Poems: by Michaell Draiton Esquire

The Epistle of Rosamond to King Henry the second.

The Argument.

Henry the second of that name, King of England, the son of Geffrey Plantaginet, Earle of Anlow, and Mawd the Empresse, hauing by long sute and Princely gifts, won (to his vnlawfull desire) faire Rosamond, the daughter of the Lord Walter Clyfford and to auoyde the danger of Ellinor his iealous Queene, had caused a Labyrinth to be made within his Pallace at Woodstocke, in the centre wherof he had lodged his beauteous paramour. Whilest the king is absent in his warres in Normandie, this poore distressed Lady, inclosed in this solitary place, toucht with remorce of conscience, writes to the king of her distresse and miserable estate, vrging him by all meanes and per∣swasions, to cleere himselfe of this infamie, and her of the griefe of minde, by taking away her wretched life.

IF yet thine eies (great Henry) may endure These tainted lines, drawne with a hand impure, Which fain would blush, but feare keeps blushes back, And therefore suted in dispairing black, This in loues name, O that these lips might craue, But that sweete name (vile I) prophaned haue,

Punish my fault, or pittie mine estate, Reade 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for loue, if not for loue, for hate. If with my shame thine eies thou faine wouldst feed, Heere let them su••feit, on my shame to reede; This scribled paper which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 send to thee, If noted rightly, doth resemble mee; As this pure ground, whereon th••se letters stand, So pure was I, er••stained by thy hand; Ere I was blotted with this foule offence, So cleere and spotlesse was mine innocence, Now like these marks which taint this hatefull scroule, Such the blacke sinnes which spot my l••prous soule. O Henry, why by losse thus shouldst thou win? To get by conquest? to enrich with sinne? Why on my name this slaunder doost thou bring, To make my fault renowmed by a King? Fame neuer stoopes to things but meane and poore, The more our greatnes, makes our fault the more. Lights on the ground, themselues doe less••n farre, But in the ayre, each small sparke seemes a starre. Why on a womans frailtie wouldst thou lay This subtile plot, mine honour to betray? Or thy vnlawfull pleasure shouldst thou buy With vile expence of kingly maies••ie? T'was not my minde consented to this ill, Then had I beene transported by my will: For what my body was inforcde to doe, (Heauen knowes) my soule did not consent vnto; For through mine eyes had she her liking seene, Such as my loue, such had my louer beene. True loue is simple, like his mother Truth,

Kindly affection, youth to loue with youth; No sharper corsiue to our blooming yeeres, Then the colde badge of winter-blasted haires. Thy kingly power makes to withstand thy foes, But canst not keepe backe age, with Time it growes, Though honour our ambitious sex doth please, Yet in that honour, age a foule disease, Nature hath her free course in all, and then, Age is alike in Kings, and other men, Which all the world will to my shame impute, That I my selfe did basely prostitute; And say that gold was fuell to the fire, Gray haires in youth not kindling greene desire. O no; that wicked woman wrought by thee, My tempter was to that forbidden tree, That subtile Serpent, that seducing deuill, Which bade me taste the fruit of good and euill; That Circe, by whose magicke I was charmd, And to this monstrous shape am thus transform'd, That viperous hag, the foe to her owne kinde, That wicked spirite vnto the weaker minde; Our frailtes plague, our natures only curse, Hels deepst damnation, the worst euills worse. But Henry, how canst thou affect me thus, T'whom thy remembrance now is odious? My haplesse name, with Henries name I found, Cut in the glasse with Henries Diamond, That glasse from thence faine would I take away; But then I feare the aire would me betray; Then doe I striue to wash it out with teares, But then the same more euident appeares.

Then doe I couer it with my guilty hand, Which that names witnes doth against me stand; Once did I sinne, which memory doth cherrish, Once I offended, but I euer perrish. What griefe can be, but time doth make it lesse? But infamie time neuer can suppresse. Sometimes to passe the tedious irkesome houres, I climbe the toppe of Woodstockes mounting towres, Where in a Turret secretly I lie, To view from farre such as doe trauell by, Whether (me thinkes) all cast their eies at mee, As through the stones my shame did make them see, And with such hate the harmelesse walls doe view, As vnto death their eies would me pursue. The married women curse my hatefull life, Which wrong a lawfull bed, a Queene, a wife; The maidens wish I buried quicke may die, The loathsome staine to their virginitie. Well knewst thou what a monster I vvould be When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me, Whose strange Meanders turning euery way, Be like the course wherein my youth did stray; Onely a Clue to guide me out and in, But yet still walke I circular in sin. As in the Ta••ras heere this other day, My maide and I did passe the time away, Mongst many pictures which we passed by, Theseely gerle at length hapt to espie Chaste Lucrece picture, and desires to knowe, What she should be herselfe that murdred so? Why getle (quoth I) this is that Roman Dame,

Not able then to tell the rest for shame, My tongue doth mine owne guiltinesse betray; With that I send the pratling girle away, Lest when my lisping guilty tongue should hault, My lookes should be the index to my fault. As that life blood which from the heart is sent, In beauties field pitching his crimson Tent, In lonely sanguine sutes the Lillie cheeke, Whilst it but for a resting place doth seeke; And changing often-times with sweete delight, Conuerts the white to red, the red to white. The louely blush the palenesse doth distaine; The palenesse makes the blush more faire againe; Thus in my breast a thousand thoughts I carry, Which in my passion diuersly do vary. Whenas the Sunne hales towards the Westerne slade, And the trees shadowes three times greater made, Forth goe I to a little current neere, Which like a wanton traile creepes heere and there, Wherewith mine angle casting in my baite, The little fishes (dreading the deceit) With fearefull nibbling flie th'inticing gin, By nature taught what danger lies therein. Things reasonlesse thus warnde by nature be, Yet I deuour'd the baite was laid for me; Thinking thereon, and breaking into grones, The bubling spring which trips vpon the stones, Chides me away, lest sitting but too nie, I should pollute that natiue puritie. Rose of the world, so doth import my name, Shame of the world, my life hath made the same.

And to th'vnchaste this name shall giuen be, Of Rosamond, deriu'd from sinne and me. The Cliffords take from me that name of theirs, Famous for vertue many hundred yeeres. They blot my birth with hatefull bastardie, That I sprang not from their nobilitie; They my alliance vtterly refuse, Nor will a strumpet shall their name abuse. Heere in the garden wrought by curious hands, Naked Diana in the fountaine stands, With all her Nimphes got round about to hide her, As when Acteon had by chance espide her; This sacred Image I no sooner view'd, But as that metamorphosde man pursu'd By his owne hounds; so by my thoughts am I, Which chase me still, which way so ere I flie. Touching the grasse, the honny-dropping dew, Which falls in teares before my limber shue, Vpon my foote consumes in weeping still, As it would say, why wentst thou vnto ill? Thus to no place in safetie can I goe. But euery thing doth giue me cause of woe. In that faire Casket of such wondrous cost, Thou sentst the night before mine honor lost Amimone was wrought, a harmelesse maide, By Neptune that adult'rous God betraide; She prostrate at his feete begging with praiers, Wringing her hands, her eyes swolne vp with teares; This was not the entrapping baite of men, But by thy vertue gentle warning then; To shew to me for what intent it came,

Lest I therein should euer keepe my shame. And in this Casket (ill I see it now) What Ioues loue I-o, turnde into a Cow. Yet was she kept with Argus hundred eyes, So wakefull stil•• be Iunoes jealousies: By this I well might haue forewarned beene, T'haue cleerde my selfe to thy suspecting Queene, Who with more hundred eyes at endeth mee, Then had poore Argus single eyes to see. In this thou rightly imitatest Ioue, Into a beast thou hast transformde thy loue. Nay, worser farre, (degenerate from kinde) A monster, both in body and in minde. The waxen taper which I burne by night, With his dull vapory dimnesse mocks my sight, As though the dampe which hinders his cleere flame, Came from my breath, in that night of my shame, When it did burne as darknesse vgly eye, When shot the starre of my v••ginitie, And if a starre but by the glasse appeare, I strait intreat it not to looke in heere; I am already hatefull to the light, It is enough betray me not to night. Then sith my shame so much belongs to thee, Rid me of that by onely murdering mee; And let it iustly to my charge be laide, Thy royall person I would haue betraide; Thou shalt not neede by circumstance t'accuse me, If I deny it, let the heauens refuse me. My life's a blemish which doth clowd thy name, Take it away, and cleere shall shine thy fame.

Yeelde to my sute, if euer pittie moou'd thee, In this shew mercy, as I euer lou'd thee.

¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.

Well knewst thou what a monster I would bee, When thou didst build this Labyrinth for mee.

IN the Cretean Labyrinth a monster was inclosed, called a Minotaur, the history whereof is well knowne, but the Laby∣rinth was framed by Daedalus, with so many 〈…〉〈…〉icate waies, that being entred, one could either hardly or neuer return, being in maner of a maze, saue that it was larger, the waies being walld in on euery side, out of the which Theseus by Ariadnes helpe (len∣ding him a clu•• of thrid) escaped. Some report that it was a house, hauing one halfe bene••th the ground, another aboue, the cham∣ber doores therin so deceitfully enwrapped, and made to open so many wais, that it was held a matter almost impossible to return.

Some haue held it to haue beene an Allegory of mans life, true it is that the comparison wil hold, for what liker to a Labyrinth then the maze of life? But it is affirmed by antiquity, that there was indeede such a building, though Daedalus being a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 appli∣ed to the workmans excellencie, make it suspected: for Daedalus is nothing else but engenious, or artificiall. Heereupon it is vsed a∣mong the antient Poets, for any thing curiously wrought.

Rosamonds Labyrinth, whose ruins together with her well being paued with square stone in the bottome, & also her Tower from which the Labirinth did run, (are yet remaining) was altogether vnder ground, being vaults arched & walld with brick & stone, almost inextricably wound one within another, by which if at any time her lodging were laid about by the Queene, she might easly auoid perill imminent, & if need be, by secret issues take the aire abroad, many furlongs round about Woodstock in Oxford∣shire, wherin it was situated. Thus much for Rosamonds labirinth.

Whose strange Meanders turned euery way.

Meander is a riuer in Lycia, a prouince of Natolia, or Asia minor, famous for the sinuosity & often turning thereof, rising from cer∣taine

hills in Maeonia, heerevpon are intricate turnings by a tran∣sumtiue & metonimicall kind of speech, called Meanders, for this Riuer did so strangely path it selfe, that the foote seemed to touch the head.

Rose of the world, so doth import my name, Shame of the world, my lise hath made the same.

It might be reported, how at Godstow, where this Rose of the world was sumptuously interted, a certaine Bishop in the visitati∣on of his Diocesse, caused the monument which had bin erected to her honour, vtterly to be demolished, but be that seuere cha∣stisement of Rosamond then dead, at this time also ouer-passed, lest she should seeme to be the Shame of the world.