POETICAL WORKSOFJOHN SKELTON.

[153]O quam, &c.] A line which ought to have rhymed with this one is wanting.[154]Homicidis] Old ed. “Homicidus.”

[153]O quam, &c.] A line which ought to have rhymed with this one is wanting.

[154]Homicidis] Old ed. “Homicidus.”

From

A Skeltonicall Salutation,Or condigne gratulation,And iust vexationOf the Spanish Nation,That in a bravado,Spent many a Crusado,In setting forth an ArmadoEngland to invado.

A Skeltonicall Salutation,

Or condigne gratulation,

And iust vexation

Of the Spanish Nation,

That in a bravado,

Spent many a Crusado,

In setting forth an Armado

England to invado.

Imprinted at London for Toby Cooke.1589, 4to.

“O king of Spaine,Is it not a paineTo thy heart and braineAnd euery vaine,To see thy traineFor to sustaine,Withouten gaine,The worlds disdaine,Which doth dispiseAs toies and lies,With shoutes and cries,Thy enterprise,As fitter for piesAnd butter-flies,Then men so wise?O waspish king,Wheres now thy sting,Thy dart or sling,Or strong bow-string,That should vs wring,And vnderbring,Who euery wayThee vexe and pay,And beare the swayBy night and day,To thy dismay,In battle aray,And every fray?O pufte with pride,What foolish guideMade thee provideTo over-rideThis land so wideFrom side to side,And then, vntride,Away to slide,And not to abide,But all in a ringAway to fling?O conquering,O vanquishing,With fast flying,And no replying,For feare of frying!...But who but Philippus,That seeketh to nip vs,To rob vs, and strip vs,And then for to whip vs,Would ever haue ment,Or had intent,Or hither sentSuch ships of charge,So strong and so large,Nay, the worst barge,Trusting to treason,And not to reason,Which at that seasonTo him was geson,As doth appeareBoth plaine and cleareTo far and neere,To his confusion,By this conclusion,Which thus is framed,And must be namedArgumentum a minore,Cum horrore et timore?If one Drake o,One poore snake o,Make vs shake o,Tremble and quake o,Were it not, trow yee,A madnes for meTo vndertakeA warre to makeWith such a lande,That is so mande,Wherein there beOf certaintieAs hungrie as heMany a thousand more,That long full soreFor Indian golde,Which makes men bolde?” &c.

“O king of Spaine,

Is it not a paine

To thy heart and braine

And euery vaine,

To see thy traine

For to sustaine,

Withouten gaine,

The worlds disdaine,

Which doth dispise

As toies and lies,

With shoutes and cries,

Thy enterprise,

As fitter for pies

And butter-flies,

Then men so wise?

O waspish king,

Wheres now thy sting,

Thy dart or sling,

Or strong bow-string,

That should vs wring,

And vnderbring,

Who euery way

Thee vexe and pay,

And beare the sway

By night and day,

To thy dismay,

In battle aray,

And every fray?

O pufte with pride,

What foolish guide

Made thee provide

To over-ride

This land so wide

From side to side,

And then, vntride,

Away to slide,

And not to abide,

But all in a ring

Away to fling?

O conquering,

O vanquishing,

With fast flying,

And no replying,

For feare of frying!

...

But who but Philippus,

That seeketh to nip vs,

To rob vs, and strip vs,

And then for to whip vs,

Would ever haue ment,

Or had intent,

Or hither sent

Such ships of charge,

So strong and so large,

Nay, the worst barge,

Trusting to treason,

And not to reason,

Which at that season

To him was geson,

As doth appeare

Both plaine and cleare

To far and neere,

To his confusion,

By this conclusion,

Which thus is framed,

And must be named

Argumentum a minore,

Cum horrore et timore?

If one Drake o,

One poore snake o,

Make vs shake o,

Tremble and quake o,

Were it not, trow yee,

A madnes for me

To vndertake

A warre to make

With such a lande,

That is so mande,

Wherein there be

Of certaintie

As hungrie as he

Many a thousand more,

That long full sore

For Indian golde,

Which makes men bolde?” &c.

See also—Jacke of the Northe, &c. printed (most incorrectly) from C.C.C. MS. in Hartshorne’sAnc. Met. Tales, p. 288.—A recantation of famous Pasquin of Rome. An. 1570. Imprinted at London by John Daye, 8vo, which (known to me only fromBrit. Bibliog.ii. 289) contains Skeltonical passages.—The Riddles of Heraclitus and Democritus. Printed at London by Ann Hatfield for John Norton, 1598, 4to, which (known to me only fromRestituta, i. 175) has Skeltonical rhymes on the back of the title-page.—The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll. As it hath bene sundrie times Actedby the Children of Powles, 1600, 4to, which has some Skeltonical lines at sig. C 4.—The Downfall of Robert Earle of Huntington, &c. (by Anthony Munday), 1601, 4to, andThe Death of Robert, Earle of Hvntington, &c. (by Anthony Munday and Henry Chettle), 1601, 4to, (two plays already noticed, p. lxxxvi.), in which are various Skeltonical passages.—Hobson’s Horse-load of Letters, or a President for Epistles. The First Part, 1617, 4to, which concludes with three epistles in verse, the last entitled “A merry-mad Letter in Skeltons rime,” &c.—Poems: By Michael Drayton Esqvire, &c., n. d., folio, which contains at p. 301 a copy of verses entitled “A Skeltoniad.”—The Fortunate Isles, &c. 1626, a masque by Ben Jonson (already noticed, p. lxxxvii.), in which are imitations of Skelton’s style.—All The Workes of John Taylor The Water-poet, &c. 1630, folio, which contains, at p. 245, “A Skeltonicall salutation to those that know how to reade, and not marre the sense with hacking or mis-construction” (printed as prose).—Hesperides: or, The Works Both Humane & Divine of Robert Herrick Esq., 1648, 8vo, among which, at pp. 10, 97, 268, are verses in Skelton’s favourite metre.—The Works of Mr. John Cleveland, Containing his Poems, Orations, Epistles, Collected into One Volume, 1687, 8vo, in which may be found, at p. 306, a piece of disgusting grossness (suggested by Skelton’sElynour Rummynge), entitled “The Old Gill.”

A poem calledPhilargyrie of greate Britayne, 1551, printed (and no doubt written) by Robert Crowly, has been frequently mentioned as a “Skeltonic” composition, but improperly, as the following lines will shew;

“Geue eare awhyle,And marke my style,You that hath wyt in store;For wyth wordes bareI wyll declareThyngs done long tyme before.Sometyme certayneInto Britayne,A lande full of plentie,A gyaunte greateCame to seke meate,Whose name was Philargyrie,” &c.

“Geue eare awhyle,

And marke my style,

You that hath wyt in store;

For wyth wordes bare

I wyll declare

Thyngs done long tyme before.

Sometyme certayne

Into Britayne,

A lande full of plentie,

A gyaunte greate

Came to seke meate,

Whose name was Philargyrie,” &c.

“See also,” says Warton (Hist. of E. P.ii. 358, note, ed.4to), “a doggrel piece of this kind,in imitation of Skelton, introduced into Browne’sSheperd’s Pipe,”—a mistake; for the poem of Hoccleve (inserted inEgloguei.), to which Warton evidently alludes, is neither doggrel nor in Skelton’s manner.

Miseremini mei, ye that be my frendis!This world[156]hath formed me downe to fall:How may[157]I endure, when that eueri thyng endis?What creature is borne to be eternall?Now there[158]is no more but pray for me all:Thus say I Edward, that late was youre kynge,And twenty two[159]yeres ruled this imperyall,Some vnto pleasure, and some to no lykynge:Mercy I aske of my mysdoynge;What auayleth it,[160]frendes, to be my foo,10Sith I can not resyst, nor amend your complaining?Quia, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!I slepe now in molde, as it is naturallThat[161]erth vnto erth hath his reuerture:What ordeyned God to be terestryall,Without recours to the erth[162]of nature?Who to lyue euer may himselfe assure?[163]What is it[164]to trust on mutabilyte,Sith that in this world nothing may indure?For now am I gone, that late was in prosperyte:20To presume thervppon, it is but a vanyte,Not certayne, but as a cheryfayre[165]full of wo:Reygned not I of late in greate felycite?Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!Where was in my lyfe such one as I,Whyle lady Fortune with me had continuaunce?Graunted not she me to haue victory,In England to rayne, and to contribute Fraunce?She toke me by the hand and led me a daunce,And with her sugred lyppes on me she smyled;30But, what for her dissembled countenaunce,I coud not beware tyl I was begyled:Now from this world she hath me excyled,When I was lothyst hens for to go,And I am in age but, as who sayth, a chylde,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!I se wyll,[166]they leve that doble my ȝeris:This[167]dealid this world with me as it lyst,[168]And hathe me made, to ȝow that be my perys,Example to thynke on Had I wyst:40I storyd my cofers and allso my chest[169]With taskys takynge of the comenalte;I toke ther tresure, but of ther prayȝeris mist;Whom I beseche with pure humylyteFor to forgeve and have on me pety;I was ȝour kynge, and kept ȝow from ȝowr foo:I wold now amend, but that wull not be,[Quia,] ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!I had ynough, I held me not content,Without remembraunce that I should dye;50And more euer to incroche[170]redy was I bent,I knew not how longe I should it occupy:I made the Tower stronge, I wyst not why;I knew not to whom I purchased Tetersall;I amendid Douer on the mountayne hye,And London I prouoked to fortify the wall;I made Notingam a place full[171]royall,Wyndsore, Eltam,[172]and many other mo:Yet at the last I went from them all,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!60Where is now my conquest and victory?Where is my riches and my royal aray?Wher be my coursers and my horses hye?Where is my myrth, my solas, and my[173]play?As vanyte, to nought al is wandred[174]away.O lady Bes, longe for me may ye call!For I[175]am departed tyl domis day;But loue ye that Lorde that is soueraygne of all.Where be my castels and buyldynges royall?But Windsore alone, now I haue no mo,70And of Eton the prayers perpetuall,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!Why should a man be proude or presume hye?Sainct Bernard therof nobly doth trete,Seyth a man is but[176]a sacke of stercorry,And shall returne vnto wormis mete.Why, what cam of Alexander the greate?Or els of stronge Sampson, who can tell?Were not[177]wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to frete?And of Salomon, that was of wyt the well?80Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell,Yet for al his bewte wormys ete him also;And I but late in honour dyd excel,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!I haue played my pageyond, now am I past;Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld:This[178]al thing concluded shalbe at the last,When death approchyth, then lost is the felde:Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,Nor nought[179]would conserue me here in my place,90In manus tuas, Domine, my spirite vp I yelde,Humbly[180]beseching thé, God, of thy[181]grace!O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbraceBenyngly now to pray for me also;For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

Miseremini mei, ye that be my frendis!

This world[156]hath formed me downe to fall:

How may[157]I endure, when that eueri thyng endis?

What creature is borne to be eternall?

Now there[158]is no more but pray for me all:

Thus say I Edward, that late was youre kynge,

And twenty two[159]yeres ruled this imperyall,

Some vnto pleasure, and some to no lykynge:

Mercy I aske of my mysdoynge;

What auayleth it,[160]frendes, to be my foo,10

Sith I can not resyst, nor amend your complaining?

Quia, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

I slepe now in molde, as it is naturallThat[161]erth vnto erth hath his reuerture:What ordeyned God to be terestryall,Without recours to the erth[162]of nature?Who to lyue euer may himselfe assure?[163]What is it[164]to trust on mutabilyte,Sith that in this world nothing may indure?For now am I gone, that late was in prosperyte:20To presume thervppon, it is but a vanyte,Not certayne, but as a cheryfayre[165]full of wo:Reygned not I of late in greate felycite?Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

I slepe now in molde, as it is naturall

That[161]erth vnto erth hath his reuerture:

What ordeyned God to be terestryall,

Without recours to the erth[162]of nature?

Who to lyue euer may himselfe assure?[163]

What is it[164]to trust on mutabilyte,

Sith that in this world nothing may indure?

For now am I gone, that late was in prosperyte:20

To presume thervppon, it is but a vanyte,

Not certayne, but as a cheryfayre[165]full of wo:

Reygned not I of late in greate felycite?

Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

Where was in my lyfe such one as I,Whyle lady Fortune with me had continuaunce?Graunted not she me to haue victory,In England to rayne, and to contribute Fraunce?She toke me by the hand and led me a daunce,And with her sugred lyppes on me she smyled;30But, what for her dissembled countenaunce,I coud not beware tyl I was begyled:Now from this world she hath me excyled,When I was lothyst hens for to go,And I am in age but, as who sayth, a chylde,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!I se wyll,[166]they leve that doble my ȝeris:This[167]dealid this world with me as it lyst,[168]And hathe me made, to ȝow that be my perys,Example to thynke on Had I wyst:40I storyd my cofers and allso my chest[169]With taskys takynge of the comenalte;I toke ther tresure, but of ther prayȝeris mist;Whom I beseche with pure humylyteFor to forgeve and have on me pety;I was ȝour kynge, and kept ȝow from ȝowr foo:I wold now amend, but that wull not be,[Quia,] ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

Where was in my lyfe such one as I,

Whyle lady Fortune with me had continuaunce?

Graunted not she me to haue victory,

In England to rayne, and to contribute Fraunce?

She toke me by the hand and led me a daunce,

And with her sugred lyppes on me she smyled;30

But, what for her dissembled countenaunce,

I coud not beware tyl I was begyled:

Now from this world she hath me excyled,

When I was lothyst hens for to go,

And I am in age but, as who sayth, a chylde,

Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

I se wyll,[166]they leve that doble my ȝeris:

This[167]dealid this world with me as it lyst,[168]

And hathe me made, to ȝow that be my perys,

Example to thynke on Had I wyst:40

I storyd my cofers and allso my chest[169]

With taskys takynge of the comenalte;

I toke ther tresure, but of ther prayȝeris mist;

Whom I beseche with pure humylyte

For to forgeve and have on me pety;

I was ȝour kynge, and kept ȝow from ȝowr foo:

I wold now amend, but that wull not be,

[Quia,] ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

I had ynough, I held me not content,Without remembraunce that I should dye;50And more euer to incroche[170]redy was I bent,I knew not how longe I should it occupy:I made the Tower stronge, I wyst not why;I knew not to whom I purchased Tetersall;I amendid Douer on the mountayne hye,And London I prouoked to fortify the wall;I made Notingam a place full[171]royall,Wyndsore, Eltam,[172]and many other mo:Yet at the last I went from them all,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!60

I had ynough, I held me not content,

Without remembraunce that I should dye;50

And more euer to incroche[170]redy was I bent,

I knew not how longe I should it occupy:

I made the Tower stronge, I wyst not why;

I knew not to whom I purchased Tetersall;

I amendid Douer on the mountayne hye,

And London I prouoked to fortify the wall;

I made Notingam a place full[171]royall,

Wyndsore, Eltam,[172]and many other mo:

Yet at the last I went from them all,

Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!60

Where is now my conquest and victory?Where is my riches and my royal aray?Wher be my coursers and my horses hye?Where is my myrth, my solas, and my[173]play?As vanyte, to nought al is wandred[174]away.O lady Bes, longe for me may ye call!For I[175]am departed tyl domis day;But loue ye that Lorde that is soueraygne of all.Where be my castels and buyldynges royall?But Windsore alone, now I haue no mo,70And of Eton the prayers perpetuall,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

Where is now my conquest and victory?

Where is my riches and my royal aray?

Wher be my coursers and my horses hye?

Where is my myrth, my solas, and my[173]play?

As vanyte, to nought al is wandred[174]away.

O lady Bes, longe for me may ye call!

For I[175]am departed tyl domis day;

But loue ye that Lorde that is soueraygne of all.

Where be my castels and buyldynges royall?

But Windsore alone, now I haue no mo,70

And of Eton the prayers perpetuall,

Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

Why should a man be proude or presume hye?Sainct Bernard therof nobly doth trete,Seyth a man is but[176]a sacke of stercorry,And shall returne vnto wormis mete.Why, what cam of Alexander the greate?Or els of stronge Sampson, who can tell?Were not[177]wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to frete?And of Salomon, that was of wyt the well?80Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell,Yet for al his bewte wormys ete him also;And I but late in honour dyd excel,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

Why should a man be proude or presume hye?

Sainct Bernard therof nobly doth trete,

Seyth a man is but[176]a sacke of stercorry,

And shall returne vnto wormis mete.

Why, what cam of Alexander the greate?

Or els of stronge Sampson, who can tell?

Were not[177]wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to frete?

And of Salomon, that was of wyt the well?80

Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell,

Yet for al his bewte wormys ete him also;

And I but late in honour dyd excel,

Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

I haue played my pageyond, now am I past;Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld:This[178]al thing concluded shalbe at the last,When death approchyth, then lost is the felde:Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,Nor nought[179]would conserue me here in my place,90In manus tuas, Domine, my spirite vp I yelde,Humbly[180]beseching thé, God, of thy[181]grace!O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbraceBenyngly now to pray for me also;For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

I haue played my pageyond, now am I past;

Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld:

This[178]al thing concluded shalbe at the last,

When death approchyth, then lost is the felde:

Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,

Nor nought[179]would conserue me here in my place,90

In manus tuas, Domine, my spirite vp I yelde,

Humbly[180]beseching thé, God, of thy[181]grace!

O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbrace

Benyngly now to pray for me also;

For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,

Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!

[155]Of the death, &c.] From the ed. by Kynge and Marche ofCertaine bokes compyled by Mayster Skelton, n. d.—collated with the same work, ed. Day, n. d., and ed. Lant, n. d.; with Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’sWorkes, 1568; occasionally with theMirrour for Magistrates, 1587 (in the earlier eds. of which the poem was incorporated), and with a contemporary MS. in the possession of Miss Richardson Currer, which last has furnished a stanza hitherto unprinted.[156]This world, &c.]MS.:“For theworld hatheconformidme to fall.”[157]may]MS.“myzt.”[158]Now there, &c.]MS.:“Now is ther nohelpebut pray formy sovle.”[159]twenty-two] SoMS.andMir. for Mag.Eds. “xxiii.;” see notes.[160]it] So other eds. Ed. of Kynge and Marche, “hit.”[161]That] SoMS.Eds. “As.”[162]the erth]MS.“dethe.”[163]himselfe assure] SoMir. for Mag.Eds. andMS., “be sure.”[164]What is it, &c.]MS.:“What ys it to trustthemutabylyteOfthis worldwhanno thyng may endure.”[165]cheryfayre]MS.“cheyfeyre.”[166]I se wyll, &c.] This stanza only found inMS.[167]This] See notes.[168]lyst]MS.“lust”—against the rhyme.[169]chest]MS.“chestys”—against the rhyme.[170]euer to incroche] Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “ouerto,” &c.MS.gives this line and the next thus:“And more toencresewasmyne ententAndnotbeynge ware whoshuld it ocupye.”[171]full] SoMir. for Mag.Not in eds. orMS.[172]Wyndsore,Eltam,&c.] This line and the next given thus inMS.:“Wynsoreand etonand many oder moAs WestmynsterElthamand sonewent I from all.”And so, with slight variation, in Nash’sQuaternio: see notes.[173]my] SoMir. for Mag.Not in eds. orMS.[174]wandred]Mir. for Mag.“wythered.”[175]For I, &c.]MS.:“Now are wedepartid[i. e. parted] ontodomys day.”[176]Seyth a man is but, &c.] Day’s ed. “Seetha man isnothingbut,” &c. Marshe’s ed. “Sythea man isnothingbut,” &c.Mir. for Mag.“Sayinga man is but,” &c.MS.“Seingea man ys a sak ofsterqueryte.”[177]Were not] So Lant’s ed. andMir. for Mag.Ed. of Kynge and Marche, “Where no.” Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “Wher no.”MS.“Wasnot.”[178]This]Mir. for Mag.“Thus;” but see note.[179]Nor nought, &c.]Mir. for Mag.:“Fornought would conserue mee here inthisplace.”MS.:“Nenougt wold concerue me my place.”[180]Humbly] So other eds. Kynge and Marche’s ed. “Humble.”[181]thy] Other eds. “his.”

[156]This world, &c.]MS.:“For theworld hatheconformidme to fall.”

[156]This world, &c.]MS.:

“For theworld hatheconformidme to fall.”

[157]may]MS.“myzt.”

[158]Now there, &c.]MS.:“Now is ther nohelpebut pray formy sovle.”

[158]Now there, &c.]MS.:

“Now is ther nohelpebut pray formy sovle.”

[159]twenty-two] SoMS.andMir. for Mag.Eds. “xxiii.;” see notes.

[160]it] So other eds. Ed. of Kynge and Marche, “hit.”

[161]That] SoMS.Eds. “As.”

[162]the erth]MS.“dethe.”

[163]himselfe assure] SoMir. for Mag.Eds. andMS., “be sure.”

[164]What is it, &c.]MS.:“What ys it to trustthemutabylyteOfthis worldwhanno thyng may endure.”

[164]What is it, &c.]MS.:

“What ys it to trustthemutabylyteOfthis worldwhanno thyng may endure.”

“What ys it to trustthemutabylyte

Ofthis worldwhanno thyng may endure.”

[165]cheryfayre]MS.“cheyfeyre.”

[166]I se wyll, &c.] This stanza only found inMS.

[167]This] See notes.

[168]lyst]MS.“lust”—against the rhyme.

[169]chest]MS.“chestys”—against the rhyme.

[170]euer to incroche] Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “ouerto,” &c.MS.gives this line and the next thus:“And more toencresewasmyne ententAndnotbeynge ware whoshuld it ocupye.”

[170]euer to incroche] Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “ouerto,” &c.MS.gives this line and the next thus:

“And more toencresewasmyne ententAndnotbeynge ware whoshuld it ocupye.”

“And more toencresewasmyne entent

Andnotbeynge ware whoshuld it ocupye.”

[171]full] SoMir. for Mag.Not in eds. orMS.

[172]Wyndsore,Eltam,&c.] This line and the next given thus inMS.:“Wynsoreand etonand many oder moAs WestmynsterElthamand sonewent I from all.”And so, with slight variation, in Nash’sQuaternio: see notes.

[172]Wyndsore,Eltam,&c.] This line and the next given thus inMS.:

“Wynsoreand etonand many oder moAs WestmynsterElthamand sonewent I from all.”

“Wynsoreand etonand many oder mo

As WestmynsterElthamand sonewent I from all.”

And so, with slight variation, in Nash’sQuaternio: see notes.

[173]my] SoMir. for Mag.Not in eds. orMS.

[174]wandred]Mir. for Mag.“wythered.”

[175]For I, &c.]MS.:“Now are wedepartid[i. e. parted] ontodomys day.”

[175]For I, &c.]MS.:

“Now are wedepartid[i. e. parted] ontodomys day.”

[176]Seyth a man is but, &c.] Day’s ed. “Seetha man isnothingbut,” &c. Marshe’s ed. “Sythea man isnothingbut,” &c.Mir. for Mag.“Sayinga man is but,” &c.MS.“Seingea man ys a sak ofsterqueryte.”

[177]Were not] So Lant’s ed. andMir. for Mag.Ed. of Kynge and Marche, “Where no.” Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “Wher no.”MS.“Wasnot.”

[178]This]Mir. for Mag.“Thus;” but see note.

[179]Nor nought, &c.]Mir. for Mag.:“Fornought would conserue mee here inthisplace.”MS.:“Nenougt wold concerue me my place.”

[179]Nor nought, &c.]Mir. for Mag.:

“Fornought would conserue mee here inthisplace.”

MS.:

“Nenougt wold concerue me my place.”

[180]Humbly] So other eds. Kynge and Marche’s ed. “Humble.”

[181]thy] Other eds. “his.”

Ad dominum properato meum, mea pagina, Percy,Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit;Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonisQuæque suo patri tristia justa cano.[183]Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutetFortunam, cuncta quæ malefida rotat.Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos;Ad libitum, cujus ipse paratus ero.

Ad dominum properato meum, mea pagina, Percy,

Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit;

Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis

Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.[183]

Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet

Fortunam, cuncta quæ malefida rotat.

Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos;

Ad libitum, cujus ipse paratus ero.

[182]Poeta Skelton, &c.] From Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’sWorkes, 1568, collated with a copy of the poem in aMS.vol now in the British Museum (MS. Reg.18. D ii. fol. 165), which formerly belonged to the fifth Earl of Northumberland, son of the nobleman whose fate is here lamented: videAccount of Skelton, &c. This elegy was printed by Percy in hisReliques of An. Engl. Poet.(i. 95, ed. 1794), from theMS.just mentioned.[183]cano] SoMS.Not in Marshe’s ed.

[183]cano] SoMS.Not in Marshe’s ed.

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful soreThe dedely fate, the dolefulle destenyOf hym that is gone, alas, without restore,Of the bloud royall descending nobelly;Whose lordshyp doutles was slayne lamentablyThorow treson, again him compassed and wrought,Trew to his prince in word, in dede, and thought.Of heuenly poems, O Clyo, calde by nameIn the colege of Musis goddes hystoriall,Adres thé to me, whiche am both halt and lame10In elect vteraunce to make memoryall!To thé for souccour, to thé for helpe I call,Mine homely rudnes and dryghnes to expellWith the freshe waters of Elyconys well.Of noble actes aunciently enroldeOf famous pryncis and lordes of astate,By thy report ar wont to be extold,Regestringe trewly euery formare date;Of thy bountie after the vsuall rateKyndell in me suche plenty of thy nobles,20These sorowfulle dites that I may shew expres.In sesons past, who hath herde or seneOf formar writyng by any presidenteThat vilane hastarddis in their furious tene,Fulfylled with malice of froward entente,Confetered togeder of commonn[184]concenteFalsly to slee[185]theyr moste singuler good lord?It may be regestrede of shamefull recorde.So noble a man, so valiaunt lord and knyght,Fulfilled with honor, as all the world[186]doth ken;30At his commaundement which had both day and nyghtKnyghtes and squyers, at euery season whenHe calde vpon them, as meniall houshold men:Were not[187]these commons vncurteis karlis of kindTo slo their owne lord? God was not in their mynd.And were not they to blame, I say, also,That were aboute him, his o[w]ne[188]seruants of trust,To suffre him slayn of his mortall fo?Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust;They bode not till the reckenyng were discust:40What shuld I flatter? what shuld I glose or paint?Fy, fy for shame, their hartes were to faint.In England and Fraunce which gretly was redouted,Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede,To whom great estates obeyed and lowted,A mayny of rude villayns made hym for to blede;Unkyndly they slew him, that holp[189]them oft at nede:He was their bulwark, their paues, and their wall,Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befal!I say, ye comoners, why wer ye so stark mad?50What frantyk frensy fyll in your brayne?Where was your wit and reson ye should haue had?What wilful foly made yow to ryse agayneYour naturall lord? alas, I can not fayne:Ye armyd you with will, and left your wit behynd;Well may you[190]be called comones most vnkynd.He was your chefteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,Redy to assyst you in euery time of nede;Your worshyp depended of his excellence:Alas, ye mad men, to far ye did excede;60Your hap was vnhappy, to ill was your spede:What moued you againe him to war or to fyght?What alyde you to sle[191]your lord again all ryght?The ground of his quarel was for his souerain lord,The well concerning of all the hole lande,Demandyng suche duties as nedes most acordTo the ryght of his prince, which shold not be withstand;For whose cause ye slew him with your owne hand:But had his noble men done wel that day,Ye had not bene able to haue sayd hym nay.70But ther was fals packing, or els I am begylde;How be it the mater was euydent and playne,For if they had occupied their spere and their shilde,This noble man doutles had not bene[192]slayne.But men say they wer lynked with a double chaine,And held with the comones vnder a cloke,Which kindeled the wild fyr that made al this smoke.The commons renyed ther taxes to pay,Of them demaunded and asked by the kynge;With one voice importune they plainly sayd nay;80They buskt them on a bushment themselfe in baile to bring,Againe the kyngs plesure to wrestle or to wring;Bluntly as bestis with boste and with cryeThey sayd they forsed not, nor carede not to dy.The nobelnes of the north, this valiant lord and knight,As man that was innocent of trechery or traine,Presed forth boldly to withstand the myght,And, lyke marciall Hector, he faught them agayne,Vygorously vpon them with might and with maine,Trustyng in noble men that were with him there;90But al they fled from hym for falshode or fere.Barones, knyghtes, squiers, one[193]and all,Together with seruauntes of his famuly,Turned their backis,[194]and let their master fal,Of whos [life] they[195]counted not a flye;Take vp whose wold, for ther[196]they let him ly.Alas, his gold, his fee, his annual rentUpon suche a sort was ille bestowd and spent!He was enuirond aboute on euery sydeWith his enemyes, that wer starke mad and wode;100Yet[197]while[198]he stode he gaue them woundes wyde:Allas for ruth! what thoughe his mynd wer gode,His corage manly, yet ther he shed his blode:Al left alone, alas, he foughte in vayne!For cruelly[199]among them ther he was slayne.Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,The famous Erle of Northumberland;Of knyghtly prowes the sword, pomel, and hylt,The myghty lyon doutted by se and lande;[200]O dolorus chaunce of Fortunes froward hande!110What man, remembryng howe shamfully he was slaine,From bitter weping himself can restrain?O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!O dolorous tewisday, dedicate to thy name,When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!O ground vngracious, vnhappy be thy fame,Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the sameMost noble erle! O foule mysuryd ground,Whereon he gat his finall dedely wounde!O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii120Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man,All merciles, in thé is no pite!O homicide, which sleest all that thou can,So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran,That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede,Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!My wordes vnpullysht be, nakide and playne,Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;But by them to knowlege ye may attayneOf this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge;130Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing,Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne,Tyl fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne:Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare,Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede;To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare;Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede,Valiant as Hector in euery marciall nede,Prouydent,[201]discrete, circumspect, and wyse,Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse.140What nedeth me for to extoll his fameWith my rude pen enkankered all with rust,Whose noble actes show worshiply his name,Transendyng far[202]myne homly Muse, that musteYet somwhat wright supprised with herty[203]lust,Truly reportyng his right noble estate,Immortally whiche is immaculate?His noble blode neuer destayned was,Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght,Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas,150Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght,With truth to medle was al his holl delyght,As all his countrey can testyfy the same:To sle[204]suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame!If the hole quere of the Musis nyneIn me all onely wer set and comprysed,Enbrethed with the blast of influence deuyne,As perfytly as could be thought or deuised;To me also allthough it were promisedOf laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,160All were to lytell for his magnificence.O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age,Grow and encrese, remembre thyn estate;God thé assyst unto thyn herytage,And geue thé grace to be more fortunate!Agayn rebellyones arme thé[205]to make debate;And, as the lyone, whiche is of bestes kynge,Unto thy subiectes be curteis and benygne.I pray God sende thé prosperous lyfe and long,Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast,170Ryght to mayntayn, and to resyst all wronge:All flateryng faytors abhor and from thé cast;Of foule detraction God kepe thé from the blast!Let double delyng in thé haue no place,And be not lyght of credence in no case.With heuy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,Eche man may sorow in his inward thoughtThis lordes[206]death, whose pere is hard to fynd,Algife Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.Al kynges, all princes, al dukes, well they ought,180Both temporall and spiritual, for to complayneThis noble man, that crewelly was slayne:More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,And al other gentilmen with him enterteynedIn fee, as menyall men of his housold,Whom he as lord worshyply mainteyned;To sorowful weping they ought to be constreined,As oft as they call to theyr remembraunceOf ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.O[207]perlese Prince of heuen emperyall!190That with one word formed al thing of noughte;Heuen, hell, and erthe obey unto thy call;Which to thy resemblaunce wondersly hast wroughtAll mankynd, whom thou full dere hast bought,With thy bloud precious our finaunce thou did pay,And vs redemed from the fendys pray;To thé pray we, as Prince incomparable,As thou art of mercy and pyte the well,Thou bring unto thy joye eterminableThe soull of this lorde from all daunger of hell,200In endles blys with thé to byde and dwellIn thy palace aboue the orient,Where thou art Lord and God omnipotent.O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,Mayden most pure, and Goddes moder dere,To sorowful hartes chef comfort and solace,Of all women O flowre withouten[208]pere!Pray to thy Son aboue the sterris clere,He to vouchesaf, by thy mediacion,To pardon thy seruaunt, and brynge to saluacion.210In joy triumphaunt the heuenly yerarchy,[209]With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,His soull mot receyue into theyr company,Thorow bounty of Hym that formed all solace;Wel of pite, of mercy, and of grace,The Father, the Sonn, and the Holy Ghost,In Trinitate one God of myghtes[210]moste!Non sapit, humanis qui certam ponere rebusSpem cupit: est hominum raraque ficta fides.

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore

The dedely fate, the dolefulle desteny

Of hym that is gone, alas, without restore,

Of the bloud royall descending nobelly;

Whose lordshyp doutles was slayne lamentably

Thorow treson, again him compassed and wrought,

Trew to his prince in word, in dede, and thought.

Of heuenly poems, O Clyo, calde by nameIn the colege of Musis goddes hystoriall,Adres thé to me, whiche am both halt and lame10In elect vteraunce to make memoryall!To thé for souccour, to thé for helpe I call,Mine homely rudnes and dryghnes to expellWith the freshe waters of Elyconys well.

Of heuenly poems, O Clyo, calde by name

In the colege of Musis goddes hystoriall,

Adres thé to me, whiche am both halt and lame10

In elect vteraunce to make memoryall!

To thé for souccour, to thé for helpe I call,

Mine homely rudnes and dryghnes to expell

With the freshe waters of Elyconys well.

Of noble actes aunciently enroldeOf famous pryncis and lordes of astate,By thy report ar wont to be extold,Regestringe trewly euery formare date;Of thy bountie after the vsuall rateKyndell in me suche plenty of thy nobles,20These sorowfulle dites that I may shew expres.

Of noble actes aunciently enrolde

Of famous pryncis and lordes of astate,

By thy report ar wont to be extold,

Regestringe trewly euery formare date;

Of thy bountie after the vsuall rate

Kyndell in me suche plenty of thy nobles,20

These sorowfulle dites that I may shew expres.

In sesons past, who hath herde or seneOf formar writyng by any presidenteThat vilane hastarddis in their furious tene,Fulfylled with malice of froward entente,Confetered togeder of commonn[184]concenteFalsly to slee[185]theyr moste singuler good lord?It may be regestrede of shamefull recorde.

In sesons past, who hath herde or sene

Of formar writyng by any presidente

That vilane hastarddis in their furious tene,

Fulfylled with malice of froward entente,

Confetered togeder of commonn[184]concente

Falsly to slee[185]theyr moste singuler good lord?

It may be regestrede of shamefull recorde.

So noble a man, so valiaunt lord and knyght,Fulfilled with honor, as all the world[186]doth ken;30At his commaundement which had both day and nyghtKnyghtes and squyers, at euery season whenHe calde vpon them, as meniall houshold men:Were not[187]these commons vncurteis karlis of kindTo slo their owne lord? God was not in their mynd.

So noble a man, so valiaunt lord and knyght,

Fulfilled with honor, as all the world[186]doth ken;30

At his commaundement which had both day and nyght

Knyghtes and squyers, at euery season when

He calde vpon them, as meniall houshold men:

Were not[187]these commons vncurteis karlis of kind

To slo their owne lord? God was not in their mynd.

And were not they to blame, I say, also,That were aboute him, his o[w]ne[188]seruants of trust,To suffre him slayn of his mortall fo?Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust;They bode not till the reckenyng were discust:40What shuld I flatter? what shuld I glose or paint?Fy, fy for shame, their hartes were to faint.

And were not they to blame, I say, also,

That were aboute him, his o[w]ne[188]seruants of trust,

To suffre him slayn of his mortall fo?

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust;

They bode not till the reckenyng were discust:40

What shuld I flatter? what shuld I glose or paint?

Fy, fy for shame, their hartes were to faint.

In England and Fraunce which gretly was redouted,Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede,To whom great estates obeyed and lowted,A mayny of rude villayns made hym for to blede;Unkyndly they slew him, that holp[189]them oft at nede:He was their bulwark, their paues, and their wall,Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befal!

In England and Fraunce which gretly was redouted,

Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede,

To whom great estates obeyed and lowted,

A mayny of rude villayns made hym for to blede;

Unkyndly they slew him, that holp[189]them oft at nede:

He was their bulwark, their paues, and their wall,

Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befal!

I say, ye comoners, why wer ye so stark mad?50What frantyk frensy fyll in your brayne?Where was your wit and reson ye should haue had?What wilful foly made yow to ryse agayneYour naturall lord? alas, I can not fayne:Ye armyd you with will, and left your wit behynd;Well may you[190]be called comones most vnkynd.

I say, ye comoners, why wer ye so stark mad?50

What frantyk frensy fyll in your brayne?

Where was your wit and reson ye should haue had?

What wilful foly made yow to ryse agayne

Your naturall lord? alas, I can not fayne:

Ye armyd you with will, and left your wit behynd;

Well may you[190]be called comones most vnkynd.

He was your chefteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,Redy to assyst you in euery time of nede;Your worshyp depended of his excellence:Alas, ye mad men, to far ye did excede;60Your hap was vnhappy, to ill was your spede:What moued you againe him to war or to fyght?What alyde you to sle[191]your lord again all ryght?

He was your chefteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,

Redy to assyst you in euery time of nede;

Your worshyp depended of his excellence:

Alas, ye mad men, to far ye did excede;60

Your hap was vnhappy, to ill was your spede:

What moued you againe him to war or to fyght?

What alyde you to sle[191]your lord again all ryght?

The ground of his quarel was for his souerain lord,The well concerning of all the hole lande,Demandyng suche duties as nedes most acordTo the ryght of his prince, which shold not be withstand;For whose cause ye slew him with your owne hand:But had his noble men done wel that day,Ye had not bene able to haue sayd hym nay.70

The ground of his quarel was for his souerain lord,

The well concerning of all the hole lande,

Demandyng suche duties as nedes most acord

To the ryght of his prince, which shold not be withstand;

For whose cause ye slew him with your owne hand:

But had his noble men done wel that day,

Ye had not bene able to haue sayd hym nay.70

But ther was fals packing, or els I am begylde;How be it the mater was euydent and playne,For if they had occupied their spere and their shilde,This noble man doutles had not bene[192]slayne.But men say they wer lynked with a double chaine,And held with the comones vnder a cloke,Which kindeled the wild fyr that made al this smoke.

But ther was fals packing, or els I am begylde;

How be it the mater was euydent and playne,

For if they had occupied their spere and their shilde,

This noble man doutles had not bene[192]slayne.

But men say they wer lynked with a double chaine,

And held with the comones vnder a cloke,

Which kindeled the wild fyr that made al this smoke.

The commons renyed ther taxes to pay,Of them demaunded and asked by the kynge;With one voice importune they plainly sayd nay;80They buskt them on a bushment themselfe in baile to bring,Againe the kyngs plesure to wrestle or to wring;Bluntly as bestis with boste and with cryeThey sayd they forsed not, nor carede not to dy.

The commons renyed ther taxes to pay,

Of them demaunded and asked by the kynge;

With one voice importune they plainly sayd nay;80

They buskt them on a bushment themselfe in baile to bring,

Againe the kyngs plesure to wrestle or to wring;

Bluntly as bestis with boste and with crye

They sayd they forsed not, nor carede not to dy.

The nobelnes of the north, this valiant lord and knight,As man that was innocent of trechery or traine,Presed forth boldly to withstand the myght,And, lyke marciall Hector, he faught them agayne,Vygorously vpon them with might and with maine,Trustyng in noble men that were with him there;90But al they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

The nobelnes of the north, this valiant lord and knight,

As man that was innocent of trechery or traine,

Presed forth boldly to withstand the myght,

And, lyke marciall Hector, he faught them agayne,

Vygorously vpon them with might and with maine,

Trustyng in noble men that were with him there;90

But al they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barones, knyghtes, squiers, one[193]and all,Together with seruauntes of his famuly,Turned their backis,[194]and let their master fal,Of whos [life] they[195]counted not a flye;Take vp whose wold, for ther[196]they let him ly.Alas, his gold, his fee, his annual rentUpon suche a sort was ille bestowd and spent!

Barones, knyghtes, squiers, one[193]and all,

Together with seruauntes of his famuly,

Turned their backis,[194]and let their master fal,

Of whos [life] they[195]counted not a flye;

Take vp whose wold, for ther[196]they let him ly.

Alas, his gold, his fee, his annual rent

Upon suche a sort was ille bestowd and spent!

He was enuirond aboute on euery sydeWith his enemyes, that wer starke mad and wode;100Yet[197]while[198]he stode he gaue them woundes wyde:Allas for ruth! what thoughe his mynd wer gode,His corage manly, yet ther he shed his blode:Al left alone, alas, he foughte in vayne!For cruelly[199]among them ther he was slayne.

He was enuirond aboute on euery syde

With his enemyes, that wer starke mad and wode;100

Yet[197]while[198]he stode he gaue them woundes wyde:

Allas for ruth! what thoughe his mynd wer gode,

His corage manly, yet ther he shed his blode:

Al left alone, alas, he foughte in vayne!

For cruelly[199]among them ther he was slayne.

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,The famous Erle of Northumberland;Of knyghtly prowes the sword, pomel, and hylt,The myghty lyon doutted by se and lande;[200]O dolorus chaunce of Fortunes froward hande!110What man, remembryng howe shamfully he was slaine,From bitter weping himself can restrain?

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,

The famous Erle of Northumberland;

Of knyghtly prowes the sword, pomel, and hylt,

The myghty lyon doutted by se and lande;[200]

O dolorus chaunce of Fortunes froward hande!110

What man, remembryng howe shamfully he was slaine,

From bitter weping himself can restrain?

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!O dolorous tewisday, dedicate to thy name,When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!O ground vngracious, vnhappy be thy fame,Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the sameMost noble erle! O foule mysuryd ground,Whereon he gat his finall dedely wounde!

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous tewisday, dedicate to thy name,

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!

O ground vngracious, vnhappy be thy fame,

Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the same

Most noble erle! O foule mysuryd ground,

Whereon he gat his finall dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii120Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man,All merciles, in thé is no pite!O homicide, which sleest all that thou can,So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran,That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede,Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii120

Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man,

All merciles, in thé is no pite!

O homicide, which sleest all that thou can,

So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran,

That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede,

Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!

My wordes vnpullysht be, nakide and playne,Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;But by them to knowlege ye may attayneOf this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge;130Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing,Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne,Tyl fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne:

My wordes vnpullysht be, nakide and playne,

Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;

But by them to knowlege ye may attayne

Of this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge;130

Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing,

Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne,

Tyl fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne:

Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare,Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede;To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare;Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede,Valiant as Hector in euery marciall nede,Prouydent,[201]discrete, circumspect, and wyse,Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse.140

Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare,

Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede;

To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare;

Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede,

Valiant as Hector in euery marciall nede,

Prouydent,[201]discrete, circumspect, and wyse,

Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse.140

What nedeth me for to extoll his fameWith my rude pen enkankered all with rust,Whose noble actes show worshiply his name,Transendyng far[202]myne homly Muse, that musteYet somwhat wright supprised with herty[203]lust,Truly reportyng his right noble estate,Immortally whiche is immaculate?

What nedeth me for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankered all with rust,

Whose noble actes show worshiply his name,

Transendyng far[202]myne homly Muse, that muste

Yet somwhat wright supprised with herty[203]lust,

Truly reportyng his right noble estate,

Immortally whiche is immaculate?

His noble blode neuer destayned was,Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght,Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas,150Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght,With truth to medle was al his holl delyght,As all his countrey can testyfy the same:To sle[204]suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame!

His noble blode neuer destayned was,

Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght,

Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas,150

Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght,

With truth to medle was al his holl delyght,

As all his countrey can testyfy the same:

To sle[204]suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame!

If the hole quere of the Musis nyneIn me all onely wer set and comprysed,Enbrethed with the blast of influence deuyne,As perfytly as could be thought or deuised;To me also allthough it were promisedOf laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,160All were to lytell for his magnificence.

If the hole quere of the Musis nyne

In me all onely wer set and comprysed,

Enbrethed with the blast of influence deuyne,

As perfytly as could be thought or deuised;

To me also allthough it were promised

Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,160

All were to lytell for his magnificence.

O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age,Grow and encrese, remembre thyn estate;God thé assyst unto thyn herytage,And geue thé grace to be more fortunate!Agayn rebellyones arme thé[205]to make debate;And, as the lyone, whiche is of bestes kynge,Unto thy subiectes be curteis and benygne.

O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age,

Grow and encrese, remembre thyn estate;

God thé assyst unto thyn herytage,

And geue thé grace to be more fortunate!

Agayn rebellyones arme thé[205]to make debate;

And, as the lyone, whiche is of bestes kynge,

Unto thy subiectes be curteis and benygne.

I pray God sende thé prosperous lyfe and long,Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast,170Ryght to mayntayn, and to resyst all wronge:All flateryng faytors abhor and from thé cast;Of foule detraction God kepe thé from the blast!Let double delyng in thé haue no place,And be not lyght of credence in no case.

I pray God sende thé prosperous lyfe and long,

Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast,170

Ryght to mayntayn, and to resyst all wronge:

All flateryng faytors abhor and from thé cast;

Of foule detraction God kepe thé from the blast!

Let double delyng in thé haue no place,

And be not lyght of credence in no case.

With heuy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,Eche man may sorow in his inward thoughtThis lordes[206]death, whose pere is hard to fynd,Algife Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.Al kynges, all princes, al dukes, well they ought,180Both temporall and spiritual, for to complayneThis noble man, that crewelly was slayne:

With heuy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,

Eche man may sorow in his inward thought

This lordes[206]death, whose pere is hard to fynd,

Algife Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.

Al kynges, all princes, al dukes, well they ought,180

Both temporall and spiritual, for to complayne

This noble man, that crewelly was slayne:

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,And al other gentilmen with him enterteynedIn fee, as menyall men of his housold,Whom he as lord worshyply mainteyned;To sorowful weping they ought to be constreined,As oft as they call to theyr remembraunceOf ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,

And al other gentilmen with him enterteyned

In fee, as menyall men of his housold,

Whom he as lord worshyply mainteyned;

To sorowful weping they ought to be constreined,

As oft as they call to theyr remembraunce

Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.

O[207]perlese Prince of heuen emperyall!190That with one word formed al thing of noughte;Heuen, hell, and erthe obey unto thy call;Which to thy resemblaunce wondersly hast wroughtAll mankynd, whom thou full dere hast bought,With thy bloud precious our finaunce thou did pay,And vs redemed from the fendys pray;

O[207]perlese Prince of heuen emperyall!190

That with one word formed al thing of noughte;

Heuen, hell, and erthe obey unto thy call;

Which to thy resemblaunce wondersly hast wrought

All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast bought,

With thy bloud precious our finaunce thou did pay,

And vs redemed from the fendys pray;

To thé pray we, as Prince incomparable,As thou art of mercy and pyte the well,Thou bring unto thy joye eterminableThe soull of this lorde from all daunger of hell,200In endles blys with thé to byde and dwellIn thy palace aboue the orient,Where thou art Lord and God omnipotent.

To thé pray we, as Prince incomparable,

As thou art of mercy and pyte the well,

Thou bring unto thy joye eterminable

The soull of this lorde from all daunger of hell,200

In endles blys with thé to byde and dwell

In thy palace aboue the orient,

Where thou art Lord and God omnipotent.

O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,Mayden most pure, and Goddes moder dere,To sorowful hartes chef comfort and solace,Of all women O flowre withouten[208]pere!Pray to thy Son aboue the sterris clere,He to vouchesaf, by thy mediacion,To pardon thy seruaunt, and brynge to saluacion.210

O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,

Mayden most pure, and Goddes moder dere,

To sorowful hartes chef comfort and solace,

Of all women O flowre withouten[208]pere!

Pray to thy Son aboue the sterris clere,

He to vouchesaf, by thy mediacion,

To pardon thy seruaunt, and brynge to saluacion.210

In joy triumphaunt the heuenly yerarchy,[209]With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,His soull mot receyue into theyr company,Thorow bounty of Hym that formed all solace;Wel of pite, of mercy, and of grace,The Father, the Sonn, and the Holy Ghost,In Trinitate one God of myghtes[210]moste!

In joy triumphaunt the heuenly yerarchy,[209]

With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,

His soull mot receyue into theyr company,

Thorow bounty of Hym that formed all solace;

Wel of pite, of mercy, and of grace,

The Father, the Sonn, and the Holy Ghost,

In Trinitate one God of myghtes[210]moste!

Non sapit, humanis qui certam ponere rebusSpem cupit: est hominum raraque ficta fides.

Non sapit, humanis qui certam ponere rebus

Spem cupit: est hominum raraque ficta fides.

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