The Fall of the Lord Hastings, Betrayed by Catesby and Murdered in the Tower

Hastings I am, whose hastned death who knewe,
My life with prayse, my death with playnt pursue:
With others fearing least my headles name
Bee wrongd, by partiall bruite of flattering fame:
Cleauing my tombe the way my fame forewent,
Though bared of loynes which body and fortune lent
Earst my prowde vaunt: present, present to thee
My honour, fall, and forced destenye.

Ne feare to stayne thy credit by my tale:
In Læthe’s floud, long since, in Stygian vale
Selfe loue I dreint: what time hath fynde for true,
And ceaseth not, though stale, still to renue,
Recount I wil: whereof bee this the proofe,
That blase I will my prayse, and my reproofe:
Wee naked ghostes are but the very man,
Ne of our selues more than wee ought, wee scan.

But doubt distract’th mee, if I should consent
To yeelde mine honourde name, a martyrde saynt:
Yf martyrdome rest in the miser’s life
Through torments wrongly reft by fatall knyfe,
How fortune’s nursling I, and dearest babe,
Ought there to stoope, none may mee well perswade:
For how may miser martyrdome betyde,
To whome in cradell fortune was affyde?

See how this grosest ayre infect’th mee since,
Forgote haue I, of loyalty to my prince,
My happy meede is, martyr to bee named?
And what the heauens embrace, the world aye blamed:
For mens vniustice wreak’d but God’s iust ire,
And by wrong end, turnd wreake to iustice hire:
O iudgements iust, by vniustice iustice dealt,
Who doubts of mee may learne, the truth who felt.

So therefore as my fall may many stay:
As well the prince, from violent headlong sway
Of noble peeres, from honour’s throne to dust,
As nobles lesse in tyckle state to trust:
Shonning those sinnes, that shake the golden leaues
Perforce from boughs, ere nature bare the greaues:
So, what my life profest, my death here teacheth,
And, as with word, so with example preacheth.

The hilly heauens, and valey earth belowe
Yet ring his fame, whose deedes so great did grow;
Edward the fourth yee know, vnnamde I meane,
Whose noble nature to mee so did leane
That I his staffe was, I his only ioy,
And euen what Pandare was to him of Troy,
Which mou’d him first to creat mee chamberlayne,
To serue his sweetes, to my most sower payne.

Wherin, to iustly praysde for secretnesse
(For now my guilt with shriking I confesse)
To him to true, to vntrue to the queene,
Such hate I wan, as lasted long betweene
Our familyes: Shore’s wife was my nyce cheate,
The holy hore, and eke the wyly peate:
I fed his lust with lonely peces so,
That God’s sharpe wrath I purchast, my iust woe.

See here of nobles new the diners sourse?
Some vertue rays’th, some clyme by sluttish sorts:
The fyrst, though onely of themselues begon,
Yet circlewise into themselues do ron:
Within their fame their force vnited so,
Both endlesse is, and stronger gainst their foe:
For, when end’th it that neuer hath begon?
Or by what force, may circled knot bee vndon?

The other, as by wicked meanes they grew,
And raynde by flattery, or violence: so sone rue:
First tombling step from honours old, is vice:
Which once discend some linger, none arise
To former type: but they catch vertue’s spray,
Which mounteth them that clime by lawfull way:
Beware to rise by seruing princely lust,
Surely to stand, one meane is rising iust.

Which learne by mee, whom let it helpe t’excuse,
That ruthfull now my selfe I do accuse,
And that my prince I euer pleasde with such
As harmed none, and him contented much:
In vice some favour, or lesse hate let win,
That I ne wryde to worser end my sinne:
But vsde my fauour to the safty of sutch,
As fury of later war to lyue did grutch.

For as one durt (though durty) shin’th the sunne:
So, euen amids my vice, my vertue shoane:
My selfe I sparde with [any] his cheate to stayne,
For loue and reuerence so I could refraine:
Gisippus wife erst Titus would desyre
With frendship’s breach, I quencht that brutish fyre:
Manly it is, to loth the fawning lust:
Small vaunt to flye, what of constreint thou must.

These therefore rasde, if thou mine office skan,
Lo, none I hurt, but furdred euery man:
My chamber England was, my staffe the law,
Wereby, sauns rygour, all I held in awe:
So louing to all, so belou’d of all,
As, (what ensude vppon my bloudy fall
Though I ne felt) yet suerly this I thinke,
Full many a trickling teare their mouths did drinke.

Disdayne not, princes, easie accesse, meeke cheare,
Wee knowe then angels statelier port ye beare
Of God himselfe, to massy a charge for sprites:
But then, my lords, considre, hee delights
To vayle his grace to vs pore earthly wants,
To simplest shrubs, and to the dunghill plants:
Expresse him then, in might, and mercies meane,
So shall ye winne, as now ye weld, the reame.

But all to long I feare I do delay
The many meanes, whereby I did bewray
My zealous will to earne my prince’s grace,
Least thou differ to thinke mee kynde, percase:
As nought may last, so fortune’s weathry cheare
With powting lookes gan lower on my sire,
And one her wheele, aduaunst hye in his roome
The Warwicke earle, mase of Christendome.

Besides the tempting prowesse of the foe,
His traytour brother did my prince forgoe:
The cause was lik’d, I was his link’d allye:
Yet not the cause, nor brother’s trechery,
Nor enmies force, ne band of mingled bloud,
Made Hastings beare his prince other minde then good:
But tane and scapt from Warwick’s gryping pawes,
With mee hee fled through fortune’s frowards flawes.

To London come, at large wee might haue seemed,
Had not wee then the realme a pryson deemed:
Ech hush a barre, ech spray a banner splayed,
Ech house a fort, our passage to haue stayed:
To Linne wee leape, where, while wee wayte the tyde,
My secret frends in secret I supplyde,
In mouth to mayntayne Henry sixt theyr king,
By deede to deuoyre: Edward to bring in.

The restles tyde, that bare the empty bay,
With waltring waues roames wambling forth: ‘away,’
The mery mariner hayles, the bragging boy
To mastes hye top, vp hyes: in signe of ioy
The wauering flag is vaunst: the suttel seas
Theyr swelling ceasse: to calmest, euen peace,
Sinkth downe theyr pryde: with dronknesse gainst all care
The seamen armde, awayte theyr noble fare.

On bourd wee come: the massy anchors wayde,
One English ship, two hulkes of Holland ayde
In such a pinch: so small tho was the trayne,
Such his constraynt, that now, that one with payne
Commaund hee might, who erst might many moe:
Then brought the ghastly Greekes to Tenedo:
So nought is ours that wee by hap mought lose,
What nerest seemes, is farthest off in woes.

As banisht wightes, such ioyes wee mought haue made,
Easde of aye threatning death, that late we dradde:
But once our countrey’s sight, not care, exempt,
No harbour shewing, that mought our feare relent,
No couert caue, no shrub to shroud our lyues,
No hollow wood, no flyght, that oft depriues
The mighty his pray, no sanctuary left,
For exilde prince, that shrowdes ech slaue from theft.

In prison pent, whose woddy walles to passe
Of no lesse perill then the dying was:
With the ocean moated, battred with the waues,
(As chaind at oares, the wretched galley slaues
At mercy sit of sea and enmies shot,
And shonne with death what they with flight may not)
But greenish waues, and desert lowring skies
All comfort els forclosde our exilde eyes.

Loe, loe, from hiest top, the slauish boy
Sent vp, with sight of land our harts to ioy,
Descries at hand whole flete of Easterlinges,
As then hote enemies of the British kinges:
The mouse may somtyme helpe the lyon in neede,
The byttle bee once spilt the aegle’s breede:
O princes, seeke no foes, in your distresse,
The earth, the seas conspire your heauinessse.

Our foe discryed by flight wee shon in hast,
And lade with canuas now the bending mast:
The ship was rackt to try her sayling then,
As squirels clyme the troupes of trusty men:
The steresman seekes a redier course to ronne,
The souldier stirs, the gonner hies to gonne,
The Flemings sweate, the English shyp disdaines
To waite behind to beare the Fleming’s traines.

Forth flyes the barke, as from the violent goonne
The pellet pearc’th all stayes and stops eft soone:
And swift shee swimmeth, as oft in sunny day
The dolphin fleetes in seas, in mery May:
As wee for liues, so th’ Esterlinges for gayne
Thwack on the sayles, and after make amayne:
Though laden they were, and of burden great,
A king to master yet, what swayne nold sweat?

So mid the vale the greyhound seeyng stert
His fearefull foe, pursu’th: before she flert’th,
And where shee turn’th, hee turn’th her there to beare:
The one pray prick’th, the other saftye’s feare:
So were wee chasde, so fled wee fore our foes:
Bet flight then fight in so vneuen close,
I end: some thinke perhaps, too long hee stay’th,
In perill present shewing his fixed fayth.

This ventred I, this dread I did sustayne,
To try my trueth, my life I did disdayne:
But, loe, like tryall gaynst his ciuil foe:
Faythe’s worst is tryall, which is reseru’d to woe:
I passe our scape, and sharp retourning home,
Where we were welcomde with our wonted sone,
To battayle mayne discendes the empyre’s right,
At Barnet ioynde the hoastes in bloudy fight.

There ioynde three battailes, rangde in such array,
As mought for terrour Alexander fray:
What should I stay to tell the long discourse?
Who wan the palme? who bare away the worse?
Suffis’th to say, by my reserued band
Our enmyes fled, wee had the vpper hand:
My iron army held her steady place,
My prince to shield, his feared foe to chase.

The like successe befell [mee] in Tewkesbury fielde,
My furious force, there forc’d perforce, to yeelde
The traytour foe: and render to my king
Her only sonne, least hee more bate might bring:
Thus haste [thou] a mirour of a subiect’s minde,
Such as perhaps is rare agayne to finde:
The caruing cuts, that cleue the trusty steele,
My fayth, and due alleigaunce, could not feele.

But out, alas, what prayse may I recount
That is not spic’d with spot, that doth surmount
My greatest vaunt? for bloudy war to feete
A tyger was I, all for peace vnmeete:
A souldier’s handes must oft bee dyde with goare,
Least starke with rest, they finewd wax and hoare:
Peace could I win by war, but peace not vse:
Few dayes enioy hee, who warlike peace doth choose.

When Crofts a knight, presented Henrye’s heyr
To this our prince, in furious moode, enquyre
Of him hee gan, what folly or phrensy vayne,
With armyes forc’d him to inuade his realme againe?
Whom answering that he claimde his father’s right,
With gauntlet smit, commaunded from his sight,
Clarence, Glocester, Dorcet, and I Hastings, slue:
The guylt whereof wee shortly all did rue.

Clarence, as Cyrus, drownd in bloud-like wyne,
Dorcet I furthered to his speedy pyne,
Of mee, my selfe am speaking president,
Nor easier fate the bristled boare is lent:
Our blouds haue payd the vengeaunce of our guilt,
His fryed bones shall broyle for bloud he spilt:
O waltsome murder that attaynts our fame,
O horrible traytours, wanting worthy name.

Who more mischieuously of all states deserue,
As better they, who such did first preserue:
If those, for giftes, wee recken heauenly wightes,
These may wee well deeme fendes and damned sprites:
And while on earth they walke, disguised deuils,
Sworne foes of vertue, factours for all euils:
Whose bloudy handes torment theyr goared hartes,
Through bloudsheds horrour, in soundest sleepe he sterts.

O happy world, were the lyons men,
All lyons should at least be spared then:
No surety now, no lasting league is bloud,
A meacocke is, who dreadth to see bloudshed:
Stale is the paterne, the fact must needes be rife:
While ii. were armyes: ii. the issues of first wife,
With armed heart and hand, the one bloudy brother
With cruell chase pursueth and murdereth the other.

Which who defieth not? yet who ceaseth to sue?
The bloudy Caynes theyr bloudy sire renew:
The horrour yet is like in common frayes:
For in ech murther, brother brother slayes:
Traytours to nature, countrey, kin and kinde,
Whome no bond serueth in brother’s zeale to bynde:
O simple age, when slaunder slaughter was,
The tongue’s small euill, how doth this mischiefe passe.

Hopest thou to cloake couert thy mischiefe wrought?
Thy conscience, caytife, shall proclayme thy thought:
A vision, Chaucer sheweth, discloasd thy crime:
The foxe descry the crowes and chattering pyen:
And shall thy felow felons not bewray
The guiltles death, whome guilty handes doe slay?
Unpunisht scapt for haynous cryme someone,
But vnauengde, in minde or body, none.

Vengeaunce on my mynd, the freating furies take:
The sinfull coarse, lyke earthquake agewes shake:
Their frouning lookes, theyr frounced myndes bewray:
In hast they runne, and mids their race they stay,
As gidded roe: amids their speach they whist,
At meate they muse, noe where they may persist,
But some feare netleth them: ay, hang they soe,
Soe neuer wants the wicked murthrer woe.

An infant rent with lyon’s ramping pawes?
Why slaunder I lyons? they feare the sacred lawes
Of princes bloud: ay mee, more brute then beast,
With princes sides, Lycaon’s pye to feast?
O tyrant tigers, O insatiable wolues,
O English curtesie, monstrous mawes and gulfes:
My death shall forthwith preach my earned meede,
Yf fyrst to one lyke murther I proceede.

Before our prince commaunded once his death,
Our bloudy swords on him we did vnsheath,
Preuenting law, and euen our prince’s hest,
Wee hid our weapons in the yongling’s brest:
Whom not desire of reigne did driue to field,
But mother’s pride, who longd the realm to weld:
But straight my death shall shewe my worthy meede,
If first to one other murther I proceede.

While Edward liu’d, dissembled discord lurked,
In double hartes yet soe his reuerence worked:
But when succeding tender feble age,
Gaue open gap to tyrant’s rushing rage:
I holpe the boare, and bucke, to captiuate
Lord Riuers, Gray, sir Thomas Vaughan and Hawte:
Yf land woulde helpe the sea, well earnd that ground
It selfe, to bee with conquering waues surround.

Their speedy death by priuy doome, procured
At Pomfret: tho my lyfe short while endured,
My selfe I slue, when them I damned to death,
At once my throate I riued, and reft them breath:
For that selfe day, afore or neare the howre,
That withred Atropos nipt that springing flowre
With vyolent hand of their forth running lyfe:
My head and body, in tower twynde like knyfe.

By this my paterne, all ye peeres beware:
Oft hangeth hee himselfe, who others weenth to snare:
Spare to be ech other’s butcher: feare the kite,
Who soarth aloft, while frog and mouse doe fight
In ciuill combat, grappling, voyde of feare
Of foreyne foe, at once all both to beare:
Which playner by my pytied playnt to see,
A while anew your listning lend to mee.

Too true it is two sondry assemblies kept,
At Crosbie’s place, and Baynard’s castle set:
The duke’s at Crosbie’s but at Baynard’s wee:
The one to crowne a king, the other to bee:
Suspicious is secession of foule frends,
When eyther’s drift to other’s mischiefe tends:
I fearde the end, my Catesbie’s being there
Dischargde all doubts: him held I most entyre.

Whose great preferment by my meanes, I thought
Some spurre, to pay the thankfulnes hee ought:
The trust hee ought mee, made mee trust him so,
That priuy hee was both to my weale and woe:
My hart’s one halfe, my chest of confidence,
My treasure’s trust, my ioy dwelt in his presence:
I lou’d him, Baldwine, as the apple of mine eye,
I lothde my life when Catesby would mee dye.

Flye from thy chanell Thames, forsake thy streames,
Leave the adamaunt iron, Phœbus lay thy beames,
Ceasse heauenly sphears at last your weary warke,
Betray your charge, retourne to chaos darke:
At least, some ruthles tiger hang her whelp,
My Catesby so with some excuse to help,
And mee to comfort, that I, alone, ne seme
Of all dame nature’s workes, left in extreme.

A golden treasure is the tryed frend,
But who may gold from counterfayts defend?
Trust not too soone, ne all too light mistrust:
With th’one thy selfe with th’other thy frend thou hurtst:
Who twyn’th betwixt, and stear’th the golden meane,
Nor rashly lou’th, nor mistrusteth in vayne:
For frendship poyson, for safety mithridate
It is, thy frend to loue as thou wouldst hate.

Of tickle credit ne had ben the mischiefe,
What needed Virbius miracle doubled life?
Credulity surnamed first the Aegean seas;
Mistrust, doth treason in the trustiest rayse:
Suspicious Romulus, staynd his walls first reard
With brother’s bloud, whom for light leape hee feard:
So not in brotherhoode ielousie may be borne,
The ielous cuckold weares th’infamous horne.

A beast may preach by tryall, not foresight:
Could I haue shond this credit, nere had light
The dreaded death vpon my guilty heade:
But fooles aye wont to learne by after reade:
Had Catesby kept vnstaynd the truth he plight,
Yet had yee enioyde me, and I yet the light:
All Derbie’s doubts I clered with his name:
I knew, no harme could hap vs, sauns his blame.

But see the fruites of fickle light beliefe:
Th’ ambitious dukes corrupt the traytour thiefe,
To groape mee, if allurde I would assent,
To bin a partner of theyr curst entent:
Whereto, when neyther force nor frenship vaylde,
By tyraunt force theyr purpose they assaylde,
And summond shortly a counsaile in the tower,
Of Iune the fifteenth, at apoynted hower.

Alas, are counsels wryed to catch the good?
Is no place now exempt from sheading bloud?
Sith counsels, that were carefull to preserue
The guiltlesse good, are meanes to make them starue,
What may not mischiefe of mad man abuse?
Religious cloake some one to vice doth chuse,
And maketh God protectoure of his cryme:
O monstrous world, well ought wee wish thy fine.

The fatall skies, roll on the blackest day,
When doubled bludshed, must my bloud repay,
Others none forceth: to mee sir Thomas Haward
As spurre is buckled, to prouoke mee forward,
Derby, who fearde the party sittings yore,
Whether, much more hee knew by experience hoare,
Or vnaffected, clearer truth could see:
At midnight darke this message sendes to mee:

“Hastings, away, in sleepe the gods foreshew
By dreadfull dreame, fell fates vnto vs two:
Mee thought a boare with tuske so rasde our throate,
That both our shoulders of the bloud did smoake:
Arise, to horse, strayght homeward let vs hye,
And sith our foe wee may not mate, O flye:
Of Chaunteclere you learne dreames soth to know,
Thence wise men conster, more then the cocke doth crow.”

While thus hee spake, I held within myne arme
Shore’s wife, the tender peece, to keepe mee warme:
Fye on adultry, fye on leacherous lust,
Marke in mee, yee nobles all, God’s iudgements iust:
A pandare, murtherer, and adulterer thus,
Onely such death I dye, as I ne blushe:
Now, least my dame mought feare appall my hart:
With eger moode vp in my bed I starte.

“And, is thy lord,” quoth I, “a sorcerer?
A wise man now become a dreame reader?
What though so Chaunteclere crowed? I reke it not:
On my part pled’th as well dame Partelot:
Uniudgde hangth yet the case betwixt them tway,
Ne was his dreame cause of his hap I say:
Shall dreming doubts from prince my seruing slacke?
Nay, then mought Hastings lyfe and liuing lacke.”

Hee parteth: I sleepe, my mynde surchargde with sinne,
As Phœbus beames by misty cloude kept in,
Ne coulde misgieue, ne dreame of my mishap,
As blocke I tumbled to myne enmies trap:
Security causles through my carelesse frende,
Reft mee foresight of my approaching end:
So Catesby clawed mee, as when the cat doth play,
Dalieng with mouse, whom strayght shee myndes to slay.

The morow come, the latest light to mee,
On palfray mounted, to the tower I hie,
Accompanied with that Haward my mortall foe,
To slaughter led, thou God wouldst haue it so:
(O deepe dissemblers, honouring with your cheare,
Whom in hid hart ye trayterously teare;)
Neuer had realme so open signes of wracke,
As I had shewde mee of my heauy hap.

The vision first of Stanley, late descryed:
Then mirth so extreme, that neare for ioy I dyed:
Were it, that swanlyke I foresong my death,
Or mery mynde foresaw the losse of breath,
That long it coueted, from this earth’s annoy:
But euen as siker as th’end of woe is ioy,
And glorious light to obscure night doth tend:
So extreame mirth in extreame moane doth end.

For why, extreames are haps rackt out of course,
By violent might far swinged forth perforce,
Which as they are pearcingst while they violent’st moue,
For nearst they cleaue to cause that doth them shoue:
So soonest fall from that theyr high’st extreame,
To th’other contrary that doth want of meane:
So laught he erst, who laughed out his breath:
So laught I, when I laught my selfe to death.

The pleasingst meanes boade not the luckiest ends,
Not aye found treasure to like pleasure tends,
Mirth meanes not mirth all time, thrise happy hyre
Of wit, to shun th’excesse that all desire:
But this I passe: I hye to other like;
My palfrey in the playnest paued streete,
Thrise bowed his boanes, thrise kneeled on the flowre,
Thrise shond (as Balam’s asse) the dreaded towre.

What, should I thinke hee had sence of after haps?
As beastes foreshew the drought, or rayny drops,
As humours in them want, or else abounde,
By influence from the heauens, or chaunge of ground,
Or doe we interpret by successe ech signe?
And as wee fancy, of ech hap deuyne?
And make that cause, that kin is to th’effect?
Not hauing ought of consequence respect?

Bucephalus kneeling only to his lorde,
Shewde only, hee was monarche of the worlde:
Why may not then the steede foreshewe by fall,
What casuall hap the sitter happen shall?
Darius horse by braying bought a realme:
And what letteth, why he ne is (as the asse) God’s meane,
By speaking signe to shewe his hap to come,
Who is deafe hearer of his speaking dome?

But forward yet: in Tower streete I stayed,
Where (could I haue seene) loe, Haward, all bewrayed,
For as I commond with a priest I met:
“Away, my lord,” quoth he, “your time is ne yet
To take a priest.” Loe, Synon might bee seene
Had Troyans eares, as they had hares foole eyen:
But, whom thou God allotted hast to dye,
Some grace it is to dy with wimpled eye.

Ne was this all: for euen at Tower wharfe,
Neare to those walles within whose sight I starfe,
Where earst in sorrow soust and deepe distresse,
I emparted all my pining pensiuenesse
With Hastings: (so my purseuaunt men call)
Euen there, the same to meete it did mee fall:
Who gan to mee most dolefully renewe,
The woefull conference had erst in that lieu.

“Hastings,” quoth I, “according now they fare,
At Pomfret this day dying, who causde that care,
My selfe haue all the world now at my will,
With pleasures cloyed, engorged with the fill:”
“God graunt it so:” quoth hee: “Why doubtst thou tho?”
Quoth I, and all in chafe to him gan shewe
In ample wise, our drift with tedious tale:
And entred so the Tower to my bale.

What should wee thinke of signes? they are but haps,
How may they then be signes of afterclaps?
Doth euery chaunce foreshew or cause some other?
Or ending at it selfe, extendth no furder?
As th’ouerflowing floud some mount doth choake,
But to his ayde some other floud it yoake:
So, if with signes thy sinnes once ioyne, beware,
Els wherto chaunces tend, nere curious care.

Had not my sinne deserude my death as wreake,
What might my mirth haue hurt? or horses becke?
Or Haward’s bitter scoffe? or Hastings talke?
What meane then foole astrologers to calke?
That twinckling sterres fling down the fixed fate?
And all is guyded by the sterry state?
Perdye, a certayne charge assignd they haue
To shyne, and tymes deuyde, not fate to graue.

But graunt they somwhat geue: is, at one instant,
Of euery babe the byrth in heauen so skand,
That they that restles roll, and neuer stay,
Should in his lyfe beare yet so violent swaye:
That, not his actions onely next to byrth,
But all his life and death be swayed therwith
How may one mocion make so sundry affectes?
Or one impression tend to such respectes?

Some rule there is yet: els, why were deferd
Til now, these plagues, so long ere now deserude?
If for they are trifles, they ne seme of care:
But toyes with God the stateliest scepters are:
Yet in them to playne doth appeare foreset,
The certayne rule and fatal limittes set,
Yet thinke we not, this sure foresetting fate,
But God’s fast prouidence for ech princely state.

And hath he erst restraind his prouidence?
Or is he nigard of his fre dispence?
Or is he vncertayne foreset driftes to dryue?
That not dame chaunce but he al goodes may giue
A heathen god they hold whom fortune kepe,
To deale them haps while God they wene asleepe:
Mocke-gods they are and many gods induce,
Who fortune fayne to father their abuse.

How so it be, it mought haue warned me,
But, what I could not, that in me see ye,
Who runne in race, the honour like to win,
Whose fairest forme nought may deforme but sin:
Alas, when most I did defye all dread,
By single heare death’s word hong ouer my head,
For herke the end and listen now my fall:
This is the last, and this the fruit of all.

To counsayle chamber come, a while we stayd
For him, without whom nought was done or sayde:
At last he came, and courteously excused,
That he so long our patience had abused:
And pleasauntly began to paint his cheere,
And said: “My lord of Elye, would we had here
Some of the strawberies, wherof you haue store:
The last delighted me so as nothing more.”

“Would, what so you wish, I mought as wel commaund,
My lord,” quoth he, “as those:” and out of hand
His seruaunt sendth to Ely place for them:
Out goeth from vs the restlesse deuil againe:
Belike (I thinke) scarse yet perswaded ful,
To worke the mischiefe that did mad his scul:
At last determind of his bloudy thought
And force ordaynde to worke the wyle he sought.

Frowning he enters, with so chaunged cheare,
As for mylde May had chopped foule Januere:
And lowring on me with the goggle eye,
The whetted tuske, and furrowed forehead hye,
His crooked shoulder bristellike set vp.
With frothy iawes, whose foame he chawde and supd,
With angry lookes that flamed as the fyer:
Thus gan at last to grunt the grymest syre.

“What meryte they, whom me, the kingdome’s stay,
Contryued haue counsayle traiterously to slay?”
Abashed all sate: I thought I mought be bold,
For conscience, clearnesse, and acquaintance old:
“Their hire is playne,” quoth I, “be death the least
To whoso seketh your grace so to molest:”
Withouten stay: “The queene and the whore Shore’s wyfe,
By witchcraft,” quoth he, “seke to wast my life.

“Loe, here the wythered and bewytched arme,
That thus is spent by those two sorceresse’ charme:”
And bared his arme and shewed his swynish skinne,
Such cloaks they vse, that seke to clowd their sinne:
But out, alas, it serueth not for the rayne,
To al the house the colour was to playne:
Nature had giuen him many a maymed marke,
And it amonges to note her monstruous warke.

My doubtfull harte distracted this replye:
For th’one I cared not: th’other nipt so nye
That whyst I cold not, but forthwith brake forth:
“If so it be, of death they are doubtlesse worth?”
“If, traitour?” quoth he, “playst thou with yfs and ands?
Ile on thy bodye auowe it with these hands:”
And therwithal he mightlye bounced the borde,
In rushd his byl-men, one himselfe bestird.

Laying at lord Stanley, whose brain he had surely cleft,
Had he not downe beneathe the table crept:
But Elye, Yorke, and I, were taken straight,
Imprisoned they, I should no longer wait,
But charged was to shriue me, and shift with hast:
My lorde must dine, and now midday was past:
The bore’s first dish, not the bore’s head should be:
But Hastinge’s head, the boarish beast would see.

Why stay I his dinner? vnto the chappel ioyneth
A greenish hil, that body and soule oft twineth:
There on a blocke my head was striken of,
As Baptiste’s head, for Herode bloudy gnoffe:
Thus liued I, Baldwin, thus dyed I, thus I fel,
This is the summe, which al at large to tel
Would volumes fil: whence yet these lessons note
Ye noble lordes, to learne and ken by rote.

By fylthy rising feare your names to stayne:
If not for vertue’s loue, for dread of payne,
Whom so the mindes vnquiet state vpheaues,
Be it for loue or feare, when fancye reaues
Reason her right, by mocking of the wyt,
If once the cause of this affection flit,
Reason preuayling on the vnbrideled thought:
Downe falth he who by fancye clymbe aloft.

So hath the ryser fowle no stay from fal,
No not of those that raisde him first of al:
His suretie stands in mainteining the cause
That heaued him first, which reft by reason’s sawes,
Not onely falth he to his former state,
But liueth for euer in his prince’s hate:
And marke, my lordes, God for adultery sleath,
Though ye it thinke too sweete a sinne for death.

Serue trulye your prince and feare not rebels might,
On princes halues the mightie God doth fight:
O much more then forsweare a forrein foe,
Who seeketh your realme and countrie to vndo:
Murther detest, haue handes vnstaind with bloud,
Aye with your succour do protect the good,
Chace treason where trust should be, wed to your frend
Your hart and power, to your liue’s last end.

Flie tickle credit, shunne alike distrust:
To true it is, and credite it you must:
The ialous nature wanteth no stormy strife,
The simple soule aye leadeth a sower life:
Beware of flatterers, frendes in outward show:
Best is of such to make your open foe:
What al men seeke, that al men seeke to fayne,
Some such to bee, some such to seeme, them payne.

Marke God’s iust iudgements, punishing sinne by sinn,
And slipperie state wherein aloft we swimme:
The prouerbe, al day vp if we ne fall,
Agreeth wel to vs hie heaued worldlinges al:
From common sort vpraisde in honour’s weede
We shine, while fortune false, whom none erst feede,
To stand with staye and forsweare ticklenesse,
Sowseth vs in myre of durtie brittlenesse.

And learne ye princes by my wronged sprite,
Not to misconster what is ment aright,
The whinged wordes too oft preuent the wyt,
When silence cesseth afore the lips to sit:
Alas, what may the wordes yeld worthy death?
The wordes worst is, the speaker’s stinking breath:
Wordes are but winde, why cost they then so much
The guiltye kycke, when they to smartly touche.

Forth irreturnable flyeth the spoken word,
Be hit in scoffe, in earnest, or in bourd:
Without retourne, and vnreceiued, hit hangs,
And at the taker’s mercie, or rigour, stands:
Which if he sowerly wrest with wrathful cheare,
The shiuering word turnes to the speaker’s feare:
If frendly curtesie do the word expound,
To the speaker’s comfort swetely it doth redound.

Euen as the vapour which the fier repels,
Turnes not to earth, but in myd aer dwels
Where while it hangth, if Boreas’ frosty flawes
With rigour rattle it, not to rayne it thawes,
But thunder, lightninges, ratling hayle, or snowe,
Sendes downe to earth, whence first it rose below:
But if fayre Phœbus with his countenaunce swete
Resolue it, downe the dew, or manna, sleete.

(The manna dew, that in the easterne landes,
Excelth the labour of the bees small handes:)
Els for her Memnon gray Aurora’s teares,
On the earth it stilleth, the partener of her feares:
Or sendeth sweet showers to glad their mother earth,
Whence first they tooke their first inconstant birth:
To so great griefes, il taken wordes do grow:
Of wordes wel taken, such delightes do flow.

This learned, thus be here at length an end,
What since ensued, to thee I wil commend:
Now farewel, Baldwine, shield my torne name,
From slaunderous trompe of blasting blacke defame:
But, ere I part, hereof thou record beare:
I claime no parte of vertues reckned here:
My vice my selfe, but God my vertues take:
So hence depart I, as I entred naked.

Thus ended Hastinges both his life and tale,
Contayning al his worldly blisse and bale:
Happye he liued, to happie but for sinne,
Happie hee dyed whom right his death did bring:
Thus euer happie, for there is no meane
Twixt blisseful liues and mortal deathe’s extreame:
Yet feared not his foes to staine his name,
And by these sclaunders to procure his shame.

In rousty armure as in extreame shift,
They clad themselues, to cloake their diuelish drift:
And forthwith for substancial citezens sent,
Declaring to them, Hastinges forged entent,
Was to haue slaine the duke: and to haue seised
The kinge’s young person, slaying whom he had pleas’d:
But God of iustice had withturnd that fate,
Which, where it ought, light on his proper pate.

Then practised they by proclamation spred,
Nought to forget, that mought defame him dead:
Which was so curious, and so clerkely pend,
So long withal, that when some did attend
His death so young, they saw, that long before
The shroude was shaped, then babe to dye was bore:
So wonteth God to blinde the worldly wise,
That not to see, that al the world espies.

One hearing it cried out: “A goodly cast,
And wel contriued, foule cast away for hast:”
Whereto another gan in scoffe replie,
“First pend it was by enspiring prophecie:”
So can God reape vp secret mischiefes wrought,
To the confusion of the workers thought:
My lords, the tub, that dround the Clarence duke,
Dround not his death, nor yet his deathe’s rebuke.

Your politique secrets gard with trusty loyalty:
So shal they lurke in most assured secrecie:
By Hastinge’s death, and after fame, ye learne
The earth for murther cryeth out vengeance sterne:
Flye from his faultes, and spare to hurt his fame,
The eager houndes forbeare their slayne game;
Dead, dead, auaunt curres from the conquered chase,
Il mought he liue who loueth the dead to race.

Thus liued this lorde, thus died he, thus he slept,
Mids forward race when first to rest he stept,
Enuious death that bounceth aswel with mace
At Keysar’s courtes, as at the poorest gates:
When nature seemde to slow by arts sloape meane
Conueyghde him sooner to his liue’s extreame,
Happy, in preuenting woes that after hapt,
In slumber sweete his liuing lights hee lapt.

Whose thus vntymely death, if any grieue,
Know hee, hee liu’d to dye, and dyde to liue:
Untymely neuer coms the liue’s last mett,
In cradell death may rightly clayme his debt:
Straight after byrth due is the fatall beere:
By death’s permission th’aged linger heere:
Euen in the swathbands our commission goeth
To loose thy breath, that yet but yongly bloweth.

Happy, thryse happy, who so loosth his breath,
As life hee gayneth by his liuing death;
As Hastings here, whom tyme and truth agree
T’engraue by fame in strong eternity:
Who spareth not spitting, if hee spit but bloud?
Yet this our lord, sparde not for other’s good:
With one sweete breath his present death to speake,
Against th’vsurpour bore, that hellish freake.

Worthy to lyue, but lyu’d not for himselfe,
But prisde his fame more then this worldly pelfe:
Whose name and lyne, if any yet preserue,
Wee wish they liue like honour to deserue:
Whether thou seeke by martiall prowesse prayse,
Or Pallas pollicie high thy name to rayse,
Or trusty seruice iust death to attaine:
Hastings foreled: trace here his bloudy trayne.