Essays in Literature and History Part 18

Now Farewell, myne own Herdsman Watt; Yea, for G.o.d, Lady, and even so I had; Lull well Jesu in thy lappe, And farewell, Joseph, with thy gown and cap; Ut Hoy!

For in his pipe he made so much joy.

Now may I well both hop and sing, For I have been at Christ's bearing; Home to my fellows now will I fling, Christ of Heaven to his bliss us bring.

Ut Hoy!

For in his pipe he made so much joy.

Hilles was perhaps himself a poet, or so I gather from the phrase, "Quoth Richard Hilles," with which more than one piece of great merit terminates. He would scarcely have added his own name to the composition of another person. Elizabeth, queen of Henry VII., died in childbirth in February, 1502-3.

The following "Lamentation," if not written by Hilles himself, was written in his life-time:--

THE LAMENTATION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH

Ye that put your trust and confidence In worldly riches and frail prosperity, That so live here as ye should never hence; Remember death, and look here upon me; Insample I think there may no better be: Yourself wot well that in my realm was I Your Queen but late; Lo, here I lie.

Was I not born of worthy lineage: Was not my mother Queen, my father King; Was I not a king's fere in marriage; Had I not plenty of every pleasant thing?

Merciful G.o.d! this is a strange reckoning; Riches, honour, wealth, and ancestry, Hath me forsaken; Lo, here I lie.

If worship might have kept me I had not go; If wealth might have me served I needed not so; If money might have held I lacked none.

But oh, good G.o.d, what vaileth all this year!

When death cometh, thy mighty messenger Obey we must, there is no remedy; He hath me summoned--lo, here I lie.

Yet was I lately promised otherwise This year to live in wealth and in delice, Lo, whereto cometh the blandishing promise?

Oh, false astrology diminatrice Of G.o.ddes secrets, making thee so wise!

How true is for this year the prophecy; The year yet lasteth, and lo, here I lie.

Oh, brittle wealth--aye full of bitterness, Thy singular pleasure aye doubled is with pain.

Account my sorrow first, and my distress Sundry wise, and reckon thee again The joy that I have had, I dare not feign, For all my honour, endured yet have I More woe than wealth; Lo, here I lie.

Where are our castles now, and our towers, Goodly Richmond, soon art thou gone from me; At Westminster, that goodly work of yours, Mine own dear lord, now shall I never see.

Almighty G.o.d, vouchsafe to grant that ye, Ye and your children, well may edify, My place builded is; Lo, here I lie.

Adieu, my true spouse, and my worthy lord; The faithful love that did us two combine In marriage and peaceable concord, Into your hands here do I clean resign, To be bestowed unto your children and mine; Erst were ye father, now must ye supply The mother's part also; Lo, here I lie.

Farewell, my daughter, Lady Margaret,(1) G.o.d wot full sore it grieved hath my mind That ye should go where we should seldom meet; Now am I gone and have you left behind.

Oh mortal folk! What be we weary blind!

That we least fear full off it is full nigh, Fro you depart I first; Lo, here I lie.

Farewell, madame, my Lordes worthy mother,(2) Comfort your son and be ye of good cheer.

Take all in worth, for it will be none other.

Farewell my daughter,(3) late the fere To Prince Arthur mine own child so dear, It booteth not for me to weep or cry, Pray for my soul, for now lo here I lie.

Adieu, dear Harry, my lovely son, adieu, Our Lord increase your honour and your estate Adieu, my daughter Mary,(4) bright of hue, G.o.d made you virtuous, wise, and fortunate.

Adieu sweetheart, my lady daughter Kate,(5) Thou shalt, good babe, such is thy destiny, Thy mother never know; Lo, here I lie.

Oh Lady Cecil, Anne, and Catherine, Farewell my well-beloved sisters three; Oh Lady bright, dear sister mine; Lo here the end of worldly vanity; Lo well are you that earthly folly flee, And Heavenly things do love and magnify.

Farewell and pray for me; Lo, here I lie.

Adieu my lords and ladies all; Adieu my faithful servants every one; Adieu my commons, whom I never shall See in this world; Wherefore to thee alone, Immortal G.o.d, very three in one, I me commend--thy Infinite mercy Show to thy servant now; Lo, here I lie.

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(1) Margaret of Scotland, Queen of James IV.

(2) The Countess of Richmond.

(3) Catherine of Aragon.

(4) Queen of France, and afterwards d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk (5) Died in childhood.

____

Here lyeth the fresh flower of Plantagenet; Here lyeth the White Rose in the red set; Here lyeth the n.o.ble Queen Elizabeth; Here lyeth the Princess departed by death; Here lyeth the blood of our country Royal; Here lyeth the favour of England immortal: Here lyeth Edward the Fourth in picture; Here lyeth his daughter and pearle pure; Here lyeth the wife of Harry our true King; Here lyeth the heart, the joy, and the gold Ring; Here lyeth the lady so liberal and gracious; Here lyeth the pleasure of thy house; Here lyeth very love of man and child; Here lyeth ensample our minds to bild; Here lyeth all beauty--of living a mirrour; Here lyeth all very good manner and honour; G.o.d grant her now Heaven to increase; And our King Harry long life and peace.

The note changes. We come next to a hunting song:--

As I walked by a forest side I met with a forester; he bade me abide At a place where he me set-- He bade me what time an hart I met That I should let slip and say go belt; With Hay go bett, Hay go belt, Hay go bett, Now we shall have game and sport enow.

I had not stand there but a while, Yea, not the maintenance of a mile, But a great hart came running without any guile; With there he goeth--there he goeth--there he goeth; Now we shall have game and sport enow.

I had no sooner my hounds let go But the hart was overthrow; Then every man began to blow, With trororo--trororo--trororo, Now we shall have game and sport enow.

In honour of good ale we have many English ballads. Good wine, too, was not without a poet to sing its praises, the Scripture allusions and the large infusion of Latin pointing perhaps to the refectory of some genial monastery.

A TREATISE OF WINE

The best tree if ye take intent, Inter ligna fructifera, Is the vine tree by good argument, Dulcia ferens pondera.

Saint Luke saith in his Gospel, Arbor fructu noscitur, The vine beareth wine as I you tell, Hinc aliis praeponitur.

The first that planted the vineyard, Manet in coeli gaudio, His name was Noe, as I am learned, Genesis testimonio.

G.o.d gave unto him knowledge and wit A quo procedunt omnia, First of the grape-wine for to get, Propter magna mysteria.

Melchisedek made offering, Dando liquorem vineum, Full mightily sacrafying Altaris sacraficium.

The first miracle that Jesus did, Erat in vino rubeo, In Cana of Galilee it betide, Testante Evangelio.

He changed water into wine, Aquae rubesc.u.n.t hydrim, And bade give it to Archetcline, Ut gustet tunc primarie.

Like as the rose exceedeth all flowers, Inter cuncta florigera, So doth wine other liquours, Dans multa salutifera.

David, the prophet, saith that wine Laetificat cor hominis, It maketh men merry if it be fine, Est ergo digni nominis.

The malicoli fumosetive, Quae generat trist.i.tiam, It causeth from the heart to rise Tollens omnem maest.i.tiam.

The first chapter specified, Libri ecclesiastici, That wine is music of cunning delight, Laetificat cor clerici.

Sirs, if ye will see Boyce, De disciplina scholarium, There shall ye see without misse, Quod vinum acuit ingenium.

First, when Ypocras should dispute, c.u.m viris sapientibus, Good wine before was his pursuit, Ac.u.men praebens sensibus.

It quickeneth a man's spirit and his mind, Audaciam dat liquentibus, If the wine be good and well fined, Prodest sobrie bibentibus.