3. weight.4. closs.15. His horse, so called from having been a present from the Grand Duke of Tuscany.—M.33. Master of Sinclair, whose Court-Martial has been printed with an exceedingly interesting preface by Sir Walter Scott, as his contribution to the Roxburgh Club.49. David Smith was then proprietor of Methven, an estate in Perthshire. He died in 1735. Douglas, in his Baronage, terms him, "a man of good parts, great sagacity, and economy."—M.64. Altered in MS. to "German George."—M.65. Brother to Charles, 5th Earl of Moray. Upon his brother's death, 7th October, 1735, he became the 6th Earl. He died in the 66th year of his age, on the 11th December, 1739.—M.113. This seems rather Gordon of Cluny than Cluny Macpherson. The estate of Cluny has passed from the ancient race, though still possessed by a Gordon.—M.
3. weight.
4. closs.
15. His horse, so called from having been a present from the Grand Duke of Tuscany.—M.
33. Master of Sinclair, whose Court-Martial has been printed with an exceedingly interesting preface by Sir Walter Scott, as his contribution to the Roxburgh Club.
49. David Smith was then proprietor of Methven, an estate in Perthshire. He died in 1735. Douglas, in his Baronage, terms him, "a man of good parts, great sagacity, and economy."—M.
64. Altered in MS. to "German George."—M.
65. Brother to Charles, 5th Earl of Moray. Upon his brother's death, 7th October, 1735, he became the 6th Earl. He died in the 66th year of his age, on the 11th December, 1739.—M.
113. This seems rather Gordon of Cluny than Cluny Macpherson. The estate of Cluny has passed from the ancient race, though still possessed by a Gordon.—M.
Johnson'sMuseum(1853), vol. iv. p. 220, Ritson'sScottish Songs, ii. 84.
Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar,"Charlie meet me, an ye daur,And I'll learn you the airt of war,If you'll meet wi' me in the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! are ye waking yet?Or are your drums a-beating yet?If ye were waking, I would waitTo gang to the coals i' the morning.When Charlie looked the letter upon,5He drew his sword the scabbard from,"Come, follow me, my merry men,And we'll meet Johnie Cope i' the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c."Now, Johnie, be as good as your word,Come let us try baith fire and sword,10And dinna flee like a frighted bird,That's chased frae its nest i' the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.When Johnie Cope he heard of this,He thought it wadna be amissTo hae a horse in readiness,15To flee awa i' the morning.Hey, Johnie Cope! &c."Fye now, Johnie, get up and rin,The Highland bagpipes mak a din;It's best to sleep in a hale skin,For 'twill be a bluddie morning."20Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.When Johnie Cope to Dunbar cameThey spear'd at him, "Where's a' your men?""The deil confound me gin I ken,For I left them a' i' the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c."Now Johnie, troth, ye were na blate25To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat,And leave your men in sic a strait,So early in the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c."In faith," quo Johnie, "I got sic flegsWi' their claymores and filabegs,30If I face them [again], deil break my legs,So I wish you a' good morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar,"Charlie meet me, an ye daur,And I'll learn you the airt of war,If you'll meet wi' me in the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! are ye waking yet?Or are your drums a-beating yet?If ye were waking, I would waitTo gang to the coals i' the morning.
When Charlie looked the letter upon,5He drew his sword the scabbard from,"Come, follow me, my merry men,And we'll meet Johnie Cope i' the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
"Now, Johnie, be as good as your word,Come let us try baith fire and sword,10And dinna flee like a frighted bird,That's chased frae its nest i' the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
When Johnie Cope he heard of this,He thought it wadna be amissTo hae a horse in readiness,15To flee awa i' the morning.Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
"Fye now, Johnie, get up and rin,The Highland bagpipes mak a din;It's best to sleep in a hale skin,For 'twill be a bluddie morning."20Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
When Johnie Cope to Dunbar cameThey spear'd at him, "Where's a' your men?""The deil confound me gin I ken,For I left them a' i' the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
"Now Johnie, troth, ye were na blate25To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat,And leave your men in sic a strait,So early in the morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
"In faith," quo Johnie, "I got sic flegsWi' their claymores and filabegs,30If I face them [again], deil break my legs,So I wish you a' good morning."Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
FromA Collection of Old Ballads, ii. 8. The same, with one or two trifling verbal differences, in Percy'sReliques, i. 246.
This story was originally told by Geoffrey of Monmouth,Historia Britonum, lib. ii. c. 2. It occurs in two forms in theGesta Romanorum: see Madden'sOld English Versions, p. 44, p. 450.
Shakespeare'sKing Learwas first printed in 1608, and is supposed to have been written between 1603 and 1605. Another drama on the subject was printed in 1605, calledThe true Chronicle History of King Leir and his Three Daughters, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella. This was probably only a new impression of a piece entered in the Stationers' Registers as early as 1594. The ballad which follows agrees with Shakespeare's play in several particulars in which Shakespeare varies from the older drama and from Holinshed, the authority of both dramas. The name Cordelia is also found in place of the Cordella of theChronicle History; but, on the other hand, we have Ragan instead of Shakespeare's Regan. In the absence of a date, we are unable to determine whether the ballad was written prior to the play ofKing Lear, or was founded upon it.
King Leir once ruléd in this landWith princely power and peace,And had all things, with hearts content,That might his joys increase.Amongst those things that nature gave,5Three daughters fair had he,So princely seeming beautiful,As fairer could not be.So on a time it pleas'd the kingA question thus to move,10Which of his daughters to his graceCould shew the dearest love:"For to my age you bring content,"Quoth he, "then let me hear,Which of you three in plighted troth15The kindest will appear."To whom the eldest thus began:"Dear father, mind," quoth she,"Before your face, to do you good,My blood shall rendred be.20And for your sake my bleeding heartShall here be cut in twain,Ere that I see your reverend ageThe smallest grief sustain.""And so will I," the second said;25"Dear father, for your sake,The worst of all extremitiesI'll gently undertake:And serve your highness night and dayWith diligence and love;30That sweet content and quietnessDiscomforts may remove.""In doing so, you glad my soul,"The aged king reply'd;"But what say'st thou, my youngest girl?35How is thy love ally'd?""My love," quoth young Cordelia then,"Which to your grace I owe,Shall be the duty of a child,And that is all I'll show."40"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he,"Than doth thy duty bind?I well perceive thy love is small,When as no more I find.Henceforth I banish thee my court;45Thou art no child of mine;Nor any part of this my realmBy favour shall be thine."Thy elder sisters' loves are moreThan well I can demand;50To whom I equally bestowMy kingdom and my land,My pompous state and all my goods,That lovingly I mayWith those thy sisters be maintain'd55Until my dying day."Thus flattering speeches won renown,By these two sisters here;The third had causeless banishment,Yet was her love more dear.60For poor Cordelia patientlyWent wandring up and down,Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid,Through many an English town.Until at last in famous France65She gentler fortunes found;Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'dThe fairest on the ground:Where when the king her virtues heard,And this fair lady seen,70With full consent of all his courtHe made his wife and queen.Her father, old King Leir, this whileWith his two daughters staid;Forgetful of their promis'd loves,75Full soon the samedecay'd;And living in Queen Ragan's court,The eldest of the twain,She took from him his chiefest means,And most of all his train.80For whereas twenty men were wontTo wait with bended knee,She gave allowance but to ten,And after scarce to three,Nay, one she thought too much for him;85So took she all away,In hope that in her court, good king,He would no longer stay."Am I rewarded thus," quoth he,"In giving all I have90Unto my children, and to begFor what I lately gave?I'll go unto my Gonorel:My second child, I know,Will be more kind and pitiful,95And will relieve my woe."Full fast he hies then to her court;Where, when she hears his moan,Return'd him answer, that she griev'dThat all his means were gone;100But no way could relieve his wants;Yet if that he would stayWithin her kitchen, he should haveWhat scullions gave away.When he had heard, with bitter tears,105He made his answer then;"In what I did, let me be madeExample to all men.I will return again," quoth he,"Unto my Ragan's court;110She will not use me thus, I hope,But in a kinder sort."Where when he came, she gave commandTo drive him thence away:When he was well within her court,115She said, he would not stay.Then back again to GonorellThe woeful king did hie,That in her kitchen he might haveWhat scullion boys set by.120But there of that he was deny'dWhich she had promis'd late:For once refusing, he should notCome after to her gate.Thus twixt his daughters for relief125He wandred up and down,Being glad to feed on beggars food,That lately wore a crown.And calling to remembrance thenHis youngest daughter's words,130That said, the duty of a childWas all that love affords—But doubting to repair to her,Whom he had banish'd so,Grew frantick mad; for in his mind135He bore the wounds of woe.Which made him rend his milk-white locksAnd tresses from his head,And all with blood bestain his cheeks,With age and honour spread.140To hills and woods and watry fountsHe made his hourly moan,Till hills and woods and senseless thingsDid seem to sigh and groan.Ev'n thus posses'd with discontents,145He passed o'er to France,In hopes from fair Cordelia thereTo find some gentler chance.Most virtuous dame! which, when she heardOf this her father's grief,150As duty bound, she quickly sentHim comfort and relief.And by a train of noble peers,In brave and gallant sort,She gave in charge he should be brought155To Aganippus' court;Whose royal king,with noblemind,So freely gave consentTo muster up his knights at arms,To fame and courage bent.160And so to England came with speed,To repossess King Leir,And drive his daughters from their thronesBy his Cordelia dear.Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,165Was in the battel slain;Yet he, good king, in his old days,Possess'd his crown again.But when he heard Cordelia's death,Who died indeed for love170Of her dear father, in whose causeShe did this battel move,He swooning fell upon her breast,From whence he never parted;But on her bosom left his life175That was so truly hearted.The lords and nobles, when they sawThe end of these events,The other sisters unto deathThey doomed by consents;180And being dead, their crowns they leftUnto the next of kin:Thus have you seen the fall of pride,And disobedient sin.
King Leir once ruléd in this landWith princely power and peace,And had all things, with hearts content,That might his joys increase.Amongst those things that nature gave,5Three daughters fair had he,So princely seeming beautiful,As fairer could not be.
So on a time it pleas'd the kingA question thus to move,10Which of his daughters to his graceCould shew the dearest love:"For to my age you bring content,"Quoth he, "then let me hear,Which of you three in plighted troth15The kindest will appear."
To whom the eldest thus began:"Dear father, mind," quoth she,"Before your face, to do you good,My blood shall rendred be.20And for your sake my bleeding heartShall here be cut in twain,Ere that I see your reverend ageThe smallest grief sustain."
"And so will I," the second said;25"Dear father, for your sake,The worst of all extremitiesI'll gently undertake:And serve your highness night and dayWith diligence and love;30That sweet content and quietnessDiscomforts may remove."
"In doing so, you glad my soul,"The aged king reply'd;"But what say'st thou, my youngest girl?35How is thy love ally'd?""My love," quoth young Cordelia then,"Which to your grace I owe,Shall be the duty of a child,And that is all I'll show."40
"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he,"Than doth thy duty bind?I well perceive thy love is small,When as no more I find.Henceforth I banish thee my court;45Thou art no child of mine;Nor any part of this my realmBy favour shall be thine.
"Thy elder sisters' loves are moreThan well I can demand;50To whom I equally bestowMy kingdom and my land,My pompous state and all my goods,That lovingly I mayWith those thy sisters be maintain'd55Until my dying day."
Thus flattering speeches won renown,By these two sisters here;The third had causeless banishment,Yet was her love more dear.60For poor Cordelia patientlyWent wandring up and down,Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid,Through many an English town.
Until at last in famous France65She gentler fortunes found;Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'dThe fairest on the ground:Where when the king her virtues heard,And this fair lady seen,70With full consent of all his courtHe made his wife and queen.
Her father, old King Leir, this whileWith his two daughters staid;Forgetful of their promis'd loves,75Full soon the samedecay'd;And living in Queen Ragan's court,The eldest of the twain,She took from him his chiefest means,And most of all his train.80
For whereas twenty men were wontTo wait with bended knee,She gave allowance but to ten,And after scarce to three,Nay, one she thought too much for him;85So took she all away,In hope that in her court, good king,He would no longer stay.
"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he,"In giving all I have90Unto my children, and to begFor what I lately gave?I'll go unto my Gonorel:My second child, I know,Will be more kind and pitiful,95And will relieve my woe."
Full fast he hies then to her court;Where, when she hears his moan,Return'd him answer, that she griev'dThat all his means were gone;100But no way could relieve his wants;Yet if that he would stayWithin her kitchen, he should haveWhat scullions gave away.
When he had heard, with bitter tears,105He made his answer then;"In what I did, let me be madeExample to all men.I will return again," quoth he,"Unto my Ragan's court;110She will not use me thus, I hope,But in a kinder sort."
Where when he came, she gave commandTo drive him thence away:When he was well within her court,115She said, he would not stay.Then back again to GonorellThe woeful king did hie,That in her kitchen he might haveWhat scullion boys set by.120
But there of that he was deny'dWhich she had promis'd late:For once refusing, he should notCome after to her gate.Thus twixt his daughters for relief125He wandred up and down,Being glad to feed on beggars food,That lately wore a crown.
And calling to remembrance thenHis youngest daughter's words,130That said, the duty of a childWas all that love affords—But doubting to repair to her,Whom he had banish'd so,Grew frantick mad; for in his mind135He bore the wounds of woe.
Which made him rend his milk-white locksAnd tresses from his head,And all with blood bestain his cheeks,With age and honour spread.140To hills and woods and watry fountsHe made his hourly moan,Till hills and woods and senseless thingsDid seem to sigh and groan.
Ev'n thus posses'd with discontents,145He passed o'er to France,In hopes from fair Cordelia thereTo find some gentler chance.Most virtuous dame! which, when she heardOf this her father's grief,150As duty bound, she quickly sentHim comfort and relief.
And by a train of noble peers,In brave and gallant sort,She gave in charge he should be brought155To Aganippus' court;Whose royal king,with noblemind,So freely gave consentTo muster up his knights at arms,To fame and courage bent.160
And so to England came with speed,To repossess King Leir,And drive his daughters from their thronesBy his Cordelia dear.Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,165Was in the battel slain;Yet he, good king, in his old days,Possess'd his crown again.
But when he heard Cordelia's death,Who died indeed for love170Of her dear father, in whose causeShe did this battel move,He swooning fell upon her breast,From whence he never parted;But on her bosom left his life175That was so truly hearted.
The lords and nobles, when they sawThe end of these events,The other sisters unto deathThey doomed by consents;180And being dead, their crowns they leftUnto the next of kin:Thus have you seen the fall of pride,And disobedient sin.
76deny'd.157. whose noble.
76deny'd.
157. whose noble.
The celebrated mistress of Henry the Second was daughter to Walter Clifford, a baron of Herefordshire. She bore the king two sons, one of them while he was still Duke of Normandy. Before her death she retired to the convent of Godstow, and there she was buried; but Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, not courtly enough to distinguish between royal and vulgar immoralities, caused her body to be removed, and interred in the common cemetery, "lest Christian religion should grow in contempt."
The story of Queen Eleanor's poisoning her rival is not confirmed by the old writers, though they mention the labyrinth. All the romance in Rosamond's history appears to be the offspring of popular fancy. Percy has collected the principal passages from the chronicles in his preface to the ballad.
Fair Rosamondis the work of Thomas Deloney, a well-known ballad-maker who died about 1600. Our copy is the earliest that is known, and is taken from Deloney'sStrange Histories, ed. of 1607, as reprinted by the Percy Society, vol. iii. p. 54. The same is found in theCrown Garland of Golden Roses, ed. 1659 (Per. Soc. vol. vi. p. 12), and in theGarland of Good Will, ed. 1678 (Per. Soc. vol. xxx. p. 1.):and besides, with trifling variations, inA Collection of Old Ballads, i. 11, Percy'sReliques, ii. 151, and Ritson'sAncient Songs, ii. 120, from black-letter copies.
Another ballad with the title of theUnfortunate Concubine, or, Rosamond's Overthrow, is given in the collection of 1723, vol. i. p. 1. The story is also treated in the forty-first chapter of Warner'sAlbion's England. Warner has at least one good stanza,[3]which is more than can be said of this wretched, but very popular, production.
Some corrections have been adopted from theCrown Garland of Golden Roses.
[3]With that she dasht her on the lips,So dyèd double red;Hard was the heart that gave the blow,Soft were those lips that bled.
[3]
With that she dasht her on the lips,So dyèd double red;Hard was the heart that gave the blow,Soft were those lips that bled.
With that she dasht her on the lips,So dyèd double red;Hard was the heart that gave the blow,Soft were those lips that bled.
When as King Henrie rul'd this land,The second of that name,Beside the Queene, he dearly lovedA faire and princely dame.Most peerelesse was her beautie found,5Her favour, and her face;A sweeter creature in this worldDid never prince imbrace.Her crisped locks like threades of goldAppeared to each mans sight;10Her comely eyes, like orient pearles,Did cast a heavenly light.The blood within her cristall cheekesDid such a cullour drive,As though the lilly and the rose15For maistership did strive.Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond,Her name was called so,To whome dame Elinor, our queene,Was knowne a cruell foe.20The king therefore, for her defenceAgainst the furious queene,At Woodstocke buylded such a bower,The like was never seene.Most curiously that bower was buylt,25Of stone and timber strong;A hundred and fiftie dooresDid to that bower belong:And they so cunningly contriv'd,With turning round about,30That none but by a clew of threadCould enter in or out.And for his love and ladyes sake,That was so fair and bright,The keeping of this bower he gave35Unto a valiant knight.But fortune, that doth often frowneWhere she before did smile,The kinges delight, the ladyes joyFull soone she did beguile.40For why, the kings ungracious sonne,Whom he did high advance,Against his father raised warresWithin the realme of France.But yet before our comely king45The English land forsooke,Of Rosamond, his ladye faire,His farewell thus he tooke:"My Rosamond, my onely Rose,That pleaseth best mine eye,50The fairest Rose in all the worldTo feed my fantasie,—"The flower of my affected heart,Whose sweetness doth excell,My royall Rose, a hundred times55I bid thee now farewell!"For I must leave my fairest flower,My sweetest Rose, a space,And crosse the seas to famous France,Proude rebels to abace.60"But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shaltMy comming shortly see,And in my heart, while hence I am,Ile beare my Rose with mee."When Rosamond, that lady bright,65Did heare the king say so,The sorrow of her greeved heartHer outward lookes did show.And from her cleare and cristall eyesThe teares gusht out apace,70Which, like the silver-pearled deaw,Ran downe her comely face.Her lippes, like to a corrall red,Did waxe both wan and pale,And for the sorrow she conceived75Her vitall spirits did fayle.And falling downe all in aswoundBefore King Henries face,Full oft betweene his princely armesHer corpes he did imbrace.80And twenty times, with waterie eyes,He kist her tender cheeke,Untillshe had receivedagaineHer senses milde and meeke."Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?"85The king did ever say:"Because," quoth she, "to bloody warresMy lord must part away."But sithe your Grace in forraine coastes,Among your foes unkind,90Must go to hazard life and limme,Why should I stay behind?"Nay, rather let me, like a page,Yourswordand target beare;That on my breast the blow may light,95Which should annoy you there."O let me, in your royall tent,Prepare your bed at night,And with sweet baths refresh your grace,At your returne from fight.100"So I your presence may enjoy,No toyle Iwill refuse;But wanting you, my life is death:Which doth true love abuse.""Content thy selfe, my dearest friend,105Thy rest at home shall bee,InEngland'ssweete and pleasant soyle;For travaile fits not thee."Faire ladyes brooke not bloody warres;Sweete peace their pleasures breede,110The nourisher of hearts content,Which fancie first doth feede."My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower,With musickes sweete delight,While I among the pierceing pikes115Against my foes do fight."My Rose inrobes of pearl and gold,With diamonds richly dight,Shall daunce the galliards of my love,While I my foes do smite.120"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trustTobemy loves defence,Be carefull of my gallant RoseWhen I am parted hence."And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,125As though his heart would breake:And Rosamond, for inward griefe,Not one plaine word could speake.And at their parting well they mightIn heart be grieved sore:130After that day, faire RosamondThe King did see no more.For when his Grace had past the seas,And into France was gone,Queene Elinor, with envious heart,135To Woodstocke came anone.And foorth she cald this trusty knightWhich kept the curious bower,Who, with his clew of twined threed,Came from that famous flower.140And when that they had wounded him,The queene his threed did get,And went where lady RosamondWas like an angell set.And when the queene with stedfast eye145Beheld her heavenly face,She was amazed in her mindeAt her exceeding grace."Cast off from thee thy robes," she sayd,"That rich and costly be;150And drinke thou up this deadly draught,Which I have brought for thee."But presently upon her kneesSweet Rosamond did fall;And pardon of the queene she crav'd155For her offences all."Take pittie on my youthfull yeares,"Faire Rosamond did cry;"And let me not with poyson strongInforcèd be to die.160"I will renounce this sinfull life,And in a cloyster bide;Or else be banisht, if you please,To range the world so wide."And for the fault which I have done,165Though I was forst thereto,Preserve my life, and punish meAs you thinke good to do."And with these words, her lilly handsShe wrang full often there;170And downe along her lovely cheekesProceeded many a teare.But nothing could this furious queeneTherewith appeased bee;The cup of deadly poyson filld,175As she sat on her knee,She gave the comely dame to drinke;Who tooke it in her hand,And from her bended knee arose,And on her feet did stand.180And casting up her eyes to heaven,She did for mercy call;And drinking up the poyson then,Her life she lost withall.And when that death through every lim185Had done his greatest spite,Her chiefest foes did plaine confesseShe was a glorious wight.Her body then they did intombe,When life was fled away,190At Godstow, neere [to] Oxford towne,As may be seene this day.
When as King Henrie rul'd this land,The second of that name,Beside the Queene, he dearly lovedA faire and princely dame.Most peerelesse was her beautie found,5Her favour, and her face;A sweeter creature in this worldDid never prince imbrace.
Her crisped locks like threades of goldAppeared to each mans sight;10Her comely eyes, like orient pearles,Did cast a heavenly light.The blood within her cristall cheekesDid such a cullour drive,As though the lilly and the rose15For maistership did strive.
Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond,Her name was called so,To whome dame Elinor, our queene,Was knowne a cruell foe.20The king therefore, for her defenceAgainst the furious queene,At Woodstocke buylded such a bower,The like was never seene.
Most curiously that bower was buylt,25Of stone and timber strong;A hundred and fiftie dooresDid to that bower belong:And they so cunningly contriv'd,With turning round about,30That none but by a clew of threadCould enter in or out.
And for his love and ladyes sake,That was so fair and bright,The keeping of this bower he gave35Unto a valiant knight.But fortune, that doth often frowneWhere she before did smile,The kinges delight, the ladyes joyFull soone she did beguile.40
For why, the kings ungracious sonne,Whom he did high advance,Against his father raised warresWithin the realme of France.But yet before our comely king45The English land forsooke,Of Rosamond, his ladye faire,His farewell thus he tooke:
"My Rosamond, my onely Rose,That pleaseth best mine eye,50The fairest Rose in all the worldTo feed my fantasie,—"The flower of my affected heart,Whose sweetness doth excell,My royall Rose, a hundred times55I bid thee now farewell!
"For I must leave my fairest flower,My sweetest Rose, a space,And crosse the seas to famous France,Proude rebels to abace.60"But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shaltMy comming shortly see,And in my heart, while hence I am,Ile beare my Rose with mee."
When Rosamond, that lady bright,65Did heare the king say so,The sorrow of her greeved heartHer outward lookes did show.And from her cleare and cristall eyesThe teares gusht out apace,70Which, like the silver-pearled deaw,Ran downe her comely face.
Her lippes, like to a corrall red,Did waxe both wan and pale,And for the sorrow she conceived75Her vitall spirits did fayle.And falling downe all in aswoundBefore King Henries face,Full oft betweene his princely armesHer corpes he did imbrace.80
And twenty times, with waterie eyes,He kist her tender cheeke,Untillshe had receivedagaineHer senses milde and meeke."Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?"85The king did ever say:"Because," quoth she, "to bloody warresMy lord must part away.
"But sithe your Grace in forraine coastes,Among your foes unkind,90Must go to hazard life and limme,Why should I stay behind?"Nay, rather let me, like a page,Yourswordand target beare;That on my breast the blow may light,95Which should annoy you there.
"O let me, in your royall tent,Prepare your bed at night,And with sweet baths refresh your grace,At your returne from fight.100"So I your presence may enjoy,No toyle Iwill refuse;But wanting you, my life is death:Which doth true love abuse."
"Content thy selfe, my dearest friend,105Thy rest at home shall bee,InEngland'ssweete and pleasant soyle;For travaile fits not thee."Faire ladyes brooke not bloody warres;Sweete peace their pleasures breede,110The nourisher of hearts content,Which fancie first doth feede.
"My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower,With musickes sweete delight,While I among the pierceing pikes115Against my foes do fight."My Rose inrobes of pearl and gold,With diamonds richly dight,Shall daunce the galliards of my love,While I my foes do smite.120
"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trustTobemy loves defence,Be carefull of my gallant RoseWhen I am parted hence."And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,125As though his heart would breake:And Rosamond, for inward griefe,Not one plaine word could speake.
And at their parting well they mightIn heart be grieved sore:130After that day, faire RosamondThe King did see no more.For when his Grace had past the seas,And into France was gone,Queene Elinor, with envious heart,135To Woodstocke came anone.
And foorth she cald this trusty knightWhich kept the curious bower,Who, with his clew of twined threed,Came from that famous flower.140And when that they had wounded him,The queene his threed did get,And went where lady RosamondWas like an angell set.
And when the queene with stedfast eye145Beheld her heavenly face,She was amazed in her mindeAt her exceeding grace."Cast off from thee thy robes," she sayd,"That rich and costly be;150And drinke thou up this deadly draught,Which I have brought for thee."
But presently upon her kneesSweet Rosamond did fall;And pardon of the queene she crav'd155For her offences all."Take pittie on my youthfull yeares,"Faire Rosamond did cry;"And let me not with poyson strongInforcèd be to die.160
"I will renounce this sinfull life,And in a cloyster bide;Or else be banisht, if you please,To range the world so wide."And for the fault which I have done,165Though I was forst thereto,Preserve my life, and punish meAs you thinke good to do."
And with these words, her lilly handsShe wrang full often there;170And downe along her lovely cheekesProceeded many a teare.But nothing could this furious queeneTherewith appeased bee;The cup of deadly poyson filld,175As she sat on her knee,
She gave the comely dame to drinke;Who tooke it in her hand,And from her bended knee arose,And on her feet did stand.180And casting up her eyes to heaven,She did for mercy call;And drinking up the poyson then,Her life she lost withall.
And when that death through every lim185Had done his greatest spite,Her chiefest foes did plaine confesseShe was a glorious wight.Her body then they did intombe,When life was fled away,190At Godstow, neere [to] Oxford towne,As may be seene this day.
77. sound.83. he had reviv'd.—C. G.94. shield: sword,Garl. G. W.102. must refuse.107. England.117. robes and pearls of gold.122. beare.
77. sound.
83. he had reviv'd.—C. G.
94. shield: sword,Garl. G. W.
102. must refuse.
107. England.
117. robes and pearls of gold.
122. beare.
A Collection of Old Ballads, i. 97.
"I never was more surprised," says the editor of the Collection of 1723, "than at the sight of the following ballad; little expecting to see pride and wickedness laid to the charge of the most affable and most virtuous of women: whose glorious actions are not recorded byourhistorians only; for no foreign writers, who have touched upon those early times, have in silence passed over this illustrious princess, and every nation rings with the praise of Eleonora Isabella of Castile, King Edward's Queen. Father Le Monie, who (in hisGallérie des Femmes Fortes) has searched all Christendom round, from its very infancy to the last age, for five heroines, very partially bestows the first place upon one of his own country-women, but gives the second, with a far superior character, to this queen."
In this absurdly false and ignorant production, the well-beloved Eleonora of Castile is no doubt confounded with her most unpopular mother-in-law, Eleanor of Provence, the wife of Henry the Third, whose luxurious habits, and quarrels with the city of London, might afford some shadow of a basis for the impossible slanders of the ballad-singer. Queenhithe was a quay, the tolls of which formed part of the revenue of the Queen, and Eleanor of Provence rendered herself extremely odious by compelling vessels, for the sake of her fees, to unlade there. Charing-cross was one of thirteen monuments raised by Edward the First at the stages, where his queen's body rested, on its progress from the place of her decease to Westminster. In the connection of both these places with the name of a Queen Eleanor may be found (as Miss Strickland suggests in herLives of the Queens) the germ of the marvellous story of the disappearance at Charing-cross and the resurrection at Queenhithe.
That portion of the story which relates to the cruelty exercised by the queen towards the Lord Mayor's wife is borrowed from theGesta Romanorum. See Madden'sOld English Versions, &c. p. 226,Olimpus the Emperour. Peele'sChronicle History of Edward the Firstexhibits the same misrepresentations of Eleanor of Castile. See what is said of this play in connection with the ballad ofQueen Eleanor's Confession, vol. vi. p. 209. The whole title of the ballad is:—
A Warning Piece to England against Pride and Wickedness:
Being the Fall of Queen Eleanor, Wife to Edward the First, King of England; who, for her pride, by God's Judgments, sunk into the Ground at Charing-cross and rose at Queenhithe.
Being the Fall of Queen Eleanor, Wife to Edward the First, King of England; who, for her pride, by God's Judgments, sunk into the Ground at Charing-cross and rose at Queenhithe.
When Edward was in England king,The first of all that name,Proud Ellinor he made his queen,A stately Spanish dame:Whose wicked life, and sinful pride,5Thro' England did excel:To dainty dames, and gallant maids,This queen was known full well.She was the first that did inventIn coaches brave to ride;10She was the first that brought this landTo deadly sin of pride.No English taylor here could serveTo make her rich attire;But sent for taylors into Spain,15To feed her vain desire.They brought in fashions strange and new,With golden garments bright;The farthingale, and mighty ruff,With gowns of rich delight:20The London dames, in Spanish pride,Did flourish every where;Our English men, like women then,Did wear long locks of hair.Both man and child, both maid and wife,25Were drown'd in pride of Spain:And thought the Spanish taylors thenOur English men did stain:Whereat the queen did much despite,To see our English men30In vestures clad, as brave to seeAs any Spaniard then.She crav'd the king, that ev'ry manThat wore long locks of hair,Might then be cut and polled all,35Or shaved very near.Whereat the king did seem content,And soon thereto agreed;And first commanded, that his ownShould then be cut with speed:40And after that, to please his queen,Proclaimed thro' the land,That ev'ry man that wore long hairShould poll him out of hand.But yet this Spaniard, not content,45To women bore a spite,And then requested of the king,Against all law and right,That ev'ry womankind should haveTheir right breast cut away;50And then with burning irons sear'd,The blood to stanch and stay!King Edward then, perceiving wellHer spite to womankind,Devised soon by policy55To turn her bloody mind.He sent for burning irons straight,All sparkling hot to see;And said, "O queen, come on thy way;"I will begin with thee."60Which words did much displease the queen,That penance to begin;But ask'd him pardon on her knees;Who gave her grace therein.But afterwards she chanc'd to pass65Along brave London streets,Whereas the mayor of London's wifeIn stately sort she meets;With music, mirth, and melody,Unto the church they went,70To give God thanks, that to th' lord mayorA noble son had sent.It grieved much this spiteful queen,To see that any oneShould so exceed in mirth and joy,75Except herself alone:For which, she after did deviseWithin her bloody mind,And practis'd still more secretly,To kill this lady kind.80Unto the mayor of London thenShe sent her letters straight,To send his lady to the court,Upon her grace to wait.But when the London lady came85Before proud El'nor's face,She stript her from her rich array,And kept her vile and base.She sent her into Wales with speed,And kept her secret there,90And us'd her still more cruellyThan ever man did hear.She made her wash, she made her starch,She made her drudge alway;She made her nurse up children small,95And labour night and day.But this contented not the queen,But shew'd her most despite;She bound this lady to a post,At twelve a clock at night;100And as, poor lady, she stood bound,The queen, in angry mood,Bid set two snakes unto her breast,That suck'd away her blood.Thus died the mayor of London's wife,105Most grievous for to hear;Which made the Spaniard grow more proud,As after shall appear.The wheat that daily made her breadWas bolted twenty times;110The food that fed this stately dame,Was boil'd in costly wines.The water that did spring from ground,She would not touch at all;But wash'd her hands with the dew of heav'n,115That on sweet roses fall.She bath'd her body many a timeIn fountains fill'd with milk;And ev'ry day did change attire,In costly Median silk.120But coming then to London back,Within her coach of gold,A tempest strange within the skiesThis queen did there behold:Out of which storm she could not go,125But there remain'd a space;Four horses could not stir the coachA foot out of the place.A judgment lately sent from heav'n,For shedding guiltless blood,130Upon this sinful queen, that slewThe London lady good!King Edward then, as wisdom will'd,Accus'd her of that deed;But she denied, and wish'd that God135Would send his wrath with speed,—If that upon so vile a thingHer heart did ever think,She wish'd the ground might open wide,And she therein might sink!140With that, at Charing-cross she sunkInto the ground alive,And after rose with life again,In London, at Queenhithe.When, after that, she languish'd sore145Full twenty days in pain,At last confess'd the lady's bloodHer guilty hand had slain:And likewise, how that by a fryarShe had a base-born child;150Whose sinful lusts and wickednessHer marriage bed defil'd.Thus have you heard the fall of pride,A just reward of sin;For those who will forswear themselves,155God's vengeance daily win.Beware of pride, ye courtly dames,Both wives and maidens all;Bear this imprinted on your mind,That pride must have a fall.160
When Edward was in England king,The first of all that name,Proud Ellinor he made his queen,A stately Spanish dame:Whose wicked life, and sinful pride,5Thro' England did excel:To dainty dames, and gallant maids,This queen was known full well.
She was the first that did inventIn coaches brave to ride;10She was the first that brought this landTo deadly sin of pride.No English taylor here could serveTo make her rich attire;But sent for taylors into Spain,15To feed her vain desire.
They brought in fashions strange and new,With golden garments bright;The farthingale, and mighty ruff,With gowns of rich delight:20The London dames, in Spanish pride,Did flourish every where;Our English men, like women then,Did wear long locks of hair.
Both man and child, both maid and wife,25Were drown'd in pride of Spain:And thought the Spanish taylors thenOur English men did stain:Whereat the queen did much despite,To see our English men30In vestures clad, as brave to seeAs any Spaniard then.
She crav'd the king, that ev'ry manThat wore long locks of hair,Might then be cut and polled all,35Or shaved very near.Whereat the king did seem content,And soon thereto agreed;And first commanded, that his ownShould then be cut with speed:40
And after that, to please his queen,Proclaimed thro' the land,That ev'ry man that wore long hairShould poll him out of hand.But yet this Spaniard, not content,45To women bore a spite,And then requested of the king,Against all law and right,
That ev'ry womankind should haveTheir right breast cut away;50And then with burning irons sear'd,The blood to stanch and stay!King Edward then, perceiving wellHer spite to womankind,Devised soon by policy55To turn her bloody mind.
He sent for burning irons straight,All sparkling hot to see;And said, "O queen, come on thy way;"I will begin with thee."60Which words did much displease the queen,That penance to begin;But ask'd him pardon on her knees;Who gave her grace therein.
But afterwards she chanc'd to pass65Along brave London streets,Whereas the mayor of London's wifeIn stately sort she meets;With music, mirth, and melody,Unto the church they went,70To give God thanks, that to th' lord mayorA noble son had sent.
It grieved much this spiteful queen,To see that any oneShould so exceed in mirth and joy,75Except herself alone:For which, she after did deviseWithin her bloody mind,And practis'd still more secretly,To kill this lady kind.80
Unto the mayor of London thenShe sent her letters straight,To send his lady to the court,Upon her grace to wait.But when the London lady came85Before proud El'nor's face,She stript her from her rich array,And kept her vile and base.
She sent her into Wales with speed,And kept her secret there,90And us'd her still more cruellyThan ever man did hear.She made her wash, she made her starch,She made her drudge alway;She made her nurse up children small,95And labour night and day.
But this contented not the queen,But shew'd her most despite;She bound this lady to a post,At twelve a clock at night;100And as, poor lady, she stood bound,The queen, in angry mood,Bid set two snakes unto her breast,That suck'd away her blood.
Thus died the mayor of London's wife,105Most grievous for to hear;Which made the Spaniard grow more proud,As after shall appear.The wheat that daily made her breadWas bolted twenty times;110The food that fed this stately dame,Was boil'd in costly wines.
The water that did spring from ground,She would not touch at all;But wash'd her hands with the dew of heav'n,115That on sweet roses fall.She bath'd her body many a timeIn fountains fill'd with milk;And ev'ry day did change attire,In costly Median silk.120
But coming then to London back,Within her coach of gold,A tempest strange within the skiesThis queen did there behold:Out of which storm she could not go,125But there remain'd a space;Four horses could not stir the coachA foot out of the place.
A judgment lately sent from heav'n,For shedding guiltless blood,130Upon this sinful queen, that slewThe London lady good!King Edward then, as wisdom will'd,Accus'd her of that deed;But she denied, and wish'd that God135Would send his wrath with speed,—
If that upon so vile a thingHer heart did ever think,She wish'd the ground might open wide,And she therein might sink!140With that, at Charing-cross she sunkInto the ground alive,And after rose with life again,In London, at Queenhithe.
When, after that, she languish'd sore145Full twenty days in pain,At last confess'd the lady's bloodHer guilty hand had slain:And likewise, how that by a fryarShe had a base-born child;150Whose sinful lusts and wickednessHer marriage bed defil'd.
Thus have you heard the fall of pride,A just reward of sin;For those who will forswear themselves,155God's vengeance daily win.Beware of pride, ye courtly dames,Both wives and maidens all;Bear this imprinted on your mind,That pride must have a fall.160
FromStrange Histories, p. 17 (Percy Society, vol. iii). Other copies, with variations, are inThe Crown-Garland of Golden Roses, Part II. p. 20 (Percy Society, vol. xv.), andA Collection of Old Ballads, iii. 91. The editor ofStrange Historiesinforms us that a play on the same subject as the ballad was written by Thomas Drew, or Drue, early in the reign of James I., and printed in 1631, under the title ofThe Duchess of Suffolk, her Life. He remarks further that both play and ballad was founded upon the narrative of Fox, anno 1558 [Acts and Monuments, iii. 926, ed. 1641]; but the differences between Fox's account and the story which follows are altogether too great for this supposition to be true.
Katharine, daughter of Lord Willoughby of Eresby, was first married to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and after his death to Richard Bertie, Esq., with whom she was forced to fly from persecution in 1553, taking refuge first in the Low Countries, and afterwards in Poland.