland."

He gave me his hand to kiss; and bade me welcome.

After he had long discoursed of the manner of the Queen's sickness, and of her death; he asked, What letters I had from the [Privy] Council?

I told him, "None": and acquainted him how narrowly I [had] escaped from them. And yet I brought him a blue ring from a Lady,[16] that I hoped would give him assurance of the truth that I had reported.

He took it, and looked upon it, and said, "It is enough. I know by this, you are a true messenger."

Then he committed me to the charge of my Lord HOME; and gave straight command that I should want nothing.

He sent for his Chirurgions to attend me; and when I kissed his hand, at my departure, he said to me these gracious words:

"I know you have lost a near kinswoman and a loving Mistress: but take here my hand, I will be as good a Master to you; and will requite you this service with honour and reward."

So I left him that night, and went with my Lord HOME to my lodging: where I had all things fitting for so weary a man as I was. After my head was dressed, I took leave of my Lord and many others that attended me; and went to my rest.

The next morning [Sunday, 28th March 1603], by ten a clock, my Lord HOME was sent to me from the King, to know how I had rested: and withal said, That His Majesty commanded him to know of me, What it was that I desired most that he should do for me? [and] bade me, Ask, and it should be granted.

I desired my Lord to say to His Majesty from me, That I had no reason to importune him for any suit; for that I had not, as yet, done him any service: but my humble request to His Majesty was to admit me a Gentleman of his Bedchamber; and hereafter, I knew, if His Majesty saw me worthy, I should not want to taste of his bounty.

My Lord returned this answer, That he [_the King_] sent me word back, "with all his heart, I should have my request."

And the next time I came to Court, which was some four days after [Thursday, 1st April 1603], at night, I was called into his Bedchamber: and there, by my Lord [the Duke of LENOX, _afterwards_ Duke] of RICHMOND, in his presence, I was sworn one of the Gentlemen of his Bedchamber; and presently I helped to take off his clothes, and stayed till he was in bed.

After this, there came, daily, Gentlemen and Noblemen from our Court; and the King set down a fixed day [Tuesday, 5th April 1603] for his departure towards London.

* * * * *

Upon the report of the Queen's death, the East Border broke forth into great unruliness; insomuch as many complaints came to the King thereof. I was desirous to go to appease them; but I was so weak and ill of my head, that I was not able to undertake such a journey [_expedition_]: but I offered that I would send my two Deputies, that should appease the trouble and make them quiet; which was by them, shortly after, effected.

* * * * *