Poems: by Michaell Draiton Esquire

Henry to Rosamond.

WHen first the Post arriued at my Tent, And brought the letters Rosamond had sent, Thinke from his lips but what sweete comfort came, When in mine eare he softly breath'd thy name, Straight I enioyne him of thy health to tell, Longing to heare my Rosamond did well; With new enqui••ies then I cut him short, When of the same he gladly would report, That with the earnest haste my tongue oft trips, Catching the words halfe spoke out of his lips: This told, yet more I vrge him to reueale, To loose no time while I vn••ipt the seale. The more I reade, still do I erre the more, As though mistaking somewhat said before. Missing the point, the doubtfull sence is broken, Speaking againe, what I before had spoken, Still in a swound, my heart reuiues and faints, Twixt hopes, dispaires, twixt smiles and deepe com∣plaints.

As these sad accents sort in my desires, Smoothe calmes, rough storms, sharp frosts, & raging 〈…〉〈…〉es, Put on with boldnes, and put back with feares, My tongue with curses, when mine eyes with teares. O how my hart at that blacke line did tremble! That blotted paper should thy selfe resemble; O were there paper but neere halfe so white! The Gods thereon their sacred lawes would write With pens of Angells wings, and for their ••••ke, That heauenly Nactar, their immortall drinke. Maiesticke courage striues to haue supprest This fearefull passion stird vp in my breast; But still in vaine the same I go about, My hart must breake within, or woe breakes out, Am I at home pursu'd with priuate hate, And war comes raging to my pallace gate? Is meager ••nuie stabbing at my throne, Treason attending when I walke alone? And am I branded with the curse of Rome, And stand condemn'd by dreadfull counsels dombe? And by the pride of my rebellious sonne, Rich Normandie with Armies ouer-runne? Fatall my birth, vnfortunate my life, Vnkinde my children, most vnkind my wife. Griefe, cares, old age, suspition to torment me, Nothing on earth to quiet or content me, So many woes, so many plagues to finde, Sicknes of body, discontent of minde; Hopes left, helpes reft, life wrong'd, ioy interdicted, Banish'd, distress'd, forsaken and afflicted, Of all reliefe hath fortune quite bereft me?

Onely my loue vnto my comfort left me, And is one beautie thought so great a thing, To mittigate the sorrowes of a King? Barr'd of that choise the vulgar often proue, Haue we (then they) lesse priuiledge in loue? Is it a King, the wofull widdow heares? Is it a King dries vp the Orphans teares? Is it a King regards the Clyants cry? Giues life to him by law condemnd to die? Is it his care the Common-wealth that keepes, As doth the Nurse her babie whilst it sleepes? And that poore king, of all those hopes preuented, Vnheard, vnhelp'd, vnpittied, vnlamented, Yet let me be with pouertie opprest, Of earthly blessings rob'd, and dispossest, Let me be scornde, reiected and reuilde, From Kingdome, Country, and from Court exilde; Let the worlds curse vpon me still remaine, And let the last bring on the first againe: All miseries that wretched man may wound, Leaue for my comfort, onely Rosamond; For thee swift Time her speedie course doth stay, At thy command the Destinies obay; Pittie is dead that comes not from thine eyes, And at thy feete, euen mercy prostrate lies: If I were feeble, rheumatike, or cold, These were true signes that I were waxed old; But I can march all day in massie steele, Nor yet my armes vnweldy weight do feele, Nor wak'd by night with bruise or bloody wound, The tent my bed, no pillow but the ground:

For very age had I laine bedred long, One smile of thine againe could make me yong. Were there in Art a power but so diuine, As is in that sweete Angel-tongue of thine, That great Enchantresse which once tooke such pains, To force young blood in Aesons witherd veines, And from groues, mountaines, and the moorish Fen, Vs'd all the hearbes ordainde to vse of men, And in the powerfull potion that she makes, Puts blood of men of birds, of beasts, of snakes, Neuer had needed to haue gone so farre, To seeke the soiles where all those simples are, One accent from thy lips, the blood more warmes, Then all her philters, exorcismes and charmes. Thy presence hath repaired in one day, What many yeeres and sorrowes did decay, And made fresh beauties fairest branches spring, From wrinkled furrowes of times ruining. Euen as the hungry winter-starued earth, When she by nature labours towards her birth, Still as the day vpon the darke world creepes, One blossome forth after another peepes, Till the small flower whose roote is now vnbound, Gets from the frostie prison of the ground, Spreading the leaues vnto the powerfull noone, Deck'd in fresh colours, smiles vpon the sunne. Neuer vnquiet care lodg'd in that breast, Where but one thought of Rosamond did rest; Nor thirst, nor trauaile, which on warre attend, E're brought the long day to desired end; Nor yet did pale Feare, or leane Famine liue,

Where hope of thee did any comfort giue, Ah what iniustice then is this of thee That thus the guiltlesse doost condemne for me? When onely she (by meanes of my offence) Redeemes thy purenesse, and thy innocence, When to our wills perforce obey they must, That iust in them, what e're in vs vniust, Of what we doe, not them account we make, The fault craues pardon for th'offenders sake, And what to worke a Princes will may merit, Hath deepst impression in the gentlest spirite; Ift be my name that dooth thee so offend, No more my selfe shall be mine owne names friend, And ••ft be that which thou doost onely hate, That name, in my name, lastly hath his date. Say tis accu••st, and fatall, and dispraise it, If written, blot it, if engrauen, raze it. Say that of all names tis a name of woe, Once a Kings name, but now tis not so. And when all this is done, I know ••vvill grieue thee, And therfore (svveet) whie should I now belieue thee? Nor shouldst thou thinke those eies with enuie lower, Which passing by thee, gaze vp to thy tower; But rather praise thine owne which be so cleere, Which from the Turret like tvvo staires appeare; Aboue the sunne dooth shine, beneath thine eie, Mocking the heauen to make another skie, The little streame which by thy tovver dooth glide, Where oft thou spendst the wearie euening tide, To view thee vvell his course would gladly stay, As loath from thee to part so soone away;

And with salutes thy selfe would gladly greete, And offer vp those small drops at thy feete, But finding that the enuious banks restraine it, T'excuse it selfe, doth in this sort complaine it, And therefore this sad bubling murmure keepes, And in this sort within the channell weepes. And as thou doost into the water looke, The fish which see thy shadow in the brooke, Forget to feede, and all amazed lie, So daunted with the lustre of thine eie. And that sweet name which thou so much dost wrong In time shalbe some famous Poets song; And with the very sweetnes of that name, Lions and tygers men shall learne to tame. The carefull mother from her pensiue breast, With Rosamond shall bring her babe to rest; The little birds, (by mens continuall sound) Shall learne to speake, and pr〈…〉〈…〉le Rosamond. And when in Aprill they beginne to sing, Wi••h Rosamond shall welcome in the spring; And she in whom all ra••ities are found, Shall still be said to be a Rosamond. The little flowers which dropping honied dew, Which (as thou writst) doe weepe vpon thy shue, Not for thy fault (sweet Rosamond) doe moane, But weepe for griefe that thou so soone art gone, For if thy foote ••uch Hemlocke as it goes, That Hemlocke's made more sweeter than the Rose, Of Ioue or Neptune how they did betray, Nor speake of I••o, or Amimone, when she for whome Ioue once became a Bull,

Comparde with thee, had beene a tawny trull; He a white Bull, and she a whiter Cow, Yet he, nor she, neere halfe so white as thou. Long since (thou knowst) my care prouided for To lodge thee safe from iealous Ellenor, The labyrinths conueyance guides thee so, (Which only Vaghan, thou, and I doe know) If she doe guard thee with a hundred eies, I haue an hundred sub••ile Mercuries, To watch that Argus which my loue doth keepe, Vntill eie, after eie, fall all to sleepe. Those starres looke in by night, looke in to see, Wondring what starre heere on the earth should be. As oft the Moone amidst the silent night, Hath come to ioy vs with her friendly light, And by the curtaine helpt mine eie to see What 〈◊〉〈◊〉 night and darkenes hid from mee; When I haue wisht that she might euer sta••, And other worl〈…〉〈…〉 might still enioy the day: What should I say? words, ••eares, and sighs be spent, And want of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doth further helps preuent: My campe r••sounds with fearefull shockes of warre, Yet in my breast the worser conflicts are; Yet is my signall to the battels sound, The blessed name of beauteous Rosamond. Accursed be that heart, that tongue, that breath, Should thinke, should speake, or whisper of thy death. For in one smile, or lower from thy sweete eie, Consists my life, my hope, my victorie. Sweet Woodstocke, where my Rosamond doth rest, Blessed in her, in whom thy King is blest;

For though in France a while my body be, (Sweete Paradice) my heart remaines in thee.

Notes of the Chronicle Historie.

Am I at home pursued with priuate hate, And warre comes raging to my Pallace gate?

RObert erle of Leicester, who took part with yong king Henry, entred into England with an armie of 3000. Flemmings, and spoild the countries of Norsfolk and Susfolke, being succored by many of the Kings priuate enimies.

And am I branded with the curse of Rome?

King Henry the second, the first Plantaginet, accused for the death of Tho. Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, staine in the ca∣thedrall church, was accursed by Pope Alexander, although hee vrgde sufficient proofe of his innocencie in the same, and offered to take vpon him any penance, so he might escape the curse and interdiction of the Realme.

And by the pride of my rebellious sonne, Rich Normandie with armies ouer-runne.

Henry the yong K. whom king Henry had caused to be crow∣ned in his life (as he hoped) both for his owne good and the good of his Subiects, which indeed turned to his owne sorow, and the trouble of the Realme, for he rebelled against him, and raising a power, by the meanes of Lewes king of France, and William K: of Scots, who tooke part with him, inuaded Normandie.

Vnkinde my children, most vnkinde my wise:

Neuer king more vnfortunate then K: Henry, in the disobedi∣ence of his children: first Henry, then G••ssrey, then Richard, then Iohn, all at one time or other, first or last, vnnaturally rebelled a∣gainst him; then the iealousie of Elinor his Qu. who suspected his loue to Rosamond, which grieuous troubles the deuout of those times attributed to happen to him iustly, for refusin: to take on him the gouernment of Ierusalem, offred to him by the patriarke there; which country was mightily afflicted by the Souldane.

Which onely Vaghan, thou, and I doe know.

This Vaghan was a Knight whom the King exceedingly loued, who kept the Pallace at Woodstocke, and much of the Kings iewels and treasure, to whom the King committed many of his secretes, and in whom he reposed such trust, that he durst commit his loue vnto his charge.