Chapter X: Part THE SECOND

Away then hyed the heire of Linne
O'er hill and holt,[544] and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to lonesome lodge,
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked downe, 5
In hope some comfort for to winne:
But bare and lothly[545] were the walles.
Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne.

The little windowe dim and darke
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe; 10
No shimmering sunn here ever shone;
No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, ne table he mote spye,
No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with renning noose, 15
That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it in broad lettèrs,
These words were written so plain to see:
"Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyselfe to penurìe? 20

"And this my boding mind misgave,
I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end."

Sorely shent[546] wi' this rebuke, 25
Sorely shent was the heire of Linne;
His heart, I wis, was near to brast
With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne.

Never a word spake the heire of Linne,
Never a word he spake but three: 30
"This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto mee."

Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodìe:[556]
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35
And to the ground came tumbling hee.

Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,
Ne knewe if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,[547]
And in it a key of gold so redd. 40

He took the bill, and lookt it on,
Strait good comfort found he there:
Itt told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-fere.[548]

Two were full of the beaten golde, 45
The third was full of white monèy;
And over them in broad lettèrs
These words were written so plaine to see:

"Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;
Amend thy life and follies past; 50
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last."

And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne;
And let it bee, but if I amend:[549]
For here I will make mine avow, 55
This reade[550] shall guide me to the end.

Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne;
I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,[551]
Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.[552] 60

And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Upp at the speere[553] then looked hee;
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.

And John himself sate at the bord-head, 65
Because now lord of Linne was hee.
I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,
One forty pence for to lend mee.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone;
Away, away, this may not bee: 70
For Christs curse on my head, he sayd,
If ever I trust thee one pennìe.

Then bespake the heire of Linne,
To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:
Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 75
I pray for sweet saint Charitìe.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we shold hang any losel[554] heere,
The first we wold begin with thee. 80

Then bespake a good fellòwe,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;
Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord:

Some time a good fellow thou hast been, 85
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore Ile lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need bee.

And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy companie: 90
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.

Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood[555] he answer'd him againe:
Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 95
But I did lose by that bargàine.

And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape,
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. 100

I drawe you to record, lords, he said.
With that he cast him a gods pennie:[556]
Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne,
And here, good John, is thy monèy.

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 105
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth [with] mickle dinne. 110
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the lord of Linne.

Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the lord of Linne, 115
And forty pounds I will give thee.

Ile make the keeper of my forrest,
Both of the wild deere and the tame;
For but[557] I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame. 120

Now welladay! sayth Joan o' the Scales:
Now welladay! and woe is my life!
Yesterday I was lady of Linne,
Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife.

Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne; 125
Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said hee:
Christs curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.

[***]

* * * * *

[+±+] In the present edition of this ballad several ancient
readings are restored from the folio MS.

* * * * *

The following original version of the _Heir of Linne_ is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's edition of the folio MS. vol. i. p. 174:

Off all the lords in faire Scottland
a song I will begin:
amongst them all there dweld a Lord
which was the vnthrifty Lord of linne. 4

his father & mother were dead him froe,
& soe was the head of all his kinne;
he did neither cease nor bl[i]nne
to the cards & dice that he did run, 8

to drinke the wine that was soe cleere,
with euery man he wold make merry.
and then bespake him John of the Scales,
vnto the heire of Linne sayd hee, 12

sayes, "how dost thou, Lord of Linne,
doest either want gold or fee?
wilt thou not sell thy lands soe brode
to such a good fellow as me? 16

"ffor ... I ..." he said,
"my land, take it vnto thee,
I draw you to record, my Lord[e]s all:"
with that he cast him a good-se peny, 20

he told him the gold vpon the bord,
it wanted neuer a bare penny.
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
the heire of Linne I wilbee." 24

"heeres gold inoughe," saithe the heire of Linne,
"both for me & my company."
he drunke the wine that was soe cleere,
& with euery man he made merry. 28

with-in 3 quarters of a yeere
his gold & fee it waxed thinne,
his merry men were from him gone,
& left him himselfe all alone. 32

he had neuer a penny left in his pursse,
neuer a penny but 3,
& one was brasse, & another was lead,
& another was white mony. 36

"Now well-a day!" said the heire of Linne,
"now welladay, & woe is mee!
for when I was the lord of Linne,
I neither wanted gold nor fee; 40

"for I haue sold my lands soe broad,
& haue not left me one penny!
I must goe now & take some read
vnto Edenborrow, & begg my bread." 44

he had not beene in Edenborrow
not 3 qwarters of a yeere,
but some did giue him & some said nay,
& some bid "to the deele gang yee! 48

"for if we shold hang any Land selfeer,
the first we wold begin with thee."
"Now welladay!" said the heire of Linne,
no[w] welladay, & woe is mee! 52

"for now I have sold my lands soe broad,
that mery man is irke with mee;
but when that I was the Lord of Linne,
then on my land I liued merrily; 56

"& now I have sold my land soe broade
that I haue not left me one pennye!
god be with my father!" he said,
"on his land he liued merrily." 60

Still in a study there as he stood,
he vnbethought him of [a] bill
[he vnbethought him of a bill]
which his father had left with him, 64

bade him he shold neuer on it looke
till he was in extreame neede,
"& by my faith," said the heire of Linne,
"then now I had neuer more neede." 68

he tooke the bill, & looked it on,
good comfort that he found there;
itt told him of a Castle wall
where there stood 3 chests in feare: 72

2 were full of the beaten gold,
the 3 was full of white mony.
he turned then downe his baggs of bread,
& filled them full of gold soe red; 76

then he did neuer cease nor blinne
till John of the Scales house he did winne.
when that he came to John of the Scales,
vpp at the speere he looked then: 80
there sate 3 lords vpon a rowe,
and John o the Scales sate at the bords head,
[and John o the Scales sate at the bords head]
because he was the Lord of Linne. 84

and then bespake the heire of Linne,
to John o the Scales wiffe thus sayd hee:
sayd, "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
that I may sitt downe in this company?" 88

"now, christs curse on my head," shee said,
"if I do trust thee one pennye."
then bespake a good fellowe,
which sate by John o the Scales his knee, 92

Said, "haue thou here, thou heire of linne,
40 pence I will lend thee,--
some time a good fellow thou hast beene,--
& other 40 if neede bee," 96

thé druken wine that was soe cleere,
& euery man thé made merry;
& then bespake him John o the Scales,
vnto the Lord of linne said hee: 100

said, "how doest thou, heire of Linne,
since I did buy thy Lands of thee?
I will sell it to thee 20^{li} better cheepe
nor euer I did buy it of thee. 104

"I draw you to recorde, lord[e]s all;"
with that he cast him gods penny;
then he tooke to his baggs of bread,
& they were full of the gold soe redd, 108

he told him the gold then over the borde;
it wanted neuer a broad pennye:
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
& the heire of Linne againe I wilbee." 112

"Now welladay!" said John o the Scales wife,
"welladay, & woe is me!
Yesterday I was the lady of Linne,
& now I am but John o the Scales wiffe!" 116

saies, "haue thou heere, thou good fellow,
40 pence thou did lend me,
[40 pence thou did lend me,]
& 40^{l}. I will giue thee, 120
Ile make thee keeper of my forrest,
both of the wild deere & the tame."

but then bespake the heire of Linne,
these were the words, & thus said hee, 124
"Christs curse light vpon my crowne
if ere my land stand in any Jeopardye!"

ffins]

FOOTNOTES:

[539] [attend.]

[540] [property.]

[541] _i.e._ earnest-money; from the French _Denier à Dieu_. At this day, when application is made to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant under one of their leases, a piece of silver is presented by the new tenant, which is still called a "Gods-penny."

[542] [forest.]

[543] Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. _Sic_ MS.

[544] [forest.]

[545] [loathsome.]

[546] [abashed.]

[547] [letter.]

[548] in-fere, _i.e._ together.

[549] _i.e._ unless I amend.

[550] _i.e._ advice, counsel.

[551] [lingered.]

[552] Ver. 60. an old northern phrase.

[553] Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by which it was speered, _i.e._ sparred, fastened, or shut. In Bale's second part of the _Acts of Eng. Votaries_, we have this phrase (f. 38), "The dore therof oft tymes opened and _speared_ agayne."

[554] [worthless fellow.]

[555] [furious.]

[556] Ver. 34, 102. cast, is the reading of the MS.

[557] [unless.]

VI.

GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES, AFTERWARDS LADY SANDS,

ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD.

George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and appears to great advantage among the miscellaneous writers of that age. He was author of three or four plays, and of many smaller poems; one of the most remarkable of which is a satire in blank verse, called the _Steele-glass_, 1576, 4to.

Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both universities, whence he removed to Gray's-inn; but, disliking the study of the law, became first a dangler at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries. He had no great success in any of these pursuits, as appears from a poem of his, intitled "Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written to lord Gray of Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated in 1575, 1576, from "his poore house in Walthamstoe:" where he died a middle-aged man in 1578, according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if he is the person meant in an old tract, intitled, "A remembrance of the well employed Life and godly End of Geo. Gascoigne, Esq.; who deceased at Stamford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent. an eye-witness of his godly and charitable end in this world," 4to. no date. [From a MS. of Oldys.]

Mr. Thomas Warton thinks "Gascoigne has much exceeded all the poets of his age, in smoothness and harmony of versification."[558] But the truth is, scarce any of the earlier poets of Q. Elizabeth's time are found deficient in harmony and smoothness, tho' those qualities appear so rare in the writings of their successors. In the _Paradise of Dainty Devises_,[559] (the _Dodsley's Miscellany_ of those times) will hardly be found one rough, or inharmonious line:[560] whereas the numbers of Jonson, Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently offend the ear like the filing of a saw. Perhaps this is in some measure to be accounted for from the growing pedantry of that age, and from the writers affecting to run their lines into one another, after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets.

The following poem (which the elegant writer above quoted hath recommended to notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that early state of our poetry) properly consists of Alexandrines of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from two quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's pieces; the first intitled, "A hundreth sundrie flowres, bounde up in one small posie, &c. London, imprinted for Richarde Smith:" without date, but from a letter of H. W. (p. 202), compared with the printer's epist. to the reader, it appears to have been published in 1572, or 3. The other is intitled, "The Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq.; corrected, perfected, and augmented by the author; 1575.--Printed at Lond. for Richard Smith, &c." No year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576.

In the title-page of this last (by way of printer's,[561] or bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, tolerably well executed, wherein Time is represented drawing the figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern, with this legend, _Occulta veritas tempore patet_ [R. S.] This is mentioned because it is not improbable but the accidental sight of this or some other title-page containing the same device, suggested to Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind, which he has introduced into the Luxemburg gallery,[562] and which has been so justly censured for the unnatural manner of its execution.

The lady here celebrated was Catharine, daughter of Edmond second Lord Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See Collins's _Peerage_, vol. ii. p. 133, ed. 1779.

* * * * *

[George Gascoigne, soldier and poet, had many enemies, and when
objection was made to the Privy Council against his return as a
burgess for Midhurst, they termed him "a common rymer, ruffian,
atheist," &c. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt printed a complete collection of
his poems in the Roxburghe Library, 2 vols. London, 1869-70.]

* * * * *

In court whoso demaundes
What dame doth most excell;
For my conceit I must needes say,
Faire Bridges beares the bel.

Upon whose lively cheeke, 5
To prove my judgment true,
The rose and lillie seeme to strive
For equall change of hewe:

And therewithall so well
Hir graces all agree; 10
No frowning cheere dare once presume
In hir sweet face to bee.

Although some lavishe lippes
Which like some other best,
Will say, the blemishe on hir browe 15
Disgraceth all the rest.

Thereto I thus replie;
God wotte, they little knowe
The hidden cause of that mishap,
Nor how the harm did growe: 20

For when dame Nature first
Had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it
With goodly gleames of grace;

It lyked hir so well: 25
Lo here, quod she, a peece
For perfect shape, that passeth all
Appelles' worke in Greece.

This bayt may chaunce to catche
The greatest God of love, 30
Or mightie thundring Jove himself,
That rules the roast above.

But out, alas! those wordes
Were vaunted all in vayne;
And some unseen wer present there, 35
Pore Bridges, to thy pain.

For Cupide, crafty boy,
Close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir:
I gesse it did him good. 40

Yet when he felte the flame
Gan kindle in his brest,
And herd dame Nature boast by hir
To break him of his rest,

His hot newe-chosen love 45
He chaunged into hate,
And sodeynly with mightie mace
Gan rap hir on the pate.

It greeved Nature muche
To see the cruell deede: 50
Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept
To see hir dearling bleede.

Wel yet, quod she, this hurt
Shal have some helpe I trowe:
And quick with skin she coverd it, 55
That whiter is than snowe.

Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,
For feare of further flame,
When angel-like he saw hir shine,
Whome he had smit with shame. 60

Lo, thus was Bridges hurt
In cradel of hir kind.[563]
The coward Cupide brake hir browe
To wreke his wounded mynd.

The skar still there remains; 65
No force, there let it bee:
There is no cloude that can eclipse
So bright a sunne, as she.

FOOTNOTES:

[558] Observations on the _Faerie Queen_, vol. ii. p. 168.

[559] Printed in 1576, 1577, 1578, 1580, 1585, 1596, 1600, and perhaps oftener, in 4to. black-letter.

[560] The same is true of most of the poems in the _Mirrour of Magistrates_, 1563, 4to. and also of Surrey's Poems, 1557.

[561] Henrie Binneman.

[562] Le Tems découvre la Vérité.

[563] Ver. 62. In cradel of hir kind: _i.e._ in the cradle of her family. See Warton's _Observations_, vol. ii. p. 137.

VII.

FAIR ROSAMOND.

Most of the circumstances in this popular story of king Henry II. and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for fact by our English historians; who, unable to account for the unnatural conduct of queen Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object of that passion.

Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed Higden the monk of Chester, whose account, with some enlargements, is thus given by Stow:--"Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter lord Clifford, concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at Woodstocke [A.D. 1177] where king Henry had made for her a house of wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to her, but he that was instructed by the king, or such as were right secret with him touching the matter. This house after some was named Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto a knot in a garden, called a maze;[564] but it was commonly said, that lastly the queene came to her by a clue of thridde, or silke, and so dealt with her, that she lived not long after: but when she was dead, she was buried at Godstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford, with these verses upon her tombe:--

'Hic jacet in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda:
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.'

"In English thus:--

'The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,
Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:
In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre,
That by her life was sweete and redolent:
But now that she is from this life blent,
Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.'"

STOWE'S _Annals_, ed. 1631, p. 154.

How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower is differently related. Hollinshed speaks of it, as "the common report of the people, that the queene ... founde hir out by a silken thread, which the king had drawne after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she lived not long after." Vol. iii. p. 115. On the other hand, in Speede's _Hist._ we are told that the jealous queen found her out "by a clew of silke, fallen from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her foot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde: which the queene followed, till she had found what she sought, and upon Rosamund so vented her spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3rd edit. p. 509. Our ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much truth, tells us the clue was gained by surprise, from the knight who was left to guard her bower.

It is observable, that none of the old writers attribute Rosamond's death to poison (Stow, above, mentions it merely as a slight conjecture); they only give us to understand, that the queen treated her harshly; with furious menaces, we may suppose, and sharp expostulations, which had such effect on her spirits, that she did not long survive it. Indeed on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of credit,[565] among other fine sculptures, was engraven the figure of a cup. This, which perhaps at first was an accidental ornament (perhaps only the chalice) might in after times suggest the notion that she was poisoned; at least this construction was put upon it, when the stone came to be demolished after the nunnery was dissolved. The account is, that "the tomb-stone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up at Godstow, and broken in pieces, and that upon it were interchangeable weavings drawn out and decked with roses red and green, and the picture of the _cup_, out of which she drank the poison given her by the queen, carved in stone."

Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor to the nunnery of Godstow, where she had also resided herself in the innocent part of her life, her body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle of the choir; in which place it remained till the year 1191, when Hugh bishop of Lincoln caused it to be removed. The fact is recorded by Hoveden, a contemporary writer, whose words are thus translated by Stow: "Hugh bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey of nunnes, called Godstow, ... and when he had entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the middle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and set about with lights of waxe: and demanding whose tomb it was, he was answered, that it was the tombe of Rosamond, that was some time lemman to Henry II.... who for the love of her had done much good to that church. Then quoth the bishop, take out of this place the harlot, and bury her without the church, lest christian religion should grow in contempt, and to the end that, through example of her, other women being made afraid may beware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and advouterous company with men."--_Annals_, p. 159.

History further informs us, that king John repaired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it with yearly revenues, "that these holy virgins might releeve with their prayers, the soules of his father king Henrie, and of lady Rosamund there interred."[566] ... In what situation her remains were found at the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from Leland: "Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery was taken up [of] late; it is a stone with this inscription, TUMBA ROSAMUNDÆ. Her bones were closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn lether. When it was opened a very swete smell came owt of it."[567] See Hearne's discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us, were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foundations of a very large building, which were believed to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth.

To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had two sons by Rosamond, from a computation of whose age, a modern historian has endeavoured to invalidate the received story. These were William Longue-espé (or Long-sword), earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, bishop of Lincolne.[568] Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is said to have been twenty years old at the time of his election to that see in 1173. Hence this writer concludes, that king Henry fell in love with Rosamond in 1149, when in king Stephen's reign he came over to be knighted by the king of Scots; he also thinks it probable that Henry's commerce with this lady "broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor (in 1152) and that the young lady, by a natural effect of grief and resentment at the defection of her lover, entered on that occasion into the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died probably before the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173." (Carte's _Hist._ vol. i. p. 652.) But let it be observed, that Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over to be knighted; that he staid but eight months in this island, and was almost all the time with the king of Scots; that he did not return back to England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor; and that no writer drops the least hint of Rosamond's having ever been abroad with her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen should venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's court. If all these circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent and improbable than that of the old ballad; which is also countenanced by most of our old historians.

Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently of Henry's commerce with Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from an ancient manuscript in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus registered of Geoffrey Plantagenet: "Natus est 5° Hen. II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25° Hen. II. [1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28° Hen. II. [1182]." Vid. _Chron. de Kirkstall_ (Domitian XII.) Drake's _Hist. of York_, p. 422.

The ballad of _Fair Rosamond_ appears to have been first published in "Strange Histories, or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. Lond. 1607." 12mo.

It is here printed (with conjectural emendations), from four ancient copies in black-letter; two of them in the Pepys library.

* * * * *

[It is also printed in the _Crown Garland of Golden Roses, and_
_Garland of Goodwill_. Reprinted by the Percy Society.

In the _Collection of Old Ballads_, 1723, vol. i. p. 1, is another
ballad on the same subject, with the title, _The Unfortunate
Concubine, or Rosamond's Overthrow_.

The story is also treated in Warner's _Albion's England_ (ch. 41).]

* * * * *

When as king Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.

Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, 5
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.

Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
Appeard to each mans sight; 10
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.

The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose 15
For mastership did strive.

Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe. 20

The king therefore, for her defence,
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.

Most curiously that bower was built 25
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:

And they so cunninglye contriv'd
With turnings round about, 30
That none but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in or out.

And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave 35
Unto a valiant knighte.

But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile: 40

For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.

But yet before our comelye king 45
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:

"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye: 50
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:

The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle:
My royal Rose, a thousand times 55
I bid thee nowe farwelle!

For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase. 60

But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee."

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 65
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;

And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace, 70
Which like the silver-pearled dewe
Ranne downe her comely face.

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde 75
Her vitall spirits faile;

And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace: 80

And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.

Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose? 85
The king did often say.
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres
My lord must part awaye.

But since your grace on forrayne coastes
Amonge your foes unkinde 90
Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?

Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 95
Which would offend you there.

Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte. 100

So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;
But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death Ild rather chuse!

"Content thy self, my dearest love; 105
Thy rest at home shall bee
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
For travell fits not thee.

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Soft peace their sexe delightes; 110
'Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.'

My Rose shall safely here abide,
With musicke passe the daye;
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, 115
My foes seeke far awaye.

My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,
Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120

And you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence."

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.

And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore: 130
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.

For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone,
With envious heart, queene Ellinor, 135
To Woodstocke came anone.

And forth she calles this trustye knighte,
In an unhappy houre;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower. 140

And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.

But when the queene with stedfast eye 145
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.

Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
That riche and costlye bee; 150
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.

Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd 155
For her offences all.

"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye. 160

I will renounce my sinfull life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.

And for the fault which I have done, 165
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe."

And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there; 170
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.

But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175
As she knelt on her knee,

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand: 180

And casting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poyson stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.

And when that death through everye limbe 185
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wighte.

Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away, 190
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
As may be seene this day.

*

FOOTNOTES:

[564] Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled with brick and stone, according to Drayton. See note on his Epistle of Rosamond.

[565] Tho. Allen of Gloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged 90. See Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, at the end of _Gul. Neubrig. Hist._ vol. iii. p. 739.

[566] Vid. reign of Henry II. in Speed's _Hist._ writ by Dr. Barcham, Dean of Bocking.

[567] This would have passed for miraculous, if it had happened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his being a saint.

[568] Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I.

VIII.

QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSIÓN.

"Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William duke of Guienne, and count of Poictou, had been married sixteen years to Louis VII. king of France, and had attended him in a croisade, which that monarch commanded against the infidels; but having lost the affections of her husband, and even fallen under some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured a divorce from her, and restored her those rich provinces, which by her marriage she had annexed to the crown of France. The young count of Anjou, afterwards Henry II. king of England, tho' at that time but in his nineteenth year, neither discouraged by the disparity of age, nor by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry, made such successful courtship to that princess, that he married her six weeks after her divorce, and got possession of all her dominions as a dowery. A marriage thus founded upon interest was not likely to be very happy: it happened accordingly, Eleanor, who had disgusted her first husband by her gallantries, was no less offensive to her second by her jealousy: thus carrying to extremity, in the different parts of her life, every circumstance of female weakness. She had several sons by Henry, whom she spirited up to rebel against him; and endeavouring to escape to them disguised in man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown into a confinement, which seems to have continued till the death of her husband in 1189. She however survived him many years: dying in 1204, in the sixth year of the reign of her youngest son, John." See Hume's _Hist._ 4to. vol. i. pp. 260, 307. Speed, Stow, &c.

It is needless to observe, that the following ballad (given, with some corrections, from an old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; whatever gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband, none are imputed to her in that of her second.

* * * * *

[The idea of the unlucky shrift exhibited in the following ballad
is taken from some old story-teller. It occurs among the tales
of Boccaccio, Bandello, Barbazan, La Fontaine, and several other
writers.

A copy of this ballad, differing very considerably from the present
version, is to be found in Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_.
The first stanza is as follows:--

"The queen fell sick, and very, very sick
She was sick and like to dee
And she sent for a frier oure frae France
Her confessour to be."

The last stanza but four reads:--

"And do you see yon pretty little girl
That's a beclad in green?
She's a friar's daughter oure in France
And I hoped to see her a queen."

And the end as follows:--

"The king look'd over his left shoulder,
An angry man was he:--
An it werna for the oath I sware
Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee."

Another version, recovered from recitation, and more like Percy's
than Kinloch's, is printed by Motherwell in his _Minstrelsy_, under
the title of "Earl Marshall."]

* * * * *

Queene Elianor was a sicke womàn.
And afraid that she should dye:
Then she sent for two fryars of France
To speke with her speedilye.

The king calld downe his nobles all, 5
By one, by two, by three;
"Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee."

A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshàll,
And fell on his bended knee; 10
That whatsoever queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.

Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere queen Elianor sayes 15
No harme thereof shall fall.

Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to queen Elianor goe
Like fryar and his brother. 20

Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.

When that they came before the queene 25
They fell on their bended knee;
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.

Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,
As I suppose you bee, 30
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.

We are two fryars of France, they sayd,
As you suppose we bee,
We have not been at any masse 35
Sith we came from the sea.

The first vile thing that ever I did
I will to you unfolde;
Earl marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde. 40

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
With a heavye heart spake hee.

The next vile thing that ever I did, 45
To you Ile not denye,
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison king Henrye.

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
May God forgive it thee! 50
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.

The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde, 55
All in fair Woodstocke bower.

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshal;
And I wish it so may bee. 60

Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,[569]
And I love him the best of all.

Do you see yonders little boye, 65
A catching of the balle?
That is king Henryes youngest sonne,[569]
And I love him the worst of all.

His head is fashyon'd like a bull; 70
His nose is like a boare.
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
I love him the better therfore.

The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde: 75
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.

The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee,
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe, 80
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.

FOOTNOTES:

[569] Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was by the earl marshall, the youngest by the king.

IX.

THE STURDY ROCK.

This poem, subscribed M. T. (perhaps invertedly for T. Marshall[570]) is preserved in _The Paradise of Daintie Devises_. The two first stanzas may be found accompanied with musical notes in "An howres recreation in musicke, &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to." usually bound up with three or four sets of "Madrigals set to music by Tho. Weelkes, Lond. 1597, 1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so compleat an example of the bathos, that I cannot forbear presenting it to the reader:--

"Thule, the period of cosmographie,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,
Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry.

"The Andelusian merchant, that returnes
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,
Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry."

Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion, with many of his brethren of later times, that nonsense was best adapted to display the powers of musical composure.

* * * * *

[Percy's conjecture that the author is Marshall is not a happy
one. Sir Egerton Brydges, in his edition of the _Paradise_, 1810
(_British Bibliographer_, vol. iii.), attributes it to M. Thorn,
whose name is signed to another poem, numbered 52:--

"Now mortall man beholde and see,
This worlde is but a vanitie,"

written in much the same spirit. The heading to the _Sturdy Rock_
is:--

"Man's flitting life fyndes surest stay,
Where sacred vertue beareth sway."]

* * * * *

The sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twaine:
The marble stone is pearst at length,
With little drops of drizling rain:
The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 5
The steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,
By yalping hounds at bay is set:
The swiftest bird, that flies about,
Is caught at length in fowlers net: 10
The greatest fish, in deepest brooke,
Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.

Yea man himselfe, unto whose will
All things are bounden to obey,
For all his wit and worthie skill, 15
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
There is nothing but time doeth waste;
The heavens, the earth consume at last.

But vertue sits triumphing still
Upon the throne of glorious fame: 20
Though spiteful death mans body kill,
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
By life or death what so betides,
The state of vertue never slides.

FOOTNOTES:

[570] Vid. _Athen. Oxon._ pp. 152, 316.

X.

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

This popular old ballad was written in the reign of Elizabeth, as appears not only from ver. 23, where the arms of England are called the "Queenes armes;" but from its tune's being quoted in other old pieces, written in her time. See the ballad on _Mary Ambree_ in this volume. The late Mr. Guthrie assured the editor that he had formerly seen another old song on the same subject, composed in a different measure from this; which was truly beautiful, if we may judge from the only stanza he remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar, that "down his neck

"----his reverend lockes
In comelye curles did wave;
And on his aged temples grewe
The blossomes of the grave."

The following ballad is chiefly given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two ancient printed copies: the concluding stanzas, which contain the old beggar's discovery of himself, are not however given from any of these, being very different from those of the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt to remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as it stood before: whereas by the alteration of a few lines, the story is rendered much more affecting, and is reconciled to probability and true history. For this informs us, that at the decisive battle of Evesham (fought Aug. 4, 1265), when Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was slain at the head of the barons, his eldest son Henry fell by his side, and in consequence of that defeat, his whole family sunk for ever, the king bestowing their great honours and possessions on his second son, Edmund earl of Lancaster.

* * * * *

[This charming old ballad has enjoyed a long life of popularity,
and according to Mr. Chappell it is still kept in print in Seven
Dials, and sung about the country. As it is to be found in most
collections, it has not been thought necessary to take note of
the various trifling alterations which Percy made, but the six
stanzas which he ejected in favour of the eight between brackets
are printed at the end. A few of the alterations are improvements,
but most of them are the reverse; thus, in place of the received
reading of verse 28,

"Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee,"

Percy prints

"Was straightway enamourd of pretty Bessee."

Mr. John Pickford (_Notes and Queries_, 4th Series, vol. ix. p. 64)
once possessed an old mezzotint engraving of the Blind Beggar of a
large folio size, on the margin of which were inscribed the lines
referred to above. In Robert Greene's _Pandosto_ (1588), from which
Shakspere drew the plot of his _Winter's Tale_, there is the same
simile as is used in these verses. Egistus says:--"Thou seest my
white hayres are blossomes for the grave."

Pepys in his Diary (25th June, 1663), speaks of going to dinner
with Sir William and Lady Batten and Sir J. Minnes to Sir William
Ryder's at Bethnall Green, and adds: "This very house was built by
the blind beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in
ballads, but they say it was only some outhouse of it." The mansion
was built by John Kirby, a citizen of London, in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, and afterwards became the residence of Sir Hugh Platt,
author of _The Jewell House of Art and Nature_, 1594; _The Garden
of Eden_, &c. Ryder died there in 1669.]

* * * * *