Poems: by Michaell Draiton Esquire

King Iohn to Matilda.

The Argument.

After that King Iohn had assayed by all meanes possi∣ble, to win the faire and chaste Matilda, to his vnchaste and vnlawful bed and by vniust courses & false accusation had banished the Lord Robert Fitzwater her noble Father, and many other of his alies, who iustly withstood the desire of this wanton King, seeking the dishonour of his faire and vertuous daughter; this chaste Lady, still solicited by this lasciuious King, flies vnto Dunmow in Essex, where in a Nunnery she becomes a Nunne, whether the King (stil per∣sisting in his sute) solicites her by his Epistle; her reply con∣firmes her vowed and inuincible chastitie, making knowne to the King her pure vnspotted thoughts.

WHen these my Letters come vnto thy view, Think them not forcde, or faind, or strange, or new, Thou knowst no way, no means, no course exempted, Left now vnsought, vnproou'd, or vnattempted, All rules, regardes, all secret helps of Art, What knowledge, wit, experience can impart; And in the olde worlds Ceremonies doted, Good daies for loue, times, houres and minutes noted;

And where Arte left, loue teacheth more to finde, By signes in presence to expresse the minde. Oft hath mine eie tolde thine eie, beauty grieu'd it, And begd but for one looke to haue relieu'd it, And still with thine eies motion, mine eie mou'd, Labouring for mercy, telling how it lou'd. If blusht, I blusht, thy cheeke pale, pale was mine, My red, thy red, my whitenesse answered thine; If sigh'd, I sigh'd, alike both passion proue, But thy sigh is for griefe, my sigh for loue; If a word past, that insufficient were. To help that word, mine eies let forth a teare, And if that teare did dull or senslesse proue, My heart would fetch a sigh, to make it moue. Oft in thy face, one fauour from the rest I singled forth, that likes my fancie best; This likes me most, another likes me more, A third exceeding both those likde before; Then one that doth deriue all wonder thence, Then one whose rarenes passeth excellence. Whilst I behold thy Globe like rowling eie, Thy louely cheeke (me thinks) stands smiling by And tells me, those but shadowes and supposes, And bids me thether come and gather Roses; Looking on that, thy brow dooth call to mee To come to it, if wonders I will see: Now haue I done, and now thy dimpled chinne Againe doth tell me I but new beginne, And bids me yet to looke vpon thy lip, Lest wondring least, the greatst I ouerslip; My gazing eie, on this and this doth sease,

Which surffets, yet cannot desire appease. Then like I browne, (O louely browne thy haire) Onely in brownenesse, beauty dwelleth there. Then loue I blacke, thine eye, ball blacke as jet, Then cleere, that ball is there in cristall set, Then white, but snow, nor swan, nor yuorie please, Then are thy teeth more whiter then all these; In browne, in blacke, in purenes, and in white, All loue, all sweetes, all rarenes, all delight; Thus thou vile thiefe, my stolne hart hence doost carry, And now thou fliest into a Sanctuary; Fie peeuish gerle, ingratefull vnto Nature, Did she to this end frame thee such a creature, That thou her glory shouldst increase thereby, And thou aloue doost scorne societie? Why, heauen made beauty like herselfe to view, Not to be lockt vp in a smoaky mew, A rosie-tainted feature is heauens gold, Which all men ioy to touch, all to behold. It was enacted when the world begunne, That so rare beauty should not liue a Nunne. But if this vow thou needes wilt vndertake, O were mine armes a Cloister for thy sake, Still may his paines for euer be augmented, This superstition that at first inuented, I••l might he thriue, that brought this custome hether, That holy people might not liue together. A happy time, a good world was it then, When holy women liu'd with holy men; But kings in this yet priuiledgde may be, Ile be a Monke, so I may liue with thee.

Who would no〈…〉〈…〉se to ring the mornings knell, When thy sweet lips might be the sacring bell? Or what is he not willingly would fast, That on those lips might feast his lips at last? Who vnto Mattens early would not rise, That might reade by the light of thy faire eies? On worldly pleasures who would euer looke, That had thy curles his beades, thy browes his booke? Wert thou the crosse, to thee who would not creepe? And wish the crosse, still in his armes to keepe. Sweet gerle, Ile take this holy habite on mee, Of meere deuotion that is come vpon me, Holy Matilda, thou the Saint of mine, Ile be thy seruant, and my bed thy shrine. When I doe offer, be thy breast the Altare, And when I pray thy 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 shall be my Psalter. The beades that we will bid shalbe sweet kisses, Which we will number, if one pleasure misses, And when an Auie comes to say Amen, We will beginne, and tell them o're againe, Now all good fortune giue me happy thrift, As I should ioy t'absol••e thee after shrift. But see how much I doe my selfe beguile, And doe mistake thy meaning all this while, Thou tookst this vow to equall my desire Because thou wouldst haue me to be a Frier, And that we two should comfort one another, A holy sister, and a holy brother, Thou as a Votresse vnto me alone, Shee is most chaste thats but enioyd of one, Yea, now thy true deuotion doe I finde,

And sure in this I much commend thy minde, Else heere thou doost but ill ensample giue, And in a Nunry thus thou shouldst not liue. Ist possible the house that thou art in Should not be tucht, (though with a veniall sin) When such a she-priest comes her masse to say, Twenty to one they all forget to pray? Well may we wish they would their hearts amend, When we be witnesse that their eyes offend, All creatures haue desires, or else some lie, Let them thinke so that will, so will not I. Doost thou not thinke our ancestors were wise, That these religious Cels did first deuise? As Hospitalls were for the sore and sicke, These for the crook'd, the hault, the stigmaticke, Lest that their seede mark'd with deformitie, Should be a blemish to posteritie. Would heau'n her beautie should be hid from sight, Nere would she thus her selfe adorne with light, With sparkling lamps; nor would she paint her throne, But she delighteth to be gaz'd vpon: And when the golden glorious Sunne goes downe, Would she put on her star-bestudded crowne, And in her masking sute the spangled skie, Come forth to bride it in her reuelrie, And gaue this gift to all things in creation, That they in this should imitate her fashion. All things that faire, that pure, that glorious beene, Offer themselues of purpose to be seene; In sinks and vaults, the vgly toades do dwell, The diuels since most vgly, they in hell:

Our mother Earth, nere glorious in her fruite, Till by the Sunne clad in her Tinsell sute. Nor doth she euer smile him in the face, Till in his glorious armes he her embrace; Which proues she hath a soule, sence, and delight Of generations feeling appetite. Well hypocrite (in faith) wouldst thou confesse, What ere thy tongue say, thy hart saith no lesse. Note but this one thing, (if naught else perswade) Nature, of all things male, and female made, Shewing her selfe in our proportion plaine, For neuer made she any thing in vaine; For as thou art, should any haue beene thus, She would haue left ensample vnto vs. The Turtle that's so true and chaste in loue, Shewes by her mate something the spirit doth moue; Th'arabian bird that neuer is but one, Is onely chaste, because she is alone: But had our mother Nature made them two, They would haue done as Doues & Sparrowes doe; But therefore made a Martire in desire, And doth her pennance lastly in the fire; So may they all be rosted quicke that bee Apostataes to Nature, as is she. Finde me but one so young, so faire, so free, (Woode, sude & sought, by him that now seekes thee) But of thy minde, and heere I vndertake, Strait to erect a Nunry for her sake; O hadst thou tasted of these rare delights, Ordainde each where to please great Princes sights, To haue their beauties and their wits admirde,

(Which is by nature of your sexe desirde) Attended by our traines, our pompe, our port, Like Gods adorde abroad, kne••••d to in Court, To be saluted with the cheerefull cry, Of highnes, grace, and soueraigne maiestie; But vnto them that know not pleasures price, Al's one, a prison, and a Paradice. If in a dungeon, closde vp from the light, There is no difference twixt the day and night, Whose pallate neuer tasted daintie cates, Thinkes homely dishes princely delicates. Alas poore girle, I pitty thine estate, That now thus long hast liu'd disconsolate; Why now at length let yet thy hart relent, And call thy father backe from banishment; And with those princely honours heere inuest him, That aukward loue, not hate hath dispossest him. Call from exile, thy deere alies and friends, To whom the fury of my griefe extends; And if thou take my counsaile in this case, I make no doubt thou shalt haue better grace, And leaue the Dunmow, that accursed Cell, There let blacke night and melancholie dwell; Come to the Court, where all ioyes shall receiue thee, And till that howre, yet with my griefe I leaue thee.

¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.

THis Epistle of King Iohn to Matilda, is much more poeticall then historicall, making no mention at al of the occurrents of the time, or state, touching onely his loue to her, and the extreamitie of his passions forced by his desires, rightly fa∣shioning the humor of this king, as hath bin truely noted by the

most authnticall Writers; whose nature and disposition is truli∣est discerned in the course of his loue; first iesting at the ceremo∣nies of the seruices of those times, then going about by all strong and probable arguments, to reduce her to pleasures and delights; next with promises of honour, which he thinketh to be last and greatest meane, and to haue greatest power in her sexe, with pro∣mise of calling home of her friends, which he thought might be a great inducement to his desires.