Strange histories, or, Songs and sonnets, of kinges, princes, dukes, lords, ladyes, knights, and gentlemen and of certaine ladyes that were shepheards on Salisburie plaine : very pleasant either to be read or songe, and a most excellent warning for all estates / by Thomas Delone.

A mournefull Dittie on the death of faire Rosamond, King Henrie the seconds Concubine.

Cant. 1.

To the tune of Flying Fame.

WHen as King Henrie rul'd this land, the second of that name, (Besides the Queene) he dearly lou'd a faire and princely Dame: Most pearelesse was her beautie found, Her fauour and her face: A sweeter creature in this world, did neuer Prince imbrace.

Her crisped Lockes, like threedes of Gold, appear'd to each mans sight: Her comely Eyes like orient Pearles, did cast a heauenly light: The Bloud within her christall Cheekes, did such a collour driue, As though the Lilly and the Rose, for maistership did striue.

Yea Rosamond, faire Rosamond, her name was called so. To whom Dame Elinor our Queene, was knowne a cruell foe: The King therefore for her defence, against the furious Queene, At Woodstocke buylded such a Bower, the like was neuer seene.

Most curiously that Bower was buylt, of Stone and Timber strong: A hundered and fiftie Doores, did to that Bower belong: And they so cunningly contriu'd with turnning round about, That none but with a Clew of Threed, could enter in or out.

And for his Loue and Ladyes sake that was so faire and Bright, The keeping of this Bower he gaue vnto a valiant Knight. But fortune that doth often frowne, where she before did smile, The Kings delight, the Ladyes ioy. full soone she did beguile.

For why, the Kinges vngratious sonne, whome he did high aduance, Against his Father raysed warres, within the Realme of France:

But yet before our comely King the English land forsooke, Of Rosamond his Lady faire, his fare well thus he tooke.

My Rosamond, my onely Rose, that pleaseth best mine eye: The fairest Rose in all the world, to feed my fantacie: The Flower of my affected heart, whose sweetnesse doth excell My royall Rose a hundred times, I bid thee now farewell.

For I must leaue my fairest Flower, my sweetest Rose a space, And crosse the Seas to famous France, proud Rebels to abase: But yet my Rose be sure thou shalt my comming shortly see. And in my heart while hence I am, Ile beare my Rose with mee.

When Rosamond, that Lady bright, did heare the King say so, The sorrow of her greeued heart, her outward lookes did show And from her cleare and christall eyes, the teares gusht out apace, Which like the siluer pearled dew, ran downe her comely face.

Her lips like to a Corrall red, did wax both wan and pale, And for the sorrow she conceiu'd her vitall spirits did fayle, And falling downe all in a sound, before King Henries face, Full oft betweene his princely armes, her corpes he did imbrace.

And twenty times with waterie eyes, he kist her tender cheeke, Vntill she had receiued againe her senses milde and meeke. Why grieues my Rose my sweetest Rose? (the King did euer say) Because (quoth she) to bloudy warres my Lord must part away.

But sith your Grace in forraine coastes, among your foes vnkind, Must go to hazard life and limme, why should I stay behind? Nay rather let me like a Page your Shield and Target beare, That on my breast that blow may light, which should annoy you there.

O let me in your royall Tent, prepare your Bed at night, And with sweete Bathes refresh your Grace, at your returne from fight,

So I your presence may enioy, no toyle I must refuse: But wanting you my life is death, which doth true loue abuse.

Content thy selfe, my dearest friend, thy rest at home shall bee: In Englands sweete and pleasant soyle, for trauaile fits not thee. Faire Ladyes brooke not bloudy Warres, sweete Peace their pleasures breede, The nourisher of hearts content, which Fancie first doth feede.

My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke Bower, with Musickes sweete delight, While I among the piercing Pikes, against my foes do fight, My Rose in Robes and Pearle of Gold, with Diamonds richly dight, Shall daunce the Galiards of my loue, while I my foes do smite.

And you sir Thomas whom I trust, to beare my Loues defence, Be carefull of my gallant Rose, when I am parted hence: The Flowers of my affected heart, whose sweetenesse doth excell, My royall Rose a hundred times, I bid thee now farewell.

And at their parting well they might, in heart be grieued sore, After that day faire Rosamond the King did see no more: For when his Grace did passe the seas and into France was gone, Queene Elinor with enuious heart, to Woodstocke came anone.

And foorth she cald this trustie Knight, which kept the curious Bower, Who with his Clew of twined Threed, came from that famous Flower. And whē that they had wounded him, the Queene his Threed did get, And went where Lady Rosamond was like an Angell set.

But when the Queene with stedfast eye, beheld her heauenly face, She was amazed in her minde, at her exceeding grace. Cast off from thee thy Robes (she said) that rich and costly bee, And drink thou vp this deadly draught which I haue brought for thee,

But presently vpon her knees, sweete Rosamond did fall, And pardon of the Queene she crau'd, for her offences all.

Take pittie on my youthfull yeares, (faire Rosamond did cry) And let me not with Poyson strong, inforced be to dye.

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 haue done, though I was forst thereto: Preserue my life and punnish me, as you thinke good to doe.

And with these words her lilly hands, shee wrongfull often there: And downe along her louely cheekes, proceeded many a teare. But nothing could this furious Queene, therewith apeased bee. The cup of deadly Poyson fild, as she sat on her knee.

Shee gaue the comely Dame to drinke, who tooke it in her hand And from her bended knee arose, and on her feete did stand: And casting vp her eyes to heauen, she did for mercie call, And drinking vp the Poyson then, her life she lost withall.

And when that Death through euery lim, had done his greatest spight. Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse, she was a glorious wight, Her body then they did intombe, when life was fled away, At Godstow, neere Oxford towne, as may be seene this day.

FINIS.

The valiant courage and policie of the Kentishmen with long tayles, whereby they kept their auncient Lawes and Customes which William the Conquerour sought to take from them. Cant. 2.

To the tune of Rogero.

WHhen as the Duke of Normandie, with glistring Speare and Shield, Had entred into faire England, and told his foes in fielde: On Christmas day, in soleme sort, then was he crowned heere, By Albert Archbishop of Yorke, with many a noble Peere,

Which being done he changed quite, the custome of the land. And punisht such as dayly sought, his Statutes to withstand: And many Citties he subdude: faire London with the rest:

And Kent did still withstand his force, which did his Lawes detest.

To Douer then he tooke his way, the Castle downe to fling, Which Aruiragus builded there, the noble Brittaine King: Which when the braue Arch-bishop bold, of Canterburie, knew, The Abbot of S. Austins eke, with all their gallant crew.

They set themselues in Armour bright, these mischiefes to preuent With all the Yeomen braue and bold, that were in fruitfull Kent. At Canterburie they did meet, vpon a certaine day, With Sword and Speare, with Bill and Bow and stopt the Conquerors way.

Let vs not liue like Bond men poore, to Frenchmen in their pride: But keepe our auncient libertie, what chaunce so ere betide: And rather die in bloudy fielde, in manlike courage prest, Then to indure the seruile yoake, which we so much detest. Thus did the Kentish Commons cry, vnto their Leaders still:

And so marcht foorth in warlike sorte, and stood at Swanscombe hill. Where in the Woodes they hid themselues, vnder the shady greene: Thereby to get them vantage good, of all their foes vnseene.

And for the Conquerors comming there, they priuily layde waite And thereby sodainely appald his loftie high conceite: For when they spyed his approach, in place as they did stand, Then marched they to hemme him in, each one a Bough in hand,

So that vnto the Conquerours sight, amazed as he stood. They seem'd to be a walking Groue, or else a moouing Wood. The shape of men he could not see, the Boughes did hide them so: And now his heart with feare did quake, to see a Forest goe.

Before, behinde, and on each side, as he did cast his eye: He spide these Woodes with sober pace, approch to him full nye. But when the Kentishmen had thus inclosed the Conquerour round,

Most sodainely they drew their swords, and threw their Boughs to grownd.

Their Banners they displaide in spight, their Trumpets sound a charge: Their ratling Drummes strike vp Alarume, their troopes stretch out at large The Conquerour with all his traine, were hereat sore a gast: And most in perill, when he thought all perill had beene past.

Vnto the Kentishmen he sent, the cause to vnderstand. For what intent, and for what cause, they tooke this Warre in hand? To whom they made this short reply, for libertie we fight: And to enioy K. Edwards Lawes, the which we hold our right.

Then sayd the dreadfull Conquerour, you shall haue what you will: Your auncient Customes and your Lawes, so that you will be still: And each thing else that you will craue, with reason at my hand: So you will but acknowledge mee, chiefe King of faire England.

The Kentishmen agreed hereon, and layd their Armes aside:

And by this meanes, King Edwards Lawes, in Kent, doth still abide: And in no place in England else, those Customes doe remaine, Which they by manly pollicie, did of Duke William gaine.

FINIS.

How King Henrie the first, had his Children drowned in the Sea, as they came out of France. Cant. 3.

To the tune of the Ladyes daughter.

AFter our royall King, had foyld his Foes in France, And spent the pleasant Spring, his Honour to aduance: Into faire England he return'd, with fame and victorie: What time the subiectes of this Land, receiu'd him ioyfully.

But at his home returne, his children left he still In France, for to soiorne, to purchase learned skill. Duke William his brother deare, Lord Richard was his name,

Which was the Earle of Chester then, who thirsted after fame.

The Kings faire Daughter eke, the Lady Mary bright. With diuers noble Peeres: and many a hardy Knight. All those were left togeather there, in pleasure and delight, When that our King to England came, after the bloudy fight.

But when faire Flora had, drawne foorth her treasure dry, That Winter cold and sad, with hoarie head drew ny: Those Princes all with one consent, prepared all things meete, To passe the seas for faire England, whose sight to them was sweete.

To England let vs hie, thus euery one did say, For Christmas draweth me, no longer let vs stay: But spend the merry Christmas time, within our Fathers Court: Where Lady Pleasure doth attend, with many a Princely sport.

To Sea those Princes went, fullfilled with mirth and ioy:

But this their merriment, did turne to deare annoy: The Saylers and the Shipmen all, through foule excesse of Wine, Were so disguis'de that at the Sea, they shewd themselues like Swine.

The Sterne no man could guide, the Maister sleepeng lay: The Saylers all beside, went reeling euery way: So that the Ship at randome rode, vpon the foaming Flood: Whereby in perill of their liues, the Princes alwaies stood.

Which made distilling teares from their faire eyes to fall: Their hearts were fild with teares, no helpe they had at all: They wish themselues vpon the land a thousand times, and more: And at the last they came in sight of Englands pleasant shore.

Then euery one began, to turne their sighes to smiles: Their colours pale and wan, a chearefull looke exiles: The Princly Lordes most louingly, their Ladyes did imbrace:

For now in England shall we be, (quoth they) in little space.

Take comfort now, they sayd, behold the Land at last; Then be no more dismayde, the worst is gone and past. But while they did this ioyfull hope, with comfort entertaine, The goodly Ship vpon a Rocke, on sunder burst in twaine.

With that a greeuous shreeke among them there was made, And euery one did seeke on something to be stayde: But all in vaine such helpe they sought, the Ship so soone did sinke, That in the Sea they were constrain'd, to take their latest drinke.

There might you see the Lords, and Ladyes, for to lie, Amidst rhe salt Sea foame, with many a grieuous crie: Still labouring for their liues defence, with stretched armes abroade And lifting vp their little hands for helpe with one accord.

But as good Fortune would, the svveet young Duke did get.

Into the Cocke-boate then, where safely he did sit: But when he heard his Sister cry, the Kinges faire Daughter deere, He turnd his Boat to take her in, whose death did draw so neere,

But while he stroue to take, his sweete young Sister in, The rest such shift did make, in sea as they did swimme, That to the Boat a number got, so many, as at last, The Boat and all that were therein, were drowned and ouercast.

Of Lordes and Gentlemen, the Ladyes faire offace: Not one escaped then? which was a heauie case. Three-score and ten, were drownd in all and none escaped death, But one poore Butcher, which had swome himselfe quite out of breath.

This was most heauie newes, vnto our comely King; Who did all Mirth refuse, this word when they did bring: For by this meanes no Child he had, his Kingdome to succeed▪

Whereby his sisters Sonne was King, as you shall plainely read.

The Dutchesse of Suffolkes calamitie. Cant. 4.

To the tune of Queene Dido.

WHen God had taken (for our sinne) that prudent Prince King Edward away Then bloudy Bonner did begin his raging malice to be wray: All those that did the Gospell professe, He persecuted more or lesse.

Thus when the Lord on vs did lower, many in Prison did he throw, Tormenting them in Lolards Tower, whereby they might the trueth forgoe. Then Granmer, Ridley, and the rest, Were burnt in fire, that Christ profest.

Smithfield was then with Fagots fild, and many places more beside. At Couentrie was Sanders kild, at Glocester eke good Hooper dide: And to escape this bloudy day, Beyond-seas many fled away.

Among the rest that sought reliefe, and for their Fayth in danger stood,

Lady Elizabeth was chiefe, King Henries daughter of Royall bloud Which the Tower prisoner did lie, Looking each day when she should die.

The Dutches of Suffolke seeing this, (whose life likewise the Tyrant sought, Who in the hope of heauenly blisse, which in Gods word her comfort wrought, For feare of death, was faine to flie, And leaue her House most secretly.

That for the loue of Christ alone, her Landes and Goods she left behind: Seeking still for precious Stone, the Word of trueth, so rare to finde: She with her Nurse, her Husband, and Child, In poore aray their sightes beguild.

Thus through London they past along, each one did passe a seuerall streete. Thus all vnknowne, escaped wrong, at Billings gate they all did meete: Like pleople poore in Graue send Barge, They simply went with all their charge.

And all along from Grauesend towne, with easie iournies on foote they went, Vnto the Sea-coast they came downe, to passe the Seas was their intent: And God prouided so that day, That they tooke Ship and sayld away.

And with a prosperous gale of winde, in Flaunders safe they did ariue: This was to their great ease of minde, which from their heartes much woe did driue: And so (with thankes to God on hie) They tooke their way to Germanie.

Thus as they traueild thus disguisde, vpon the high way sodainely, By cruell Theeues they were surprisde, assaulting their poore company: And all their Treasure and their store, They tooke away, and beate them sore.

The Nursse in middest of their fight, laid downe the childe vpon the ground, And ran away out of their sight, and neuer after that was found. Then did the Dutches make great mone With her good Husband all alone.

The Theeues had there their horses kild, and all their mony quite had tooke: The prettie Babie almost spild, was by their Nurse likewise forsooke: And they far from their friends did stand, All succourlesse in a straunge Land.

The Skies likewise began to schoule, it hayld and raind in pitteous sort? The way was long, and wondrous foule then may I now full well report.

Their griefe and sorrow was not small, When this vnhappy chance did fall.

Sometime the Dutchesse bore the child, as wet as euer she could be: And when the Lady kind and mild was wearie, then the Child bore he: And thus they one another eas'd, And with their fortunes were well pleas'd.

And after many weary steppes, all wet-shod both in durt and myre, After much griefe, their harts yet leapes, for labour doth some rest require: A Towne before them they did see. But lodg'd therein they could not bee.

From house to house they both did goe, seeking where they that night might lie. But want of Mony was their woe, and still the Babe with cold did cry, With cap and knee they courtsie make, But none on them would pittie take,

Loe heere a Princesse of great bloud did pray a Peasant for reliefe, With teares bedeawed as she stood, yet few or none regards her griefe Her speach they could not vnderstand, But gaue her a penny in her hand, When all in vaine the paines was spent, and that they could not house-rome get,

Into a Church-porch then they went, to stand out of the raine and wet. Then said the Dutchesse to her deere, Oh that we had some fire heere.

Then did her Husband so prouide, that fire and coales he got with speed: She sat downe by the fiers side, to dresse her Daughter that had need: And while she drest it in her lap, Her Husband made the Infant Pap.

A non the Sexton thither came, and finding them there by the fire, The drunken Knaue all voyd of shame, to driue them out was his desire: And spurning foorth this noble Dame, Her Husbands wrath it did inflame.

And all in furie as he stood, he wrong the Keyes out of his hand, And stroke him so, that all of bloud his head ran downe where he did stand: Therefore the Sexton presently, For helpe and ayde aloude did cry.

Then came the Officers in haste, and tooke the Dutchesse and her Childe, And with her Husband thus they past, like Lambes beset with Tygers wilde: And to the Gouernour were they brought, who vnderstood them not in ought.

Then Maister Bartue braue and bold, in Latine made a gallant speech, Which all their miserie did vnfold, and their high fauour did beseech: With that a Doctor sitting by, Did know the Dutchesse presently.

And thereupon arising straight, with minde abashed at this sight, Vnto them all that there did waight, he thus brake foorth in wordes aright Behold within your sight (quoth hee) A Princesse of most high degree.

With that, the Gouernour and the rest, were all amaz'd the same to heare: And welcommed their new-come Gueste, with reuerence great, and princely cheare: And afterward conueyd they were Vnto their friend, Prince Cassemeer.

A Sonne she had in Germanie, Peregrine Bartue cal'd by name: Surnam'd the good Lord Willughbie, of courage great and worthie fame: Her Daughter young, which with her went, Was afterward Countesse of Kent.

For when Queene Mary was deceast, the Dutchesse home return'd againe: Who was of sorrow quite releast by Queene Elizabeths happy raigne

For whose life and prosperitie: We may prayse God continually.

FINIS.

How King Henrie the second crowning his Sonne King of England in his owne life time, and was by him most grieuously vexed with warres. Cant 5.

To the tune of Wigmores Galliard.

YOu Parents whose affection fond, vnto your Children doth appeare: Marke well the storie now in hand, wherein you shall great matters heare, And learne by this which shall be told, to hold your Children still in awe, Least otherwise they prooue too bold, and set not by your state a strawe.

King Henrie, second of that name, for very loue that he did beare Vnto his Sonne, whose courteous fame did through the Land his credite reare: Did call the Prince vpon a day, vnto the Court in royall sort: Attyred in most rich array, and there he made him Princely sport,

And afterward he tooke in hand, for feare he should deceiued be, To crowne him King of faire England, while life possest his Maiestie. What time, the King in humble sort, like to a subiect waighted then Vpon his Sonne, and by report swore vnto him, his noble-men.

And by this meanes in England now two Kinges at once together liue: But Lordly rule will not allow in partnership their dayes to driue. The Sonne therefore ambitiously. doth seeke to pull his Father downe, By bloudy warre and subtiltie, to take from him his Princely Crowne.

Sith I am King (thus did he say) why should I not both rule and raigne. My heart disdaines for to obey, yea all or nothing, will I gaine. Hereon he rayseth Armies great, and drawes a number to his part: His Fathers force downe right to beate, and with his Speare to pierce his heart

In seauen set Battles did he fight against his louing Father deare: To ouerthrow him in despight to win himselfe a Kingdome cleare:

But nought at all could he preuaile, his Armies alwayes had the worst: Such griefe did then his heart assaile, he thought himselfe of God accurst.

And therefore falling wondrous sicke, he humbly to his Father sent: The worme of Conscience did him pricke, and his vile deedes he did lament: Requiring that his noble Grace, would now forgiue all that was past: And come to him, in heauie case, being at poynt to breath his last:

When this word came vnto our King, the newes did make him wondrous woe And vnto him he sent his Ring, where he in parson would not goe. Commend me to my Sonne, he sayd, so sicke in bed as he doth lie: And tell him, I am well appaide, to heare he doth for mercie crie.

The Lord forgiue his foule offence, and I forgiue them all, quoth he, His euill, with good, Ile recompence, beare him this message now from me When that the Prince did see the Ring he kissed it in ioyfull wise, And for his faultes his hands did wring while bitter teares gusht from his eyes

And to his Lords that stood him nie, with feeble voyce then did he call, Desiring them immediatly to strip him from his garments all: Take off from me these Robes so rich, and lap me in a cloth of Haire: Quoth he, my grieuous sinnes are such, Hell fiers flame. I greatly feare.

A Hempton Halter then he tooke, about his necke he put the same: And with a grieuous pittious looke, this speech vnto them he did frame, You reuerend Bishops more and lesse, pray for my Soule to God on hie: For like a Thiefe (I doe confesse) I haue deserued for to die.

And therefore by this Halter heere, I yeeld my selfe vnto you all: A wretch vnworthy to appeare before my God Celestiall: Wherefore within your Hempton Bed, all strew'd with ashes as it is, Let me be lay'd when I am dead, and draw me there vnto by this.

Yea by this Halter strong and tough, dragge foorth my carkas to the same: Yet is that Couche not bad enough for my vile body wrapt in shame:

And when you see me lye along, be powdered in ashes there, Say there is he that did such wrong vnto his Father euery where.

And with that word, he breath'd his last wherefore according to his minde, They drew him by the necke full fast, vnto the place by him assign'd: And afterward in solemne sort, at Roan in Fraunce buried was he, Where many Princes did resort, to his most Royall obsequie.

FINIS.

The imprisonment of Queene Elinor, wife to King Henrie the second, by whose meanes the King Sonnes so vnna∣turally rebelled against their Father, & of her lamentati∣on, being xvi. yeares in Prison, whom her Sonne Richard when he came to be King, released: and how at her de∣liuerance, she caused many Prisoners to be set at libertie. Cant. 6.

To the tune of Come liue with me, &c.

THrice woe is me vnhappy Queene, thus to offend my princely Lord:

My foule offence to plaine is seene, and of good People most abhord: I doe confesse my fault it was, These bloudy Warres came thus to passe.

My iealous minde hath wrought my woe, let all good Ladyes shun mistrust: My enuie wrought my ouerthrow, and by my mallice most vniust, My Sonnes did seeke their Fathers life, By bloudy Warres and cruell strife.

What more vnkindnesse could be showne, to any Prince of high renowne, Then by his Queene and loue alone, to stand in danger of his Crowne: For this offence most worthily, In dolefull Prison doe I lie.

But that which most tormentes my mind, and makes my grieuous heart complaine Is for to thinke that most vnkind, I brought my selfe in such disdaine, That now the King cannot abide I should be lodged by his side.

In dolefull Prison I am cast, debard of Princely companie: The Kings good will quite haue I lost, and purchast nought but imfamie: And neuer must I see him more, Whose absence grieues my heart full sore.

Full fifteene Winters haue I beene, imprisoned in the Dungion deepe, Whereby my ioyes are wasted cleane, where my poore eyes haue learn'd to weepe, And neuer since I could attaine, His Kingly loue to me againe.

Too much in deed (I must confesse) I did abuse his royall Grace, And by my great malitiousnesse, his wrong I wrought in euey place: And thus his loue I turn'd to hate, Which I repent, but all too late.

Sweete Rosamond that was so faire, out of her curious Bower I brought, A poysoned Cup I gaue her there, whereby her death was quickly wrought, The which I did with all despight, Because she was the Kings delight,

Thus often did the Queene lament and she in prison long did lie, Her former deedes she did repent, with many a watery weeping eye: But at the last this newes was spread, the King was on a sodaine dead.

But when she heard this tydinges told, most bitterly she mourned then: Her wofull heart she did vnfold, in sight of many Noble men.

And her sonne Richard being King, from dolefull Prison did her bring.

Who set her for to rule the Land, while to Ierusalem he went: And while she had this charge in hand, her care was great in gouernment: And many a Prisoner then in hold, she set at large from yrons cold.

The lamentable death of king Iohn, how he was poysoned in the Abby of Swinested, by a Frier. Cant. 7.

To the tune of Fortune.

A Trecherous deed foorth-with I shall you tell, Which on King Iohn on a sodaine fell: To Lincoln-shire proceeding on his way, At Swinsted Abbey one whole night he lay.

There did the King appose his wellcome good, But much deceipt lies vnder an Abbots Hood. There did the King himselfe in safety thinke, But there the King receiued his latest drinke.

Great cheare they made vnto his royall Grace, While he remaind a guest within that place: But while they smilde and laughed in his sight, They wrought great treason shadowed with delight

A flat fact Monke comes with a glosing tale, To giue the King a Cup of spiced Ale A deadlier drought was neuer offered man: Yet this false Monke vnto the King began.

Which when the King (without mistrust) did see, He tooke the Cup of him most couragiously: But while he held the poysoned cupe in hand, Our Noble King amazed much did stand.

For casting downe by chance his Princely eyes, On pretious Iewels which he had full nye: He saw the culloure of each Pretious stone, Most strangely turne, and alter one by one.

Their orient brightnesse, to a pale dead hue, Were changed quite, the cause no person knew: And such a sweate did ouer spread them all, And stood like dew which on faire flowers fall.

And hereby was their pretious natures tride, For Pretious-stones foule poyson cannot bide, But through our King beheld their colour pale, Mistrusted not the poyson in the Ale.

For why, the Monke the taste before him tooke, (Nor knew the King how ill he did it brooke) And therefore he a harty draught did take, Which of his life a quicke dispatch did make.

Th'infectious drinke fumde vp into his head, And throught the Veines in the heart it spread: Distempering the pure vnspotted braine,

That doth in man his memorie maintaine.

Then felt the King an extreame griefe to grow, Through all his intrails, being infected so: Whereby he knew through anguish which he felt The Monke with him most traiterously had delt.

The grones he gaue did make all men to wonder' He cast as if his heart would burst in sunder: And still he cald, while he thereon did thinke, For the false Monk which brought y^e deadly drinke.

And then his Lords went searching round about. In euery place to find the Traytor out: At length they found him dead as any stone, Within a corner lying all alone.

For hauing tasted of that poysoned Cup, Whereof our King the residue drunke vp: The enuious Monke himselfe to death did bring, That he thereby might kill our royall King,

But when the King with (wonder) heard them tell, The Monkes body did with poyson swell: Why then my Lords, full quickly now (quoth he) A breatlesse King you shall among you see.

Behold he said, My Vaines in peeces cracke: A grieuous torment feele I in my backe: And by this poyson deadly and accurst, I feele my heart stringes ready for to burst.

With that his eyes did turne within his head: A pale dead coulour through his face did spread:

And lying gasping with a colde faint breath, The royall King was ouercome by death.

His mournfull Lords wich stood about him then, With all their force and troups of warlike men, To Worcester the Corpes they did conuey: With drum and trumpet marching all the way.

And in the faire Cathedrall Chuch I finde, They buried him according to their minde: Most pompeously best fitting for a King, Who were applauded greatly for this thing.

The cruell imprisonment of King Edward the second, at the Castle of Barkeley the 22. of September. 1327. Cant. 8.

To the tune of, Labandela shot.

WHen Isabell faire Englands Queene in wofull warres had victorious beene: Our comely King, her husband deare, subdued by strength as did appeare, By her was sent to prison strong, for hauing done his crountry wrong, In Barkeley Castle cast was he, denyed of Royall dignitie: Where he was kept in wofull wise,

his Queene did him so much despise.

There did he liue in vvofull state, such is a Womans deadly hate; vvhen fickle fancie follovves change, and lustfull thoughts delight to range, Lord Mortimer was so in minde, the Kinges sweete loue was left behinde: And none vvas knovvne a greater foe, vnto King Edvvard in his woe, Then Isabell his crowned Queene, as by the sequell shall be seene.

While he in Prison poorely lay, a Parliament was held straight way: What time his foes apeace did bring billes of complaint against the King, So that the Nobles of the Land, vvhen they the matter throughtly scand, Pronounced them these speeches plaine, he was vnworthy for to raigne, Therefore they made a flat decree he should foorthwith desposed be.

And his Sonne Edward young of yeares was iudged by the noble Peeres Most meete to weare the Princely Crowne, his Father being thus puld downe. Which words when as the Queene did heare, (dissemblingly, as did appeare) She wept, she waild, and wrong her hands,

before the Lords whereas she stands, Which when the Prince her Sonne did see, he spake these words most curteously.

My sweete Queene Mother weepe not so, thinke not your Sonne will seeke your woe: Though English Lords choose me their King, my owne deare Father yet liuing: Thinke not thereto I will consent, except my father be content, And with good will his Crowne resigne and graunt it freely to be mine: Wherefore Queene mother thinke no ill in mee, or them, for their good will.

Then diuers Lordes without delay, went to the King whereas he lay, Declaring how the matter stood, and how the Peeres did thinke it good To choose his Sonne, their King to be, if that he would thereto agree: For to resigne the Princely Crowne, and all the title of renowne: If otherwise, they told him plaine, a stranger should the same attaine.

This dolefull tidinges (most vnkind) did sore afflict King Edvvards minde, But vvhen he savv no remedie, he did vnto their vvilles agree: And bitterly he did lament,

saying the Lord this Plague hath sent, For his offence and vanitie, which he would suffer patiently: Beseeching all the Lords, at last. for to forgiue him all was past,

When thus he was depriued quite, of that which was his lawfull right In Prison was he kept full close, without all pittie or remorce: And those that shewd him fauour still, were taken from him with ill will Which when the Earle of Kent did heare, who was in bloud to him full neere, He did intreat most earnestly for his release and libertie.

His wordes did much the Queene displease, who sayd he liu'd too much at ease, Vnto the Bishop she did goe, of Hereford, his deadly foe, And cruell Letters made him write vnto his Keepers with despight, You are to kind to him quoth she. hence foorth more straighter looke you be: And in their wrighting subtilly, they sent them word that he should die.

The Lord Matreuers all dismayd, vnto sir Thomas Gurney said, The Queene is much displeas'd quoth hee,

for Edwards too much liberty: And by her Letters doth bewray, that soone hest all be made away. Tis best (Sir Thomas then replide) the Queenes wish should not be denide: whereby we shall haue her good will, and keepe our selues in credite still.

How the King was poysoned, and yet hee escaped: and after∣ward how when they saw thereby he was not dispatched of life they locked him in a most noysome filthy place, that with the stincke thereof he might be choaked: and when that preuailed not, how they thrust a hotte burning Spitte into his Funda∣ment till they had burnt his Bowels within his Body, whereof he dyed. Cant. 9.

To the tune of, How can the Tree.

THe Kings curst Keepers ayming at reward, hoping for fauour of the furiours Queene, On wretched Edward had they no regard. far from their hearts was mercy mooued cleene, Wherefore they mingle Poyson with his meate, which made the man most fearefull for to eate.

For by the state he often times suspected, the venome couched in a daintie dish: Yet his faire Body was full sore infected, so ill they spiced both his Flesh and Fish, But his strong nature all their craft beguiles,

the Poyson breaking forth in Blaines and Biles.

An vgly scabbe ore-spreads his lilly skinne, foule Botches breake vpon his manly face, Thus sore without, and sorrowfull within, the dispis'd man doth liue in wofull case, Like to a Lazer did he then abide, that shewes his sores a long the high waies side.

But when this practise proou'd not to their minde and that they saw he liu'd in their despight: An other damnd, deuice then did they finde, by stinking sauours for to choake him quite: In an odde corner did they locke him fast, hard by the which, their Carrion they did cast.

The stinck whereof might be compar'd wel-nie, to that foule Lake where cursed Sodome stood, That poysoned Birdes which ouer it did flie, euen by the sauour of that filthy mudde: Euen so the smell of that corrupted Den, was able for to choake ten thousand men.

But all in vaine, it would not doe (God wot) his good complexion still droue out the same: Like to the boyling of a seething Pot, that castes the scamme into the fiery flame, Thus still he liu'd, and liuing still they sought,

his death, whose downefall was already wrought.

Lothing his life, at last his Keepers came, into his Chamber in the dead of night, And without noyse, they entred soone the same, with weapons drawne, & torches burning bright, Where the poore prisoner fast a sleepe in bed, lay on his belly, nothing vnder's head.

The which aduantage, when the murderers saw, a heauie Table on him they did throw, Wherewith awakt his breath he scant could drawe with vvaight thereof they kept him vnder so, And turning vp the cloathes aboue his hips, to hold his legges a couple quickly skips.

Then came the Murtherers one a horne had got, which far into his fundament downe he thrust, An other with a Spit all burning hot, the same quite through the horne he strongly pusht Among his intrailes in most cruell wise, forcing heereby most lamentable cryes.

And vvhile vvithin his body they did keepe, the burning spit still rovvling vp and dovvne, Most mournefull the murthered man did vveepe. vvhose vvailefull noise vvakt many in the tovvne Who gessing by his cries, his death drevv neere, tooke great compassion on the noble peere.

And at vvhich bitter screeke vvhich did make,

they praid to God for to receiue his soule: His ghastly grones inforst their hearts to ake, yet none durst goe cause the Bell to towle. Ha mee poore man, alacke, alacke he cryed, and long it was before the time he dyed.

Strong was his heart, and long it was God knowes, ere it would stoope vnto the stroke of Death: First was it wounded with a thousand woes, before he did resigne his vitall breath: And beeing murdred thus as you do heare, no outward hurt vpon him did appeare.

This cruell murder being brought to passe the Lord Matreuers to the court did hie: To shew the Queene her will performed was. great recompence he thought to get thereby, But when the Queene the sequell vnderstands, disembling she weepes and wrings her hands.

Accursed traytor, hast thou slaine (quoth she) my noble wedded Lord in such a sort, Shame and confusion euer light on thee, oh how I greeue to heere this vile report: Hence cursed catiue from my sight (she said) that hath of mea wofull widdow made.

Then all a basht, Matreuers goes his way, the saddest man that euer life did beare: And to Sir Thomas Gurney did bewray, What bitter speech the Queene did giue him there Then did the Queene outlaw them both together,

and banisht them faire Englands bounds for euer.

Thus the dissembling Queene did seeke to hide, the heynous act by her owne meanes effected: The knowledge of the deed she still denide, that she of murder might not be suspected: But yet for all the subtilty she wrought. the trueth vnto the world was after brought.

FINIS.

The dolefull lamentation of the Lord Matreuers, and Sir Thomas Gurney, being banished the realme. Cant 9.

To the tune of Light of loue.

ALas that euer that day we did see, that false smiling fortune so ficke should be, Our miseries are many, our woes without end: to purchase vs fauour we both did offend: Our deedes haue deserued both sorrow and shame, but woe worth the persons procured the same, Alacke, and alacke, with griefe may vve cry, that euer vve forced King Edvvard to dye. The Bishop of Hereford, ill may he fare, he vvrot vs a letter rare To Kill princely Edvvard: feare not it is good, thus much by his letter vve then vnderstood,

But curst be the time that we tooke it in hand, to follow such councell and wicked commaund, Alacke and alacke, with griefe we may crye, that euer we forced King Edward to dye,

Forgiue vs sweete Sauiour tha•• damnable deed, which causeth with sorrow our harts for to bleed And take compassion vpon our distresse, put farre from thy presence our great wickednes With teares all bedewed for mercy we cry, and do not the penitent mercy deny. Alacke, and alacke, with griefe we may say, that euer we made King Edward away.

For this haue we lost our goods and our land, our Castles and Towers so stately that stand: Our Ladies and babies are turn'd out of doore, like comfortlesse caitiues both naked and poore, Both friendlesse and fatherlesse do they complaine, for gone are their comforts that should them main∣taine Alacke, and alacke and alas may we cry, that euer we forced King Edward to dye. & while they go wringing their hands vp & downe: in seeking for succour from towne to towne All wrapped in wretchednesse do we remaine, tormented, perplexed in dolour and paine▪ Despised, disdained and banished quite, the coaste of our country so sweete to our sight, Alacke, and alacke alas may we cry, that euer we forced King Edward to die.

thē farevvell faire England vvherein vve vvere borne our friends & our kindred vvill hold vs in scorne, Our honours and dignities quite haue vve lost, both profit and pleasuere, our fortune hath crost, Our parkes and our chases our mansions so faire our Iems and our Ievxels most precious and rare, Alacke, and alacke, and alas may vve cry, that euer vve forced King Edvvard to die.

Then farevvell deere Ladyes and most louing vviues might vve mend your miseries vvith losse of our liues Then our silly children vvhich begs at your hand in griefe and callamities long should not stand: Nor yet in their Country despised should bee, that lately was honored of euery degree, Alacke, and alacke, and alas we may crie. that euer we forced King Edward to die.

In Countries vnknowne we range too and fro, cloying mens eares with report of our vvoe▪ Our food is vvild berries, greene banks are our beds, the Trees serue for houses to couer our heads, Brovvne bread to our tast is dainty and svveete, our Drinke is cold vvater tooke vp at our feete: Alacke, and alacke, and alas vve may crie. that euer vve forced King Edvvard to die.

Thus hauing long vvandred in hunger and cold, despising liues safety most desperate and bould: Sir T. Gurney tovvard England doth goe, for loue of his Lady distressed vvith vvoe,

Saying how happy and blessed were I, to see my sweet Children and wife ere I die: Alacke, and alacke and alas we may cry, that euer we forced King Edward to die.

But three yeares after his wofull exile, behold how false fortune his thoughts doth be∣guile Comming toward England, was tooke by the way and least that he should the chiefe murderers bewray Commaundement was sent by one called Lea. he should be beheaded foorthwith on the Sea, Alacke, and alacke, and alas did he crie, that euer we forced King Edward to die,

Thus was Sir Thomas dispatched of life, in comming to visit his sorrowfull wife: Who was cut off from his wished desire, which he in his heart so much did require: And neuer his Lady againe did he see, nor his poore children in their misery, Alacke, and alacke, and alas did he cry, that euer we forced King Edward to dye.

The Lord Matreuers (the Story doth tell) in Germany after long time did he dvvell, In secret manner for feare to be seene, by any persons that fauoured the Queene: And there at last in great misery, he ended his life most penitently, Alacke, and alacke, and alas did he say, that euer vve made King Edvvard avvay.

FINIS.