CHAP. LXXIX.

THE KING OF ENGLAND GOES FROM SENLIS TO COMPIEGNE.—THE CAPTURE OF THE TOWN OF SAINT DIZIER.—A CONFLICT BETWEEN THE DAUPHINOIS AND BURGUNDIANS.

Atthis period, the king of England went from Senlis to Compiegne to see the town. While there, he received intelligence that a plot had been formed to take the town of Paris, through the means of the wife of one of the king of France's armourers. She was discovered one morning very early by a priest who had gone to his garden without the walls, speaking earnestly with some armed men in a valley under his garden. Alarmed at what he saw, he instantly returned to the gate of Paris, told the guard what he had seen, and bade them be careful and attentive. The guard arrested the woman and carried her to prison, where she soon confessed the fact.

This intelligence made king Henry return to Paris with his men at arms, wherehe had the woman drowned for her demerits, as well as some of her accomplices: he then returned to the king of France at Senlis.

About this time, sir John and sir Anthony du Vergy gained the town of St Dizier in Pertois; but the Dauphinois-garrison retired to the castle, wherein they were instantly besieged. La Hire, and some other captains, hearing of it, assembled a body of men for their relief; but the two above mentioned lords, learning their intentions, collected as large a number of combatants as they could raise, and marched to oppose them; when they met, they attacked them so vigorously that they were defeated, with about forty slain on the field: the rest saved themselves by flight. After this, the lords du Vergy returned to the siege of the castle of St Dizier, which was soon surrendered to them; and they regarrisoned it with their people.

HERE FOLLOW THE COMPLAININGS OF THE POOR COMMONALTY AND LABOURERS OF FRANCE.

[Translated by my Friend, the Rev. W. Shepherd, of Gateacre in the County of Lancaster.]

'Ah, princes, prelates, valiant lords,Lawyers and tradesfolk, small and great!Burghers and warriors girt with swords,Who fatten on our daily sweat!To labouring hinds some comfort give:Whate'er betide, we needs must live.But live we cannot long, we trow,If God deny his powerful aidAgainst the poor man's cruel foe,Who doth our goods by force invade,And, flouting us with pride and scorn,Beareth away our wine and corn.No corn is in our granary stored,No vintage cheers our heavy hearts,But once a week our wretched boardScant fare of oaten bread imparts;And when we raise the asking eye,The rich from our distresses fly.'But fly not:—think how ye offendWho shut your ears against our cry.And oh! some gracious succour lend,Or else with want we surely die.Oh hear! and on our wasted frameHave pity, lords! inJesus'name.Pity our faces, pale and wan,Our trembling limbs, our haggard eyes!Relieve the fainting husbandman,And Heaven will count you truly wise.For God declares to great and small,Who lacketh kindness, lacketh all.All hope is lost, all trust is gone!For when we beg from door to door,All cry, 'God bless you!' but not oneGives bread or meat to feed the poor.The dogs fare better far than we,Albeit we faithful Christians be.Yea, Christians, sons of God we be!Your brethren too, who trust in wealth,And think not that at Heaven's decreeGold disappears by force or stealthRich tho' ye be, to death ye bow:Ye little wis, or when or how.'How dare ye say, what oftentimesYe utter in a thoughtless mood,That want we suffer for our crimes,That misery worketh for our good?ForChristhis sake, no more say so,But look with pity on our woe.Our woe regard, and ne'er forgetThat ye subsist upon the toilOf weary labourers,—and yetTheir scanty goods ye daily spoil.Yea, thus ye act, of what degree,Estate, or rank soe'er ye be.Be then advised, and bear in mindThat perished are our little gains,Whilst no protecting master kindVouchsafes to pay us for our pains.But if we longer thus are shent,Believe us, lords! ye will repent.Repent ye will, or late or soon,If from our plaints ye turn away:For your tall towers will tumble down,Your gorgeous palaces decay:Sith true it is, ye lordly great,We are the pillars of your state.'The pillars of your state do crack:Your deep foundations turn to dust:Nor have ye prop or stay, alack!In which to put your stedfast trust.But down ye sink without delay,Which make us cry, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! ye bishops grave,Lords of the faith of Christian folk,Naked and bare, your help we crave,The wretched outcasts of your flock.For love of God, in charityRemonstrate with the rich and proud,That tho' they raise their heads so high,They are maintained by the crowd,Whose bread perforce they take away,And make us cry, 'Ah! welladay!'Ah, welladay! our gracious king,The noblest prince in Christian land,What mischiefs do their counsels bring,Who bade thee lay thy heavy handOn thy poor liege men!—but be wise.God gave thee power our rights to guard:Then listen to our doleful cries,And deal th' oppressor's just reward;'So shall the poor no longer say,In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! great king of France,Remember our unhappy lot:Long have we borne our sad mischance,And patient are we still, God wot!But if you do not soon applyChoice remedies to our distress,Eftsoons our tens of thousands fly,In foreign lands to seek redress.And when from hence we haste away,'Tis you will cry, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! good prince, beware;For thoughtless kings, in days of yore,Who for their subjects did not care,By loss of lands were punished sore.Are you not sworn to work our weal?Bid, then, our sore vexations cease:Humble the proud with prudent zeal,And grant us safety, grant us peace:So shall we no more need to say,In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!''Ah, welladay! when thrice a-year,Your surly sergeants came perforce,And, levying tallage on our gear,Drive from our field both cow and horse.But yet inJesus'name, we trow,That scant proportion of the sameDoth to the royal coffers flow.Then our complaints no longer blame,Nor marvel if our piteous layIs burthened still with 'Welladay!'Ah, welladay! ye lords so great,Whose counsels guide our sovereign king,Who rule each province of the state,To him our tale of sorrow bring.The keys of this fair realm you hold,Then bid him pass the just decree,(Assisted by his barons bold)Which from our woes may set us free.Thus underneath his gentle sway,No more we'll sing, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! ye counts so brave,In dread we bear your heavy thralls.While rain pours down and winds do rave,We stand upon your castle-walls.'And while, with night's all-piercing dewSo numb and cold, we keep the guard,Your captains beat us black and blue,Swearing we sleep upon our ward.And all because we sorrowing say,In murmurs low, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! thus beaten sore,Full many a crown we needs must pay,To fill that maw which craves for moreWhile insolence oppressive swayMore bitter renders!—but is thisThe claim of reason or of right?Ah, simple are ye, well we wis,Who proudly deal us such despite!Simple, in sooth; or ye would sayPitying our moan, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! against our will,Thus of your captains we complain;But sheep and lambs, and hogs they steal,And rifle all our store of grain.And if in pity ought they leave,The sergeants glean the scanty dole;And all the gear your towers receive,For shelter, pays a grievous toll.'The castellan, whom thus we pay,Recks not our cry, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! what end of trouble!When royal taxes are decreed,We tillers of the land pay double,Albeit in times of greatest need,Your men at arms, like hungry thieves,Prowl through our fields with sharpened eye,And drive and slay our fattest beeves!Or if protection ye supply,Both gold and grain therefor we pay.Well may we then sing 'Welladay!'Ah, welladay! ye men at arms,Little it boots us to complain,Albeit ye multiply our harms,And seize perforce our stacks of grain.But well I wot that frost and snowShall be the guerdon of your crimes,And ravenous Death shall lay you low,As Pharaoh fell in elder times.Then shall we smile, nor longer sayIn grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!''Ah, welladay! ye lawyers grave,Your simple clients to embroil,A subtle web of quirks ye weave,And fill your purses by our spoil.Thus do you, by your dark deceit,Make wrong seem right, and right seem wrong,While artless husbandmen ye cheat,And all our woes and griefs prolong,When you should join our doleful lay,And cry with us, 'Ah, welladay!Ah, welladay! ye burghers too,Whom erst our rents and toils maintained:When times were good, our jovial crewWith plenteous cheer ye entertained;But now that loathsome poverty,And debts, consume our squalid band,Reckless ye view our misery,And will not stretch the helping hand.Thus held in scorn we sorrowing say,In doleful dumps, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! ye tradesfolk allWho sold your paltry wares so dear,But grudged our gains so scant and small,Whene'er ye purchased of our gear.'Your knavery and your wicked lies,Your tricks and violated trothShall surely meet their due emprise,When God descends in vengeful wrath,Then will ye curse your wealth, and say,In fear of heart, 'Ah, welladay.'Ah, welladay! ye craftsmen too,Farriers, and wights that curry skins:Your grinding avarice ye shall rue,When judgment falls upon your sins.The glibness of your glosing tongueHas fleeced us worse than usury,Tho' victims of your cunning wrong,Aye doomed to meagre misery.For you we work for wretched pay,Which makes us cry, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! full well ye know,When we have sown our yearly seed,From driving rain, and frost and snow,And all the vermin, wars do breed,What ills our rising crop betide.Alas! our hoards of pulse and corn,The toiling peasant's joy and pride,Those vermin to their holes have borne:'There while they heap their stores of prey,Well may we sigh, 'Ah, welladay!'Ah, welladay! if sooth we sing,Wherefore your pardon should we crave?Our doleful state your hearts should wring,For nought can we from pillage save.Our sleekest beeves, our fairest kine,Which fed us with their milky store,Our fleecy sheep, and fatted swine,Are vanish'd to return no more;And when we miss them, well we mayCry out, 'Alas! and welladay!'Ah, welladay! can folks who wearThe form of men, and have a soul,Behold us through the frosty airBegging, in rags, the scanty dole;For all is gone: the hungry ScotAnd haughty Spaniard, in their turn,Have stripped us to the skin, God wot!And left us to lament and mourn.Hear then our dismal tale, nor sayFor nought we cry, 'Ah, welladay!''Oh, holy church! Oh, noble king!Sage counsellors, and soldiers brave,Lawyers and tradesfolk, thus we bringTo you our plaints so sad and grave.ForGod, and for his mother's sake,Attend with pity to our cries,And on our state compassion take,Else will ye see, with weeping eyes,Your towers consumed by hostile fires;For if ye slight our humble prayer,Our urgent wants and just desires,Far different letters shall declare.But if you please, in serious moodAnd kind, these presents to peruse,God shall direct you to your good,Nor will ye still our prayer refuse.Then shall we cease to sigh and say,In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!'Amen! soGodgrant of his grace!'

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