The Rowley Poems Part 19

"Ah, G.o.ddelyke HENRIE! G.o.dde forefende, And guarde thee and thye sonne, Yff 'tis hys wylle; but yff 'tis nott, Why thenne hys wylle bee donne.

"My honest friende, my faulte has beene 145 To serve G.o.dde and mye prynce; And thatt I no tyme-server am, My dethe wylle soone convynce.

"Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, Of parents of grete note; 150 My fadre dydd a n.o.bile armes Emblazon onne hys cote:

"I make ne doubte b.u.t.t hee ys gone Where soone I hope to goe; Where wee for ever shall bee blest, 155 From oute the reech of woe:

"Hee taughte mee justice and the laws Wyth pitie to unite; And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe The wronge cause fromm the ryghte: 160

"Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande To feede the hungrie poore, Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie The hungrie fromme my doore:

"And none can saye, b.u.t.t alle mye lyfe 165 I have hys wordyes kept; And summ'd the actyonns of the daie Eche nyghte before I slept.

"I have a spouse, goe aske of her, Yff I defyl'd her bedde? 170 I have a kynge, and none can laie Blacke treason onne my hedde.

"Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve, Fromm fleshe I dydd refrayne; Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd 175 To leave thys worlde of payne?

"Ne! hapless HENRIE! I rejoyce, I shalle ne see thye dethe; Moste w.i.l.l.ynglie ynne thye just cause Doe I resign my brethe. 180

"Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe!

Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe; Whyle RICHARD'S sonnes exalt themselves, Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe.

"Saie, were ye tyr'd of G.o.dlie peace, 185 And G.o.dlie HENRIE'S reigne, Thatt you dydd choppe youre easie daies For those of bloude and peyne?

"Whatte tho' I onne a sledde bee drawne, And mangled by a hynde, 190 I doe defye the traytor's pow'r, Hee can ne harm my mynde;

"Whatte tho', uphoisted onne a pole, Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre, And ne ryche monument of bra.s.se 195 CHARLES BAWDIN'S name shall bear;

"Yett ynne the holie booke above, Whyche tyme can't eate awaie, There wythe the sarvants of the Lorde Mye name shall lyve for aie. 200

"Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne I leave thys mortall lyfe: Farewell, vayne worlde, and alle that's deare, Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe!

"Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes, 205 As e'er the moneth of Maie; Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve, Wyth my dere wyfe to staie."

Quod CANYNGE, "'Tys a goodlie thynge To bee prepar'd to die; 210 And from thys world of peyne and grefe To G.o.dde ynne Heav'n to flie."

And nowe the bell beganne to tolle, And claryonnes to sounde; Syr CHARLES hee herde the horses feete 215 A prauncyng onne the grounde:

And just before the officers, His lovynge wyfe came ynne, Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe, Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne. 220

"Sweet FLORENCE! nowe I praie forbere, Ynne quiet lett mee die; Praie G.o.dde, thatt ev'ry Christian soule Maye looke onne dethe as I.

"Sweet FLORENCE! why these brinie teeres? 225 Theye washe my soule awaie, And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe, Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie.

"'Tys b.u.t.t a journie I shalle goe Untoe the lande of blysse; 230 Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love, Receive thys holie kysse."

Thenne FLORENCE, fault'ring ynne her saie, Tremblynge these wordyes spoke, "Ah, cruele EDWARDE! bloudie kynge! 235 My herte ys welle nyghe broke:

"Ah, sweete Syr CHARLES! why wylt thou goe, Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?

The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke, Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe." 240

And nowe the officers came ynne To brynge Syr CHARLES awaie, Whoe turnedd toe his lovynge wyfe, And thus toe her dydd saie:

"I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; 245 Truste thou ynne G.o.dde above, And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde, And ynne theyre hertes hym love:

"Teache them to runne the n.o.bile race Thatt I theyre fader runne: 250 FLORENCE! shou'd dethe thee take--adieu!

Yee officers, leade onne."

Thenne FLORENCE rav'd as anie madde, And dydd her tresses tere; "Oh! staie, mye husbande! lorde! and lyfe!"-- 255 Syr CHARLES thenne dropt a teare.

'Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loud, Shee fellen onne the flore; Syr CHARLES exerted alle hys myghte, And march'd fromm oute the dore. 260

Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne, Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete; Lookes, thatt enshone ne moe concern Thanne anie ynne the strete.

Before hym went the council-menne, 265 Ynne scarlett robes and golde, And ta.s.sils spanglynge ynne the sunne, Muche glorious to beholde:

The Freers of Seincte AUGUSTYNE next Appeared to the syghte, 270 Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes, Of G.o.dlie monkysh plyghte:

Ynne diffraunt partes a G.o.dlie psaume Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, 275 Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.

Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came; Echone the bowe dydd bende, From rescue of kynge HENRIES friends Syr CHARLES forr to defend. 280

Bolde as a lyon came Syr CHARLES, Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde, Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white, Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:

Behynde hym fyve-and-twentye moe 285 Of archers stronge and stoute, Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande, Marched ynne goodlie route:

Seincte JAMESES Freers marched next, Echone hys parte dydd chaunt; 290 Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came, Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

Thenne came the maior and eldermenne, Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't; And theyre attendyng menne echone, 295 Lyke Easterne princes trickt:

And after them, a mult.i.tude Of citizenns dydd thronge; The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes, As hee dydd pa.s.se alonge. 300

And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse, Syr CHARLES dydd turne and saie, "O Thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne, Washe mye soule clean thys daie!"

Att the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat 305 The kynge ynne myckle state, To see CHARLES BAWDIN goe alonge To hys most welcom fate.

Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe, Thatt EDWARDE hee myghte heare, 310 The brave Syr CHARLES hee dydd stande uppe, And thus hys wordes declare:

"Thou seest mee, EDWARDE! traytour vile!

Expos'd to infamie; b.u.t.t bee a.s.sur'd, disloyall manne! 315 I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.

"Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude, Thou wearest nowe a crowne; And hast appoynted mee to dye, By power nott thyne owne. 320

"Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie; I have beene dede 'till nowe, And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne For aie uponne my browe:

"Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few yeares, 325 Shalt rule thys fickle lande, To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule 'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande:

"Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave!

Shall falle onne thye owne hedde"-- 330 Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge Departed thenne the sledde.