The Infamous End of Lord Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester

The glorious man is not so loth to lurke,
As the infamous glad to lye vnknowen:
Which makes mee, Baldwine, disalow thy worke,
Where prince’s faultes so openly be blowen:
I speake not this alonly for mine owne,
Which were my prince’s (if that they were any)
But for my peeres, in nombre very many.

Or might report vprightly vse her tong,
It would lesse greue vs to augment the matter,
But suer I am thou shalt be forst among,
To frayne the truth the liuing for to flatter,
And otherwhiles in poyntes vnknowen to smatter:
For time neuer was, nor neuer I thinke shalbe
That truth vnshent should speake in all thinges free.

This doth appeare (I dare say) by my story,
Which diuers writers diuersly declare:
But story writers ought for neyther glory,
Feare, nor fauour, truth of thinges to spare?
But still it fares as alway it did fare,
Affections, feare, or doubts that dayly brue,
Doe cause that stories neuer can be true.

Unfruitfull Fabian followed the face
Of tyme and dedes, but let the causes slip:
Which Hall hath added, but with double grace,
For feare I thinke lest trouble might him trip:
“For this or that,” sayeth he, “he felt the whip:”
Thus story wryters leaue the causes out,
Or so rehearse them as they were in dout.

But seing causes are the chiefest thinges
That should be noted of the story wryters,
That men may learne what endes all causes bringes,
They be vnworthy the name of chroniclers
That leaue them cleane out of theyr registers,
Or doubtfully report them: for the fruite
Of reading storyes standeth in the suite.

And therefore, Baldwine, eyther speake vpright
Of our affayres, or touch them not at all:
As for my selfe I way all thinges so light,
That nought I passe how men report my fall:
The truth whereof yet playnly shew I shall,
That thou mayst write and others thereby rede,
What thinges I did whereof they should take heede.

Thou hast heard of Tiptoft’s earles of Worcester,
I am that lord that liu’d in Edwarde’s days
The fourth, and was his friend and counsaylour,
And butcher to, as common rumor sayes:
But people’s voyce is neyther shame nor prayse,
For whom they would aliue deuoure to day,
To morow dead they will worship what they may.

But though the people’s verdit go by chaunce,
Yet was there cause to call mee as they did:
For I, enforst by meane of gouernaunce,
Did execute what euer my king did bid,
From blame herein my selfe I cannot rid:
But fye vpon the wretched state, that must
Defame it selfe, to serue the prince’s lust.

The cheifest crime wherewith men doe me charge,
Is death of th’ earle of Desmund’s noble sonnes,
Of which the kinge’s charge doth me clere discharge,
By strayt commaundement and iniunctions:
Th’effect whereof so rigorously runnes,
That eyther I must procure to see them dead,
Or for contempt as a traytour loose my head.

What would mine enemies doe in such a case,
Obay the king or proper death procure?
They may well say theyr fancy for a face,
But life is sweete, and loue hard to recure:
They would haue done as I did, I am sure,
For seldom will a welthy man at ease
For other’s cause his prince in ought displease.

How much lesse I, which was lieuetenaunt than
In th’ Irish isle, preferred by the king:
But who for loue or dread of any man,
Consents t’ accomplish any wicked thing,
Although chiefe fault thereof from other spring,
Shall not escape God’s vengeance for his deede,
Who scuseth none that dare doe ill for drede.

This in my king and mee may well appeare,
Which for our faultes did not escape the scourge:
For whan wee thought our state most sure and clere,
The wynd of Warwicke blew vp such a sourge,
As from the realme and crowne the king did pourge,
And mee both from mine office, friendes, and wife,
From good report, from honest death and life.

For the earle of Warwicke, through a cancarde grudge
Which to king Edward causelesse hee did beare,
Out of his realme by force did make him trudge,
And set king Henry agayne vpon his chaire:
And then all such as Edwarde’s louers were,
As traytours tane were greuously opprest,
But chiefly I, because I lou’d him best.

And, for my goods and liuinges were not small,
The gapers for them bare the world in hand
For ten yeares space, that I was cause of all
The executions done within the land:
For this did such as did not vnderstand
Mine enmies drift, thinke all reportes were true:
And so did hate mee worse then any Jewe.

For seldom shall a ruler lose his life,
Before false rumors openly be spred:
Wherby this prouerbe is as true as rife,
That ruler’s rumors hunt about a head,
Frowne fortune once, all good report is fled:
For present shew doth make the mayny blind,
And such as see dare not disclose their minde.

Through this was I king Edward’s butcher named,
And bare the shame of all his cruell deedes:
I cleare me not, I worthely was blamed,
Though force was such I must obay him needes:
With hiest rulers seldome well it speedes,
For they be euer nerest to the nyp,
And fault who shall, for all feele they the whip.

For whan I was by parliament attaynted,
King Edward’s euils all were counted mine:
No truth auayled, so lies were faste and painted,
Which made the people at my life, repine,
Crying, “Crucifige, kill that butcher’s lyne:”
That when I should haue gone to Blockham feast,
I could not passe, so sore they one me preast.

And had not bene the officers so strong,
I thinke they would haue eaten me aliue,
Howbeit, hardly haled from the throng,
I was in the flete fast shrouded by the shriue:
Thus one daye’s life theyr malice did mee gieue,
Which whan they knew, for spite the next day after
They kept them calme, so suffered I the slaughter.

Now tell mee, Baldwine, what fault dost thou finde
In mee, that iustly should such death deserue?
None sure except desire of honour blinde,
Which made mee seeke in offices to serue:
What minde so good that honours make not swerue?
So mayst thou see it only was my state
That caus’d my death, and brought mee so in hate.

Warne therfore all men wisely to beware,
What offices they enterprise to beare:
The hiest alway most maligned are,
Of people’s grudge, and prince’s hate in feare.
For prince’s faults his faultors all men teare:
Which to auoyde, let none such office take,
Saue he that can for right his prince forsake.