The Fall of Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Gloucester, for Witchcraft and Sorcery

If a poore lady damned in exile
Amongst princes may bee allowed place,
Then, gentle Baldwine, stay thy pen a while,
And of pure pitty ponder well my case,
How I a duches, destitute of grace,
Haue found by proofe, as many haue and shall,
The prouerbe true, that pride will haue a fall.

A noble prince extract of royall bloud,
Humfrey, sometime protector of this land,
Of Glocester duke, for vertue calde, the good,
When I but base beneath his state did stande,
Vouchsafte with mee to ioyne in wedlocke’s band,
Hauing in court no name of high degree,
But Elinor Cobham, as parents left to mee.

And though by birth of noble race I was,
Of baron’s bloud, yet was I thought vnfitte
So high to match, yet so it came to passe,
Whether by grace, good fortune, or by witte,
Dame Venus’ lures so in mine eyes did sitte,
As this great prince without respect of state,
Did worthy mee to bee his wedded mate.

His wife I was, and hee my true husband,
Though for a while hee had the company
Of lady Iaquet, [the] dutchesse of Holland,
Being an heyre of ample patrimony,
But that fell out to bee no matrimony:
For after warre, long sute in lawe, and strife,
Shee proued was the duke of Brabant’s wife.

Thus of a damsell [a] duchesse I became,
My state and place aduaunced next the queene,
Whereby mee thought I felt no ground, but swam,
For in the court mine equall was not seene,
And so possest with pleasure of the spleene,
The sparkes of pride so kindled in my brest,
As I in court would shine aboue the rest.

Such giftes of nature God in mee had graft
Of shape and stature, with other graces moe,
That by the shot of Cupid’s fiery shaft,
Which to the harte of this great prince did goe,
This mighty duke with loue was kindled so,
As hee abasing the height of his degree,
Set his whole hart, to loue and honour mee.

Grudge who so would, to him I was most deere,
Aboue all ladyes aduaunced in degree,
(The queene except) no princesse was my peere,
But gaue mee place, and lordes with cap and knee
Did all honour and reuerence vnto mee:
Thus hoisted high vppon the rolling wheele,
I sate so sure, mee thought I could not reele.

And weening least that fortune hath a turne,
I lookt aloft, and would not looke alowe,
The brondes of pride so in my brest did burne
As the hot sparkes, burst forth in open showe,
And more and more the fire began to glowe
Without quenching, and daily did encrease,
Till fortune’s blastes with shame did make it cease.

For (as tis sayd) pride passeth on afore,
And shame followes, for iust rewarde and meede,
Would God ladyes, both now and euermore,
Of my hard hap, which shall the story reede,
Would beare in mind, and trust it as their creede,
That pryde of hart is a most hatefull vice,
And lowlines, a pearle of passing price.

Namely in queenes, and ladyes of estate,
Within whose mindes all meekenes should abound,
Since high disdayne doth alwayes purchase hate,
Being a vice, that most part doth redound
To their reproach, in whome the same is found,
And seeldome gets good fauour or good fame,
But is at last knit vp with worldly shame.

The proofe wherof I found most true in deede,
That pryde afore, hath shame to wayt behinde:
Let no man doubt, in whom this vice doth breede,
But shame for pride by iustice is assynde,
Which I well found, for truely in my minde
Was neuer none, whome pride did more enflame,
Nor neuer none receiued greater shame.

For not content to bee a duchesse great,
I longed sore to beare the name of queene,
Aspiring still vnto an higher seat,
And with that hope my selfe did ouerweene
Since there was none, which that time was betweene
Henry the king, and my good duke his eame,
Heyre to the crowne and kingdome of this realme.

So neare to bee, was cause of my vayne hope
And long awayte, when this faire hap would fall:
My studies all were tending to that scope,
Alas, the while to councell I did call
Such as would seeme, by skill coniecturall
Of art magique and wicked sorcery,
To deeme and dyuine the prince’s destiny:

Among which sort of those that bare most fame
There was a beldame called the witch of Ey,
Old mother Madge her neighbours did her name,
Which wrought wonders in countryes by here say,
Both feendes and fayries her charming would obay:
And dead corpsis from graue shee could vp rere,
Such an inchauntresse [as] that time had no peere.

Two priests also, the one hight Bolenbroke,
The other Suthwell, [great] clerkes in coniuration,
These two chapleins were they that vndertooke
To cast and calke the kinge’s constellation,
And then to iudge by deepe diuination
Of thinges to come, and who should next succede
To Englande’s crowne, all this was true in deede.

And further sure they neuer did proceede,
Though I confesse that this attempt was ill,
But for my part, for any thing in deede,
Wrought, or else thought, by any kinde of skill,
God is my iudge I neuer had the will,
By any inchauntment, sorcery, or charme,
Or otherwise, to worke my prince’s harme.

Yet nethelesse, when this case came to light
By secrete spies to Cayphas, our cardinall,
Who long in hart had borne a priuy spight
To my good duke, his nephue naturall,
Glad of the chaunce so fitly forth to fall,
His long hid hate with justice to color,
Used this case with most extreame rigor.

And caused mee with my complices all,
To bee cyted by processe peremptory,
Before judges, in place judiciall,
Whereas Cayphas, sitting in his glory,
Would not allow my aunswere dilatory,
Ne doctor, or proctor, to alledge the lawes,
But forced mee to plead in mine owne cause.

The kinge’s councell were called to the case,
(My husband than shut out for the season)
In whose absence I found but little grace,
For lawyers turned our offence to treason:
And so with rigor, without ruth or reason,
Sentence was gieuen that I for the same
Should doe penaunce, and suffer open shame.

Nay the like shame had neuer wight I weene,
Duches, lady, ne damsel of degree,
As I that was a princesse, next the queene,
Wife to a prince, and none so great as hee,
A kinge’s vncle, protector of his countrey,
With taper burning, shrouded in a sheete,
Three dayes a row, to passe the open streete,

Bareleg’d, and barefoote, to all the worlde’s wonder,
Yea, and as though such shame did not suffise,
With more despite then to part asunder
Mee and my duke, which traytors did deuise
By statute lawe, in most vnlawfull wise,
First sending mee with shame into exile,
Then murdring him by trechery and gyle.

Yea, and besides this cruell banishment,
Far from all friendes to comfort mee in care,
And husband’s death, there was by parliament
Ordayn’d for mee a messe of courser fare:
For they to bryng mee to begger’s state most bare,
By the same act from mee did then withdrawe
Such right of dower, as widowe’s haue by lawe.

Death (as tis sayd) doth set all things at rest,
Which fell not so in mine vnhappy case:
For since my death, mine enmies made a jest
In minstrel’s rymes, mine honour to deface:
And then to bring my name in more disgrace,
A song was made in manner of a laye,
Which olde wiues sing of mee vnto this day.

Yet with these spites theyr malice could not end,
For shortly after, my sorrowes to renue,
My loyall lord, which neuer did offend,
Was calde in haste, the cause hee litle knew,
To a parliament, without sommons due,
Whereas his death was cruelly contriued,
And I, his wife, of earthly ioyes depriued.

For all the while my duke had life and breath,
So long I stoode in hope of my restore:
But when I heard of his most causles death,
Then the best salue for my recureless sore
Was to despayre of cure for euermore,
And as I could, my carefull heart to cure
With pacience, most paynfull to endure.

O traytors fell, which in your heartes could find,
Like feendes of hell, the guiltles to betray,
But yee chiefly his kinsmen most vnkinde,
Which gaue consent to make him so away,
That vnto God, with all my heart I pray,
Vengeaunce may light on him that caused all,
Beaufort, I meane, that cursed cardinall.

Which bastard priest of th’house of Lancaster,
Sonne to duke Iohn, surnamed Iohn of Gaunt,
Was first create byshop of Winchester,
For no learning whereof hee might well vaunt,
Ne for vertue, which hee did neuer haunt,
But for his gold and sommes that were not small,
Payde to the pope, was made a cardinall.

Proud Lucifer, which from the heauens on high
Downe to the pit of hell belowe was cast,
And being once an aungell bright in sky,
For his high pride in hell is chained fast
In deepe darknes that euermore shall last,
More hawt of heart was not before his fall,
Then was this proud and pompous cardinall:

Whose life, good Baldwine, paynt out in his pickle,
And blase this Baal and belligod most blinde,
An hypocrite, all faythles, false, and fickle,
A wicked wretch, a kinsman most vnkind,
A deuill incarnat, all deuishly enclinde,
And (to discharge my conscience all at once)
The deuill him gnawe, both body, bloud, and bones.

The spitefull prieste would needes make mee a witch,
As would to God I had beene for his sake,
I would haue claw’d him where hee did not itche,
I would haue playde the lady of the lake,
And as Merline was, cloasde him in a brake,
Ye a meridian to lul him by day light,
And a night mare to ride on him by night.

The fiery feends with feuers hot and frenzy,
The ayery heggs with stench and carren sauoures,
The watry ghostes with gowtes and with dropsy,
The earthy goblines, with aches at all houres,
Furyes and fayryes, with all infernall powers,
I would haue stir’d from the darke dungeon
Of hell centre, as deepe as demagorgon.

Or had I now the skill of dame Erichto,
Whose dreadfull charmes (as Lucan doth expresse)
All feendes did feare, so far forth as prince Pluto,
Was at her call for dread of more distresse,
Then would I send of helhoundes more and lesse
A legion at least, at him to cry and yel,
And with that chyrme, herrie him downe to hell.

Which neede not, for sure I thinke that hee
Who here in earth leades Epicurus’ life,
As farre from God as possible may be,
With whome all sinne and vices are most rife,
Using at will both widdow, mayde, and wife,
But that some deuill his body doth possesse,
His life is such as men can iudge no lesse.

And God forgieue my wrath and wreakefull minde,
Such is my hate to that most wicked wretch,
Dye when hee shall, in heart I could well finde
Out of the graue his corps agayne to fetch,
And racke his limmes as long as they would stretch,
And take delight to listen euery day
How hee could sing a masse of welaway.

The ile of Man was the apoynted place
To penaunce mee for euer in exile,
Thither in haste they poasted mee apace,
And douting scape, they pind mee in a pyle,
Close by my selfe in care, alas, the while,
There felt I first poore prysoner’s hungry fare,
Much want, thinges skant, and stone walles harde and bare.

The chaunge was straunge, from sylke and cloth of gold
To rugged fryze my carcas for to cloath,
From prince’s fare, and daynties hot and cold,
To rotten fish, and meates that one would loath,
The diet and dressing were much alike boath,
Bedding and lodging were all alike fine,
Such downe it was as serued well for swyne.

Neyther doe I myne owne case thus complayne,
Which I confesse came partly by desert:
The only cause which doubleth all my payne,
And which most neere goeth now vnto my hearte,
Is that my fault did finally reuert
To him that was least guilty of the same,
Whose death it was, though I abode the shame.

Whose fatall fall when I doe call to minde,
And how by mee his mischiefe first began,
So ofte I cry on fortune most vnkinde,
And my mishap most vtterly doe banne,
That euer I to such a noble man,
Who from my crime was innocent and cleare,
Should bee a cause to buy his loue so deare.

Oh, to my heart how greeuous is the wounde,
Calling to minde this dismall deadly case:
I would I had beene doluen vnder ground
When hee first saw or looked on my face,
Or tooke delight in any kinde of grace
Seeming in mee, that him did stir or moue
To fancy mee, or set his heart to loue.

Farewell, Greenewych, my pallace of delight,
Where I was wont to see the christall streames
Of royall Thames, most plesaunt to my sight:
And farewell, Kent, right famous in all realmes,
A thousand times I minde you in my dreames,
And when I wake most griefe it is to mee,
That neuer more agayne I shall you see.

In the night time when I should take my rest
I weepe, I wayle, I weat my bed with teares,
And when dead sleape my spirites hath opprest,
Troubled with dreames I fantazy vayne feares,
Myne husband’s voyce then ringeth at mine eares,
Crying for help: “O saue mee from the death,
These vilaynes here doe seeke to stop my breath.”

Yea, and sometimes mee thinkes his drery ghost
Appeares in sight, and shewes mee in what wise
Those fell tyraunts with torments had emboost
His winde and breath, to abuse people’s eyes,
So as no doubt or question should arise
Among rude folke, which litle vnderstand,
But that his death came only by God’s hand.

I playne in vayne, where eares bee none to heare,
But roring seas, and blustring of the winde,
And of redresse am near a whit the neere,
But with waste wordes to feede my mournfull minde,
Wishing full oft the Parcas had vntwinde
My vitall stringes, or Atropose with knife
Had cut the lyne of my most wretched life.

Oh that Neptune, and Æolus also,
Th’one god of seas, the other of weather,
Ere mine arriuall into that ile of woe,
Had sunke the ship wherein I sayled thether,
(The shipmen saued) so as I together
With my good duke, might haue beene deade afore
Fortune had wroken her wrath on vs so sore.

Or els that God, when my first passage was
Into exile along Saynt Albon’s towne,
Had neuer let mee further for to passe,
But in the streete with death had strucke mee downe:
Then had I sped of my desired bowne,
That my poore corps mought there haue lien with his
Both in one graue, and so haue gone to blisse.

But I, alas, the greater is my greefe,
Am past that hope to haue my sepulture
Nere vnto him, which was to mee most leefe,
But in an ile and country most obscure,
To pyne in payne whilst my poore life will dure,
And being dead, all honourlesse to lye
In simple graue, as other poore that dye.

My tale is tolde, and time it is to ceasse
Of troubles past, all which haue had theyr end:
My graue I trust shall purchase mee such peace
In such a world, where no wight doth contend
For higher place, whereto all flesh shall wend:
And so I end, vsing one word for all
As I began, that pryde will haue a fall.