Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  When in this sort it doth it selfe forsake.

  37

  And in despight and mockery of a Crowne,

  A wreathe of grasse they for his temples make,

  Which when he felt, as comming from a swoune,

  And that his powers a little gan awake,

  Fortune (quoth he) thou doost not alwaies frowne,

  I see thou giu’st aswell as thou doost take,

  That wanting naturall couert for, my braine,

  For that defect, thou lend’st me this againe.

  38

  To whom, O heauen, should I my griefes complaine

  Since thou art iust and prouident in all?

  How should this body naturall strength retaine,

  To suffer things so much innaturall?

  My cogitations labour but in vaine,

  Except thou be partaker in my fall;

  And when at once so many mischiefes meete,

  By change of sorrow mak’st my torment sweete.

  39

  Wherefore my fate I should but fondly grutch,

  Tis vaine contention when with heauen we striue,

  Which preordaines my miseries for such,

  That by one woe another should suruiue,

  To shew how it mortalitie can tutch,

  My wretchednesse so strangely to contriue,

  That all my comfort in mishaps should rest,

  And else in nothing but misfortune blest.

  40

  To Berckley thus they led this wretched King,

  The place of horror that was long fore-thought,

  What power should suffer so defilde a thing,

  Or can behold this murther to be wrought,

  That might the Nation into question bring,

  But that your waies with iudgement still are fraught;

  Thus art thou hap’d into thy earthly hell,

  Now take thy leaue, and bid the world farewell.

  41

  Berekley, whose faire seate hath beene famous long,

  Let thy faire buildings shreeke a deadly sound,

  And to the ayre complaine thy greeuous wrong,

  Keeping the figure of King Edwards wound,

  That as thou waxest old, their shame still yong,

  Their wretched foote-steps printed on the ground,

  That when report shall lend their vile act breath,

  All tongues may adde damnation to their death.

  42

  The omenous Rauen with a dismall cheere,

  Through his hoarse beake, of following horror tells,

  Begetting strange imaginarie feare,

  With heauie ecchoes like to passing-bells;

  The howling dogge a dolefull part doth beare,

  As though they chimde his latest burying knells,

  Vnder his caue the buzzing shreech-owle sings,

  Beating his windowes with her fatall wings.

  43

  And still affrighted in his fearefull dreames,

  With raging fiends and goblins that he meetes,

  Of falling downe from steepe Rockes into streames,

  Of toombes, of burialls, and of winding-sheetes,

  Of wandring helpelesse in far forraigne Realmes,

  Of strong temptations by seducing sprites,

  Wherewith awakde, and calling out for aide,

  His hollow voyce doth make himselfe afraide.

  44

  Next comes the vision of his bloody raine,

  Masking along with Lancasters sterne ghost,

  Of Barrons twenty eight or hangd, or slaine,

  Attended with the ruefull mangled host,

  That vnreuengde yet all this while remaine,

  At Borough battell, and at Burton lost,

  Threatning with frownes, and trembling eu’ry lim,

  As though in peeces they would torture him.

  45

  And if it chance that from the troubled skies,

  The least small starre through any chincke giue light,

  Straitwaies on heapes the thronging cloudes arise,

  As though the heauen were angry with the night,

  That it should lend that comfort to his eies,

  Deformed shadowes, glimpsing in his sight

  As darkenes, for it would more darkened be,

  Through those poore crannies for•de it selfe to see.

  46

  When all th’affliction that they could impose,

  Euen to the full, and vtmost of their hate,

  Aboue his torment yet his strength arose,

  As Nature made a couenant with Fate,

  When now his watchfull and two wary foes,

  That cease not still his woes to aggrauate,

  All further helps suspected to preuent,

  To take his life to Berckley closely sent.

  47

  And subtilly a letter fashioning,

  Which in the wordes a double sence doth beare,

  Which seemes to bid them, not to touch the King,

  Shewing withall how, vile a thing it were,

  But by false poynting, is another thing,

  And to dispatch him, bids them not to feare,

  which taught to find, these murderers need no more,

  For which they stood too ready long before.

  48

  Whereas he haps a Chronicle to find

  Of former kings, their raignes, their deaths, and deedes,

  which some their lodgde forgotten had behind,

  On which to passe the houres he falls to reede,

  Thinking thereby to recreate his mind,

  But in his breast this greater woe doth breede,

  For when deepe sorrow on the fancie seaseth,

  What ere we see, our misery increaseth.

  49

  First of great William, Conquerour of this Ile,

  (From whom hee’s tenth that in succession lies)

  Whose power inforcde the Saxon to exile,

  Planting new lawes, and forraine subtilties,

  Force and subiection, so to reconcile

  The punishment of Harolds tyrannies,

  which he applies with arguments so strong,

  To the due course of his iust punisht wrong.

  50

  Rufus his sonne, duke Robert farre abroade,

  Receiues the rule in weake infeebled state,

  His fathers steps that euidently troade,

  Depressing those who had beene conquerd late,

  Wishing release of this their gricuous loade,

  Vnder the guidance of their former fate,

  The place for men that did to beasts intend,

  A bestiall life had last a beastly end.

  51

  Henry the yongst, his brother William dead,

  Taketh the Crowne from his vsurpfull hand,

  Due to the eldest good duke Roberts head,

  Bearing our Red Crosse in the Holy Land,

  whose force farre off so much diminished,

  That his returne disabled to withstand,

  when those for whom th’unnaturall war was done,

  The sea deuours, he left without a sonne.

  52

  To Mawd the Empresse he the Scepter leaues,

  His onely daughter, which by false pretext

  Stephen Earle of Bolloine forcibly bereaues,

  Henries false nephew in succession next,

  By which the Land a stranger warre receaues,

  wherewith it grew so miserably vext:

  Till Stephen failing, and his issue reft,

  T’the heires of Mawd the regall Scepter left.

  53

  The second Henry, Mawd the Empresse sonne,

  Of th’English line Plantagenet the first,

  By Stephens death a glorious raigne begunne,

  whose youth prolongd to make his age accurst,

  By his sonne Henries coronation,

  Which to his dayes much woe and sorrow nurst,

  when those for whom he conq
uerd, to make great,

  Abroad his townes, at home vsurpde his seate.

  54

  Richard his sonne that after him succeedes,

  Who not content with what was safely ours,

  A man lift vp to great and glorious deedes,

  Into the East transportes our valiant powres,

  Where with his sworde whilst many a Pagan bleedes,

  Relentlesse Fate hastes on vntimely howres,

  And makes a period to this hopefull story,

  Euen in the spring and blossome of his glory.

  55

  When him succeedes his faithlesse brother Iohn,

  Murthring yong Arthur by oppressefull might,

  Climing by sorce to his vsurped throne,

  Iustly with poyson was repayde his spight,

  His life to all men is so hatefull growne,

  Who grieues his wrongs that ne’re did any right?

  That on the Cleargie ryrannously fed,

  Was by the Cleargie iustly punished.

  56

  Henry his sonne now crowned very yong,

  Who for the hate they to his father bare,

  His state of raigning stoode in question long,

  Or to be left vnto a strangers care;

  With whom the Barrons, insolent and strong,

  For the old Charter in commotion are,

  Which his long raine so carefully attends

  Granting, his daies in peace securely ends.

  57

  From him proceedes a Prince, iust, wise, and sage,

  (In all things happy but in him his sonne)

  For whom euen nature did herselfe engage,

  More then in man, in this Prince to haue done,

  Whose happy raigne, recur’d the former rage,

  By the large bounds he to his Empire wonne,

  As the first Edward had the second beene,

  O what a flow of glory had we seene!

  58

  Turning the leafe as finding vnawares,

  What day yong Edward Prince of Wales was borne,

  Which letters seeme like Magique Characters,

  Or to despight him they were made in scorne,

  Marking the paper like dis-figuring stars,

  O let that name (quoth he) from bookes be torne,

  Lest in that place the sad displeased earth,

  Doe loath it selfe as slaundered with my birth.

  59

  From thence heereafter humane birth exil’d,

  By th’earth deuour’d, or swallowed by the sea,

  And fame enquiring for that lucklesse child,

  Say twas abortiue, or else stolne away;

  And lest, O Time, thou be therewith defil’d,

  In thy vnnumbred course deuoure that day;

  Let all be done that power can bring to passe,

  Onely forget that such there euer was.

  60

  The troubled teares now standing in his eyes,

  Through which as glasses he is forc’d to looke,

  Make letters seeme as rondlets that arise,

  By a stone cast into a standing brooke,

  Appearing to him in such various wise,

  And at one time such sundry fashions tooke,

  Which like deluding monsters do affright,

  And with their fowle shapes terrifie his sight.

  61

  When on his saint bed falling downe at last,

  His troubled spirit fore-telling danger nie,

  When (forth) the doores a fearefull howling cast,

  To let those in by whom a King should die;

  Whereat he starts, amaz•d and agast,

  These ruthlesse villaines all vpon him flie,

  Sweete Prince, alas in vaine thou call’st for aide,

  By these accursed homicides betraide.

  62

  O be not authors of so vile an act,

  My blood on your posteritie to bring,

  Which after times with horror shall distract,

  When Fame euen hoarce with age your shame shall ring,

  And by recounting of so vile a fact,

  Mortalitie so much astonishing,

  That they shal count their wickednesse scarce sinne,

  To that which long before their time hath bin.

  63

  And if your hate be deadly, let me liue,

  For that aduantage angry heauen hath left,

  That except life, takes all that it could giue,

  But for iust vengeance should not quite bereft;

  Me yet with greater misery to grieue,

  Reserue a while this remnant of their theft,

  That that which spent fro th’rest should interdict me,

  Alone remaining, doth withall afflict me.

  64

  Thus spake this wofull and distressed Lord,

  As yet his breath found passage to and fro,

  With many a short pant, many a broken word,

  Many a sore grone, many a grieuous throw,

  whilst yet his spirit could any strength affoord,

  Though with much paine disburdning of his woe,

  Till lastly gasping by their maist•ring strength,

  His kingly heart subiects it selfe at length.

  65

  When twixt two beds they close his wearied corse,

  Basely vncou’ring of his secret part,

  Without all humane pittie and remorce,

  With burning yron thrust him to the hart,

  O that my Muse had but sufficient force,

  T’explaine the torment in the which thou art,

  Which whilst with words we coldy do expresse,

  Thy paine made greater that we make it lesse.

  66

  When those in dead and depth of all the night,

  Good simple people that are dwelling neare,

  From quiet sleepe whom care did now affright,

  That his last shreeke and wofull cry do heare,

  Euen pittying that miserable wight,

  As twixt compassion, and obedient feare,

  Lift their sad eyes with heauy sleepe opprest,

  Praying to heauen to giue the soule good rest.

  67

  Still let the buildings sigh his bitter grones,

  And euermore his sad complaints repeate,

  And let the dull walls and the sencelesse stones,

  By the impression of his torment, sweate,

  As wanting sounds wherewith to shew his mones,

  With all sharpe paine and agony repleate,

  That all may thether come that shall be told it,

  As in a mirror cleerely to behold it.

  68

  When now the Genius of this wofull place,

  Beeing the guide to his affrightfull ghost,

  With haire dis•eued, and a gastly face,

  Shall haunt the prison where his life was lost;

  And as the denne of horror and disgrace,

  Let it be fearefull vnto all the coast,

  That those heereafter that do trauell neere,

  Neuer behold it but with heauy cheere.

  The end of the fifth Canto.

  THE SIXTH BOOKE OF THE BARRONS WARRES.

  The Argument.

  Lord Mortimer made Earle of March; when he

  And the faire Queene rule all things by their might,

  The pompe wherin at Nottingham they be,

  The cost wherewith their amorous Court is dight,

  Enuide by those their hatefull pride that see,

  The King attempts the dreadfull caue by night,

  Entring the Castell, taketh him from thence,

  And March at London dies for the offence.

  1

  INFORC’D of other accidents to sing,

  (Bearing faire showes of promised delight,

  Somewhat to slacke this melancholie string,)

  That new occasions to our Muse excite,

  To our conceit strange obiects fashioning,

  Dot
h our free numbers liberally inuite,

  Matter of moment much to be respected,

  Must by our pen be seriously directed.

  2

  And now the time more cuuningly redeeming,

  These fraudfull courses fitly to contriue,

  How ill so e’re, to beare the fairest seeming,

  For which they now must diligently striue,

  Casting all waies to gaine the same esteeming,

  That to the world it prosprously might thriue,

  This farre gone on, now with the hand of might,

  Vpon this wrong to build a lasting right.

  3

  The pompous Synod of these earthly Gods;

  At Salsbury selected by their King,

  To set all euen that had beene atods,

  And into fashion their dissignes to bring,

  And strongly now to settle their abodes,

  That peace might after from their actions spring;

  Firmely t’establish what was well begunne,

  Vnder which colour mighty things were done.

  4

  When Mortimer pursuing his desire,

  Whilst eu’ry engine had his temperate heate,

  To b’Earle of March doth suddainely aspire,

  T’increase the honor of his antient seate,

  That his command might be the more entire;

  Who now but onely Mortimer is great?

  Who knew a kingdome as her lot was throwne,

  Which hauing all, would neuer starue her owne.

  5

  Now stand they firme as those celestiall Poles,

  Twixt which the starres in all their course do moue,

  Whose strength this frame of gouernement vpholds,

  An argument their wisedomes to approue.

  Which way soe’re the time in motion roles,

  So perfect is the vnion of their loue;

  For right is still most absolute alone,

  Where power and fortune kindely meete in one.

  6

  Whilst Edwards non-age giues a further speede,

  To th’antient foe-man to renew the warre,

  Which to preuent they must haue speciall heede,

  Matters so strangely manag’d as they are,

  Which otherwise, if their neglect should breede,

  Nothing yet made, it might not easily marre,

  Which with the most, reseruing their estate,

  Inforc’d to purchase at the deerest rate.

  7

  So much t’release the homage as suffic’d,

  Mongst which that deed namde Ragman, of renown,

  By which the kings of Scotland had deuisde,

  Their fealty vnto the English crowne,

  With other Reliques that were highly prizde,

  As that which forc’d the greatest part to frowne;

  Th’blacke Crosse of Scotland (men did omenous deeme)

  Being a Relique of so hie esteeme.

  8

  To colour which, and to confirme the peace,