The Fall of King Morgan of Albany, Slain at Glamorgan

I Wot not well what reasons I may vse,
To quit myselfe from lasting infamy:
Wherefore I must perforce myselfe accuse:
I was in fault I cannot it denye.
Remorce of conscience pricks my harte so nye,
And mee torments with panges of pinching payne,
I can no longer mee from speache refrayne.

I am that Morgan sonne of Gonerell
Th’ungratefull daughter of hire father Leire:
Which from his Kingdome did him once expell,
As by the British storyes may appeare.
Ragan and shee conspirde (both sisters were)
But were subdude agayne and caus’d to yelde
Theyr fathers Crowne: Cordila wan the field.

I need not heare the storyes all recite;
It were to long, but yet I briefly shall:
The cause Cordila ought her sisters spite
Was, they procur’d her, and their father’s thrall.
Yet t’was her chaunce at length t’out liue them all,
Both sisters elder, and her father graue,
And eke at length the kingdome all to haue.

That time was I of Albany the King,
Cal’d Scotland now, and eke my cousin then,
Of Cornewall and of Wales, whom I did bring
To warre, against Cordila and her men:
Wee sayd wee would our title winne agen,
And that because our fathers had it yore,
Wee ment to get it ours againe therefore.

I must confesse I was the cause of warre,
I was not pleas’d with that was lotted mee:
Euen so our mindes ambitious often are
And blinded, that wee cannot reason see.
Wee thinke no men, but God’s on Earth wee bee,
Yet worse are wee then beastes which knowe their kinde:
For wee haue nought but mischiefe oft in mind.

Wee thinke, if so wee may our willes attayne
By right or wrong, by might or malice, wee
Could neuer liue like Fortune for to gayne:
Or if one foes wee once reuenged bee,
If that our enemies fall wee chaunce to see,
O then wee ioy, wee lift our selues to skie,
And on the poore wee crucifige crye.

I deem’d if once I might put her adowne,
The Kingdomes all were Conidag’s and mine
And I could easly after winne the crowne,
If also I his state might vndermine.
I thought, in deede, to haue it all in fine:
By force or fraude I ment my purpose bring
To passe, I might bee after Britayne King.

To speake in fewe, wee waged warre so long
Gainst her, at last wee put her vnto flight:
Wee warriours for our aunt were far to strong,
Pursude and tooke, depriu’d her of her right.
Wee thought it ours what so wee wanne by might:
Eke so play tyraunts, Traitours all doe watch
To get by spoile and count their owne they catch.

Not so contented were wee with the pray:
But fearing lest shee should recouer ayde,
I sent in hast to prison her away,
And all recourse of messengers denayd.
Thus when shee sawe her Maiesty decayd,
And that her griefes and sorowes daily grew,
In pryson at the length her selfe shee slewe.

O caytife vile, should I constrain’d a Queene,
That Iustice ment, her kingdome to forsake?
Nay traytour I, her cause of death haue bene,
That would my selfe by bloudshed ruler make.
How could reuenge on mee but vengeaunce take?
Before the seat of God her bloud did call
For vengeaunce still, and so procur’d my fall.

Lo here God’s iustice see, my treason see:
Behold and see, to raygne was my delight:
And marke, and make a mirrour here of mee,
Which afterward was seru’d by iustice right.
Wee wan the crowne betweene vs both in fight:
And then because I was the elder sonne
Of th’elder Queene, I claymed all wee wonne.

So were my dealings nought in peace and warre:
But by my force and fortunes v’sd in fight,
I past, that time, the Britaynes all by farre:
I was of person, fortitude, and might,
Both comely, tall, strong, seemely eke in sight,
Whereby I wonne mens fauoure, glory, wealth
And, puft with pride, at length forgate my selfe.

I sayd it was my right the crowne to haue
But Conidagus stoutly it deni’d:
Wherefore I went to Wales, my ryght to craue,
With all mine army, and to haue it tri’d.
Where long wee fought it stoutly on eche side,
Till at the last, vnto my woefull payne,
I was depriu’d of Kingdome quite, and slayne.

And for to keepe in memory for aye
That there vnfaythfull Morgan lost his life,
The place is cal’d Glamorgan to this daye.
There was I perst to death with fatall knife:
There was the end of all my hatefull strife.
So Morgan, where hee thought to winne the Crowne,
Was at Glamorgan traytour striken downe.

Thus mayst thou tell how proude ambition proues,
What hap haue tyraunts, what wee Traytours haue:
What end hee hath that cruell dealing loues,
What subiects get the Diademe doe craue.
Tis better, then to winne, thine owne to saue:
For so orethwartly trade of Fortune goes,
When win thou would’st, then art thou sure to lose.

Lenvoy.

How restlesse are the peeres aloft would ryse?
How vncontented are theyr hauty myndes?
How quiet is the simple setled wise,
Whom no desire of proud ambition blyndes?
I see no ease the seeke-throne thirsty findes.
Hee seekes all meanes to clime to catch the crowne,
Till for his haste Ioue hurle him headlong downe.

The royall borne by birth, the time should stay
Till iust Iehoua gaue to him the place:
And not the Lordes anoynted seeke to slay,
But as his Soueraigne serue him well the space.
If hee with bloud his noble birth abace,
I meane if hee by slaughter catch the crowne,
With foote Iehoua castes him headlong downe.

If Morgan hadnot wrought his aunt’s distresse
By dint of sword, by sword hee had not fell.
But who so shall by sword a Prince oppresse,
Shall of the sword therefore and slaughter smell.
Lo here the next, that came his tale to tell,
Was gieuen to vice when once hee ware the crowne,
Till slouth and sleepy sickenes cast hym downe.