The Life and Death of Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy

In that great booke of Ioue’s decrees in heau’n,
Compiled ere time had any wings to moue,
The wofull wight, to whom blacke fate is giuen,
To cancell it in vaine doth after proue,
No change of time can change the will of Ioue,
What power so potent is, that can controle
The first decree that he did there inrole.

Let fortune hold a crowne aboue thy head,
And at it with wit’s best direction aime,
Rise to it royally from honor’s bed,
Iustly deserue it for thy deeds of fame:
Yet shall thy carefull brow nere beare the same,
If thou in that star-text of euery thing
Foredoom’d for fate, be not inrol’d a king.

Of which that thou a lasting Mirror haue,
Behold me heere a wretched prince of yore,
To whom true birth a crowne and kingdome gaue,
Whom vertue did inrich with all her store
Of goodly gifts, to make me fit therefore,
Of which depriu’d by destinie’s decree,
Woe and alas was only left to mee.

Behold this feeble bodie pin’d away
With hunger’s waste, which once so stoutly bore
Our Sauiour’s badge in many a bold assay:
Behold the place where eyes haue stood before,
Now filled vp with blacke congealed gore:
Behold blind Beauchampe duke of Normandie,
New crept from graue to tell his tragedie.

A prince I was borne of the Norman blood,
To that victorious king the eldest sonne,
Who with his Normans, like a furious flood
From southerne seas did England ouerrun,
And to his heires the golden garland wonne,
Though heau’ns and fortune neuer would agree,
That of the same I should possessor bee.

When fortune’s gentle hand had set the crowne
Vpon his happie head, when all assaies
Of his bold foes in field were beaten downe,
To me his eldest borne my state to raise,
The Norman dukedome with such long delaies
Assigned was, that I being set on fire
For such protract, turn’d rebell ’gainst my sire.

Like lustie Phaeton, that gaue th’assay,
To guide the head-strong horses of the sunne,
Puft vp with pride to seeke his owne decay,
Gainst conquering William his rebellious sonne,
T’aspire the dukedome violently begun,
And fier’d with heat of gaysome youth did venter,
With warlike troopes the Norman coast to enter.

The false French Philip dreading euery houre,
The towring state of my vnconquer’d sire,
Gaue life to my attempt, and sent a powre
Of tall strong men, as fuell for the fire
Of my ambition, lest I should retire,
And faint in pursuit of the warre begun,
Betwixt my sire and me his gracelesse sonne.

As th’hungrie flame growen powerfull by degrees,
And flying on wings of winde throughout a wood,
With thirstie tongue lickes vp the leauie trees,
Or as the rising of some stormie flood:
So blinded with neglect of humane good,
My natiue Normandie I did inuade,
Making her soile the spoile of Mars his blade.

To whose distresse the wrathfull conqueror came
Through sea’s rough waues, wilde furie was his guide,
Cursing my birth, ’gainst me he did exclame,
And in reuenge affection set aside,
He vow’d to scourge my most vnnaturall pride,
Setting his second birth yong Rufus hight,
Before me in his loue, and in my right.

At Archenbraie, both battels first did braue
Each other with proud proffer for the fight,
There th’ensignes with the wanton winde did waue,
The plume-deckt helmes with gold all horrid bright,
With pale reflection glitter’d in the light,
And 'bout both hosts in troopes the horsemen stood
Like loftie cedars in a thicke-set wood.

When as the trumpe the banefull blast begunne,
In clamorous noise we clos’d on either side,
Brother ’gainst brother, father ’gainst the sonne
Themselues oppos’d, nature in fight defi’d
Euen nature’s selfe, the sun in heau’n did hide
His glorious head, denying vs his light,
As lothing to behold so strange a sight.

The soules of mortall men were put to flight,
Blacke deeds of death each one did vndergo,
Need boldned cowards, hope gaue wings to might,
And made each one his best strength to bestow,
To purchase fame by downefall of his foe,
Death set on foot ran round about the field,
Whole troopes of men t’her conquering stroke did yeeld.

In th’heate of fight, I caus’d a troope of horse
To breake vpon the rereward of the foe,
Who brauely gaue the charge, and with such force
Their fainting troopes in heapes did ouerthrow,
That they their rankes were forced to forgo,
Whom I well mounted on a tall strong steed,
To the maine battell did pursue with speed.

Where vnder th’ensigne of his royall armes,
T’encounter with the king it was my chance,
Who bent with his owne hands, to wreake his harmes,
Did fiercely charge me with his well-aim’d lance,
’Gainst whom vnknowne my selfe I did aduance,
And in my winged course with staffe in rest,
I gaue the charge vpon his royall brest.

But heau’n did calme false fortune’s threatfull brow,
And did auert the point of my sharpe speare:
Yet by his ribs the flesh it vp did plow,
And running through his arme made blood appeare,
The stubborne staffe the king to ground did beare,
Who falling from his horse in mind dismai’d,
Vnto his men aloud did call for aid.

The voice descri’d my error, and with speed
I downe dismounting to my royall sire,
Did take him vp, and for my gracelesse deed
His pardon vpon my knee, I did require,
Pleading mistake t’appease his kingly ire,
Whom I remounted, and from field conuey’d,
Lest danger should his noble life inuade.

Meane time the horse troopes, who by me design’d
Gaue charge vpon the flankers of the foe,
So beat the field about, that conquest shin’d
Vpon our helmes, slaughter and ouerthrow
On the aduerse part inforc’t such workes of woe,
That all by flight sought saftie, none durst stay,
Rufus disgrac’d, and wounded went his way.

Conquest in triumph on my brow did stand,
Fame did renowne my sword in euerie place,
Fortune with fame did ioyne her helping hand
With my displeased sire to winne me grace,
T’whom nature pleaded my vnhappie case,
And forc’t him yeeld (that both in loue might liue)
What reason would, and rage denide to giue.

Restor’d to grace like Saturn’s god-like sonne,
To England I returned with the king,
Where Malcome in his absence had orerun
The north from Tuuidale, where Tweed doth spring,
Vnto the Tine, whose streames such profit bring
Vnto that towne, which on her bankes doth stand,
Now call’d Newcastle built by my command.

T’oppose the furie of th’inuading foe,
The king my late tri’de valor did imploy,
The Tine with wafting waues did seeme to woe
My swift accesse, to saue her from th’annoy
Of her proud foes, who daylie did destroy
The towres and townes, which did themselues enranke
About her streames, vpon the pleasant banke.

Where with my troopes, when I appeard in sight
Beneath the kinglie lyon marching on
Towards Tuuidale, to seeke the foes for fight,
Malcolme retirde beyond the Tweede, and none
In England’s bounds durst stay to looke vpon
Our angrie host, for peace the foemen su’d,
Which for the common good I did conclude.

But leaue I now, to speake of blessed daies,
In which I liu’d true subiect to my king,
Leaue we a while to memorize the praise
Of my best deeds, thy muse againe must sing
My rebell pride, whence worse effects did spring,
Mischiefe now tracts each step, that I do tread,
Vnlookt for plagues falles downe vpon my head.

Suppose thou seest me on the German coast,
Clad in rebellious armes against my sire,
Trooping vp men, to make a compleat host,
Waging th’vnwilling mind with golden hire,
And hope of spoile, to furnish my desire:
Bent once againe, vnto my sire vnknowne,
To claime the Norman dukedome, as mine owne.

But ere my wicked sword I could vnsheath,
Vpon the bed of fraile mortalitie
Lies conquering William, in the armes of death,
T’whom enuious fame in his extremitie,
Brings tidings of his sonne’s impietie,
Debatefull enuie, finding once the thing
That breeds our shame, sets euill newes on wing.

Could enuie find a darker cloud of shame,
Wherewith t’obscure the shine of my renowne?
Could fate for future woes more fitly frame
The houres of time, to cause the conqueror frowne,
Then when in death, he should dispose the crowne?
Enuie, fate, time and all things else agree,
To crosse that man, t’whom fortune crosse wil bee.

The sickly king my sire, whose daies were done,
Thinking my course did threaten sure decay
To the rich trophie of his conquest wonne,
What nature gaue to me, did giue away,
To set the state vpon a surer stay:
For leauing life, he left by his decree
His crowne to Rufus, and his curse to mee.

Tell me ambition, whence hadst thou that might,
To stirre vp nature in bold Beauchamp’s brest
Gainst God, ’gainst king, ’gainst nature’s selfe to fight,
Enacting by my hand such deeds vnblest,
From the first motion of my mind’s vnrest?
From hope of rule, and empire’s blind desire,
Thou hadst that power to make me first aspire.

Reason strooke blind euen from my youth’s first spring
With fond-bewitching hope in state to clime,
That hope made frustrate by the powerfull king,
Did but prefigure out for future time,
Th’vnfortunate effects of my foule crime,
The losse of crowne, the losse of all my right,
The losse of freedome and my bodie’s sight.

Scarce had the hand of vnimpeached death,
Clos’d vp the eyes of England’s conquering king:
But fame, whose listning eares feeles euery breath
Of whispering rumour, set him selfe on wig,
And ouer seas to vs did tidings bring,
That our dread sire was to his graue gone downe,
And vnto Rufus had bequeath’d his crowne.

Heart-swolne with furie to reuenge such wrongs,
And claime the priuiledge then almost lost,
Which vnto birth by nature’s gift belongs,
Lest Rufus pride in my disgrace might boast,
My quarrell strengthned with a mightie hoast,
I did arriue on England’s southerne shore,
Gainst whose white rocks the British billowes rore.

The English peeres abhorring Rufus pride,
In me expecting a more milde command,
Both by affection and by dutie tide
T’aduance my cause, each with his armed band,
Gainst Rufus’ powers in field did stoutly stand,
Whose wilder nature knowne in former daies,
Now many friends to my attempt did raise.

Th’vnconquered Kentish in the English east
With that stout bishop Odo, first made head,
The actiue people, coasting on the west,
Marcht beneath Mowbraie’s ensigne proudly spread,
The northerne rout the valiant Bygod lead,
And the bold Britaines fauouring my right,
Were troopt by braue Mountgomerie valiant knight.

Th’vsurping king seeing such sterne stormes to frowne,
On the first spring of his ambitious raigne,
Fearing the fall of his new-borne renowne,
Sought by insinuating words to gaine,
What by the sword he could not now maintaine,
His golden gifts with many faire sweet words,
Did turne the edge of our reuengefull swords.

He did not seeke t’vsurpe the crowne by might,
Such pride his loyall heart did nere inuade,
He knew my senior birth did claime that right,
He, we being absent, tooke in hand, he said,
In our behalfe the scepter then vnswai’d,
The which, since now, he did the same enioy,
He crau’d to hold of vs, as our vice-roy.

His gifts still flowing from him in excesse,
Did giue full power to euery mouing word,
And that in me he might all doubts suppresse
Of fraudulent deceit, he did accord
That he of me, as of his supreame lord,
Should hold the crowne, and yearely I should claime
Three thousand markes, as tribute for the same.

Fraternall loue so well her powers appli’d,
To end these iarres begun betwixt vs twaine,
That he constrain’d t’appease his wonted pride,
And I respecting glorie more then gaine,
Did reunite our selues in loue againe:
The frowne of Mars did bring his stomacke downe,
And golden gifts did calme our martiall frowne.

Farre from the fruitfull Albion’s peacefull shoare,
For th’easterne world thy muse thou now must wing,
Who in her flight a loftie pitch must soare,
Of those stout pilgrims in high straine to sing,
Which th’holy hermit did to Salem bring,
Imploring aid of princes in the west,
Against the Pagan’s bloodie acts in th’east.

I as a partner in that great affaire,
With my support that iourney to vphold,
My wants with store to furnish, did not spare
My Norman dukedome, which for summes of gold
Till my returne the king did morgag’d hold:
Gold doth men’s thoughts to high attempts prepare,
And ouergilds the danger of the warre.

Hearken how fame vpon the Norman coast
With her shrill trumpe from kingdomes far away,
Summons vnto an head my warlike host,
Behold the sackfull troopes in braue array,
Beneath my ensignes for this bold assay,
Who martiall’d by my hand, with ample traine,
Do crowne the vtmost bankes of Belgike Seine.

Behold the English famous for his bow,
Sharpning his angrie arrowes for the field,
The Scot with his long pike his cunning show,
The Britaine big-bon’d-bold, not borne to yeeld,
Addressing brauely both his sword and sheeld,
See how the Norman manageth his horse,
The Irish shakes his dart with manly force.

As wak’d from sleepe, with christians wofull cries,
Bound by the Saracen in captiue bands,
And often blushing at the late surprise
Of those milke-hony-flowing holy lands,
Now made the spoile of Pagan’s conquering hands,
Hence did we march with heau’ns great king for guide
Into the east, to beate downe Pagan’s pride.

Inglorious age, made drunke with dregs of peace,
Heere iustly may I taxe thy peacefull time,
Heere must our muse’s warlike song surcease,
A carping straine, a more inuectiue rime,
Doth best befit the nature of thy crime:
Looke backe at vs, mourne thine owne want of praise
And glorious deeds, to glorifie thy daies.

Say glorie, say, hath peacefull follie furl’d
Thy flag of honor? li’st thou dead in graue,
With great Heroes of the elder world,
Who led vs ouer Hellespontus waue
Beneath his badge, whose blood the world did saue?
Arise, arise, call forth the christian man,
Against the house of tyrant Ottoman.

Hearke, how Thessalian woods records the cries
Of captiu’d Greekes vpon Penæus shore:
Behold how sacred Salem wasted lies:
See, see, how Sion mournes, where saints of yore
Did in sweet hymnes the king of heauen adore:
Behold that blessed land, the cursed seat
Where raignes th’Arabian Turkish Mahomet.

O warlike nation, where is now that name,
Which th’English sword did graue on Acon’s wall,
Why do your valours sleepe, vp, vp for shame,
Let not your countrie’s ancient glorie fall:
Go, free poore christians from proud Pagan’s thrall,
Redeeme his sepulchre, who did redeeme
The world from death, with blood of such esteeme.

Transport thou now thy muse to Bosphorus’ brim,
Ouer whose waues from Iuno iealous dame,
To Asian meades of yore did Io swim,
From whom transform’d the streame then tooke his name,
And since that time hath still retain’d the same,
Ouer whose waues as we did waft our host,
Much christian blood we ’gainst the Bulgar lost.

Hence did we march to Hellespontus flood,
Where Helle, with yong Phrixus, put to flight
By stepdam’s rage, of which in feare they stood,
Flying, alas, and falling with affright,
Into the waue sunke downe in Phrixus’ sight:
Yet still to liue, in leauing her deare breath,
She left her name to Pontus at her death.

The coast we tooke, where once Abydos stood,
Whence nak’d Leander, wafted by the light
Of Hero’s loue, so often swom the flood,
Till Helle rauisht with so sweet a sight,
Enuying Hero’s hap, in her despight
Into the deepe her deare Leander drew,
Where to his loue he sigh’d his last adew.

There on the plaines, where Troye’s sad ruines stand,
Whence Agamemnon’s troopes haue often run,
To shun the furie of great Hector’s hand,
Against the Pagan many deeds were done
Beneath our standard of Ioue’s powerfull sonne,
There all the host, as towards Nice we past,
With spoilefull hands laid all the countrie wast.

The noble citie Nice, so strongly wall’d,
We with our conquering host begirted round,
Her gates we wonne, her turret’s tops we scall’d,
Her towring walles we equall’d with the ground,
And all her pride did in the fire confound:
Amongst whose spoiles great Solyman’s faire make,
With her deare children we did captiue take.

Then did stout Heraclêa stoope her pride
And seeing the Niceans yeeld, did yeeld with them,
From thence to Tarsus we our host did guide,
Fast by the bankes of Cydnus, whose sweet streame
Did seeme t’inuite vs to that stratageme,
Wafting vs, with slow waters sliding downe
From mountaine Taurus, vnto Tarsus towne.

Where when we came with sp’rite infus’d from heauen,
We through the walles did force our dreadfull way,
The mightie towne into our hands was giuen,
The captiue foes in pitifull dismay,
With teares bemoan’d the imminent decay
Of their strong walles, which Perseus so renown’d
Had long before erected from the ground.

Thence our triumphant standards we aduance
To Syria-ward with Godfrey for our guide,
Where on the way, with seruice of my lance
In many a fight against the aduerse side,
I with fresh strength our fainting host suppli’d,
And forc’d the Pagan Pyrrus from the field,
Who fled, and made faire Antioch wals his shield.

Whom we pursu’d, and by the siluer streames
Of swift Orontes, where the king of light
Vpon our armes did cast his golden beames,
Our troopes did tracke the foe-men, turn’d to flight,
Till Antioch towers shot vp themselues in sight,
Whose pride we menac’d with victorious armes,
And shooke it in long siege with loud alarmes.

Nine times the pale-fac’d queene of peacefull night,
Did lose that siluer lustre in her wane,
Which she receiu’d from Phœbus cheerefull sight,
And nine times did her brothers light againe
Renue that losse, which she did erst sustaine,
While Antioch walles our armie did enclose,
And stood in daily skirmish with the foes.

In the ninth month, vpon the topfull brow
Of the towne-gate, the flag of truce did waue,
The captaine Pyrrus haughtie heart did bow,
The citie stoopt her pride, and for to saue
Her selfe from spoile, her gates wide open gaue,
Whose wealth, as due reward of our long toile
To th’vniuersall host, was giuen for spoile.

Should I assay to tell each conquest wonne,
Which at that time the christian host did crowne,
Or bring to light each high atchieuement done,
Before we could attaine that sacred towne,
Which God’s sonne’s sepulchre doth so renowne,
Our muse, though willing all at large to show,
Yet were too weake such taske to vndergo.

See how the Persian fronts vs in the field,
Vnder the sway of whose huge horse-arm’d host,
The earth with bowing backe doth seeme to yeeld,
Whose troopes in number infinite doth boast
Our swift decay, ere we do crosse their coast,
Hemming vs round, in hope t’enrich their hands,
With noble conquest on our conquering bands,

With shouts, and war-like instruments loud sound,
Hid all in clouds of smoake they toward vs came,
In fearefull fight vpon the groaning ground
Both hosts incounter’d, glorie did enflame
Both bent to fight, both greedie after fame,
Standerd ’gainst standerd stood, and band ’gainst band,
Troope clos’d with troope, men singl’d hand to hand.

Corbona hight, a Persian farre renown’d,
Chargeth our host with all his troopes of horse,
Stiffe stands each regiment, no ranke giues ground,
Power beats backe power, and force repelleth force,
The foes repell’d doth often shift their course,
Oft charging and recharging euery ward,
Where they do find the rankes most vnprepar’d:

Then thicke as haile from aire’s darke regiment,
When in blacke clouds a tempest raues in skie,
Steele-headed shafts from th’English bowes are sent,
Threatning the armed men as they do flie,
With singing slaughter, thicke prepar’d on high,
Who in their flight, though some fall short of wounds,
Yet some againe both men and horse confounds.

Here th’angrie courser chaf’t with deadlie sting
Of wounding shaft, for verie paine and woe
Doth stampe, doth plunge, and vp from ground doth fling,
Doth snuffe, doth puffe, doth boggle, snore and blow,
Till from his back his rider he doth throw:
Then ranging through their host with sinewie shankes
He wounds his friends, disturbing all their rankes.

There one with shaft infixed in his brest,
As the stalke stoopes his top orecharg’d with seed,
Hangs downe his head: another here opprest
With feare of death, forsakes his wounded steed,
Each place throughout the field our eyes did feed
With ruine of the foes dispred on ground,
Gasping for breath with many a bleeding wound.

Greate Ioue the god of conquest, who from harme
Did garde our host in euerie such assay,
Did through the cloudes stretch out his mightie arme,
And on the foes did powre downe swift decay,
Slaughtering their men on heapes, few fled away:
Twice fiftie thousand dead in field did fall,
With stout Corbona their cheife generall.

Here could I tell the sack, which did decline
The pride of Salem, whose high walles withstood
Our fierce assaults twice fifteene dayes and nine,
How euerie street polluted with the blood
Of Pagans slaine, did seeme a crimson flood:
How Egypt’s Soldan did before vs fall,
Whom to these warrs, this towne distrest did call.

But back to England we must turne our eye,
From whence, since first to Palestine I came,
Fiue times bright Pisces in the azure skie
Had in their yerelie course outrun the Ram,
Whose iust returne againe begins the same,
Where in our absence let vs view in state,
What changes haue ben wrought by time and fate.

Our brother Rufus with vnrighteous hand,
Swaying the scepter in the English throne,
Did so oppresse the people of his land,
That, when he left to liue, he then left none,
That would as friends his suddaine death bemone:
He in that forrest did death’s cup carowse,
Which fatall was vnto the conqueror’s house.

A goodlie place, that forrest once had ben,
Where manie a towne and manie a temple stood,
Made sacred with the prayers of holie men,
All which without respect to common good,
My father did conuert into a wood,
Intitling it New Forrest, and for game,
Did after keepe wild beasts within the same.

Which stir’d the stormefull wrath of heauen’s great king,
Who seeing his temples equald with the ground,
And where his priests sweet pæans once did sing,
And oft with thankfull prayers his altars crownd,
Hearing the crie of th’hunter and his hound,
Did in that place punish th’impietie
Vpon my sire, in his posteritie.

His second sonne, my brother Richard hight,
A hopefull youth, whom nature’s hand had sto’d
With sweetes of youth, as he, for his delight,
Did range this wood, was through the bodie gor’d
By sauage beasts, whose death my sire deplor’d
With bitter teares: yet could not quench the fire
Of Ioue’s fierce wrath, so moued was his ire.

Rufus, his third borne sonne, in that same wood,
When he had strook an hart that fled his sight,
Was by another crost, where as he stood,
At whom one Tirrill call’d, a Norman knight,
A shaft let flie, which in the lucklesse flight
Missing the deere, and glancing on the ground,
Vpon the brest the king to death did wound.

He dead, yong Henrie for his learning skill
Surnamed Beauclerk, did aspire the crowne,
And wonne the English peeres vnto his will:
Fortune once more vpon my state did frowne,
And from ambitious throne did keepe mee downe,
Mocking my hopes, denying mee command,
When she had put a scepter in my hand.

After the conquest of Ierusalem,
The princes did amongst themselues accord,
To crowne my temples with the diademe,
That my abode might in distresse afford
Comfort t’all christians gainst the heathen sword:
But tidings of my brother Rufus fall,
From Palestine to England me did call.

That sword renownd with fall of Pagan foes
Now did brandish gainst my brother’s brest,
That sheeld, which did the Persian oft oppose
In skirmish in the field, was now addrest
Against my friends, to worke mine owne vnrest:
And all mine ensignes fam’d in forraine fight
At Winchester did waue in Henrie’s sight.

Where, close to swords in fight we would haue stood
Had not our friends foreseene the future harmes
Of our debate, who tending either’s good,
To calme the tempest of warre’s threatfull stormes,
First caus’d vs lay aside our angrie armes,
Then counsell’d Henrie to such couenants yeeld
As Rufus did, when he the state did weeld.

As he, while he did liue, for England’s crowne,
Inioyned was by general states decree
Three thousand markes each yeare to pay me downe,
So Henrie, younger borne by birth, then he,
To like conditions thenceforth should agree,
To which we both consenting did depart,
One from the other seeming pleasde in hart.

But hooded with the shew of outward loue,
Beguiling my simplicitie of mind,
He in the end a deadly foe did proue,
In my franke brest by nature too too kind,
A cunning way to catch me he did find:
Into the best minds pliable to good,
Deceit soone enters maskt in truth’s plaine hood.

His queene, a woman sweetly tongu’d and faire,
By whom the king at his desire did aime,
With speech so affable did so insnare
My princely pliant thoughts, that in the same,
She could impresse, what forme she pleas’d to frame:
So free was I, that what her heart could craue,
As was my wont, with prodigue hand I gaue.

The tribute due for England’s emperie,
At her request I freely gaue away,
Whereby my title and my dignitie
I lost, in that I could not then gain-say
A queene’s request, proud Henrie had his prey:
A woman’s power to proue my power but vaine,
What I had done did soone vndoe againe.

Wanting in after times necessitie,
Those golden sinewes of my dukedome’s state,
To strengthen my much weakned royaltie,
I gaue the king words of despitefull hate,
And for reuenge tooke armes: but froward fate
With clouds of shame did now eclipse the shine
Of all my conquests, won in Palestine.

Ore the sea’s narrow brest from England’s coast
To Normandie my furious brother came,
Gainst whom, my cause being good with my small host,
Before the fort of Tenerchbray by name:
Though fewer farre, in battel’s bloodie frame
We did aduance, where though Mortaigne and I
So stoutly fought, our folke the field did flie.

Vpon that day, when fortie yeares before,
My sire to conquer England gaue th’assay,
In which he first set foot on England’s shore,
The king and I did meet in battell ray,
In which, alas, we Normans lost the day:
For on that day the Normans England won,
Was Normandie by English men orerun.

Where, though false fortune turn’d her treacherous face,
And then began to worke our future woe,
Though dreadfull Pallas did denie vs grace,
And ’gainst our side her selfe in field did show,
Yet did we scorne, as scar’d, to flie the foe,
Mortaigne and I ’gainst them alone did fight,
Till multitudes did ouermatch our might.

Let Pallas cease to sing of armes oppos’d,
Sorrow must be the subiect of her song,
In stead of greaues with golden buttons clos’d,
In which she marcht amidst our martiall throng,
Now in sad straine, while we relate our wrong,
She in the sock the tragicke dance must lead,
Whose dolefull measures, we captiu’d do tread.

Thy muse, that in warre’s bloodie hew was sent
To Palestine, must now in blacke be found,
Each word with heauie fall she must accent,
Each symphonie must yeeld a dolefull sound,
Each measure with a captiue band be bound,
And euery couple’s sad catastrophe,
Double the woes of our captiuitie.

Now Normandie’s great duke in Henrie’s hand
Vpon the rouling billowes running high,
Is carried captiue from his natiue land,
To which oft turning backe his heauie eie,
It seemes a farre to follow him and crie,
“Adew, deare lord, adew, who neuer more
With one step’s touch shall grace my sandie shore.”

With griefe arriu’d on Cardiffe’s rockie coast,
Where Seuerne first meets Nereus wauie brood,
Through whose blacke waues faire Sabrine’s guiltlesse ghost,
T’Elizium bankes did passe the fatall flood,
In whose defence king Locrine lost his blood,
The tyrant king, in dread what might befall,
Did confine me within the castle wall.

As bird in cage debarr’d the vse of wings,
Her captiu’d life as nature’s chiefest wrong,
In dolefull dittie sadly sits and sings,
And mournes her thralled libertie so long,
Till breath be spent in many a sithfull song:
So heere captiu’d, I many daies did spend
In sorowe’s plaint, till death my daies did end.

Where as a prisoner, though I did remaine:
Yet did my brother grant this libertie,
To quell the common speech, which did complaine
On my distresse, and on his tyrannie,
That in his parkes and forrests ioyning by,
When I did please, I to and fro might goe,
Which in the end was cause of all my woe.

For on a time, when as Aurora bright
Began to scale heau’n’s steepie battlement,
And to the world disclose her cheerefull light,
As was my wont, I with my keeper went
To put away my sorrowe’s discontent:
Thereby to ease me of my captiue care,
And solace my sad thoughts in th’open aire.

Wandring through forrest wide, at length we gaine
A steepe cloud-kissing rocke, whose horned crowne
With proud imperiall looke beholds the maine,
Where Seuern’s dangerous waues run roling downe
From th’Holmes into the seas, by Cardiffe towne,
Whose quicke deuouring sands so dangerous been
To those, that wander Amphytrite’s greene.

As there we stood, the countrie round we ey’d
To view the workmanship of nature’s hand,
There stood a mountaine, from whose weeping side
A brooke breakes forth into the low-lying land,
Here lies a plaine, and there a wood doth stand,
Here pastures, meades, corne-fields, a vale do crowne,
A castle here shootes vp, and there a towne.

Here one with angle ore a siluer streame
With banefull baite the nibling fish doth feed:
There in a plow’d-land with his painefull teame,
The plowman sweates, in hope for labor’s meed
To get the earth with childe of Ceres’ seed:
Heere sits a goatheard on a craggie rock,
And there in shade a shepheard with his flock.

The sweet delight of such a rare prospect
Might yeeld content vnto a carefull eye:
Yet downe the rock descending in neglect
Of such delight, the sunne now mounting high
I sought the shade in vale, which low did lie,
Where we reposde vs on a greene wood side,
Afront the which a siluer streame did glide.

There dwelt sweet Philomel, who neuer more
May bide th’abode of man’s societie,
Lest that some sterner Tereus then before,
Who cropt the flower of her virginitie,
Gainst her should plot some second villanie:
Whose dolefull tunes to minde did cause me call
The woefull storie of her former fall.

The redbreast, who in bush fast by did stand
As partner of her woes, his part did plie,
For that the gifts, with which Autumnus hand
Had grac’d the earth, by winter’s wrath should die,
From whose cold cheekes bleake blasts began to flie
Which made me think vpon my summer past
And winter’s woes, which all my life should last.

My keeper with compassion mou’d to see,
How griefe’s impulsions in my brest did beate,
Thus silence broke: “Would God, my lord,” quoth he,
“This pleasant land, which nature’s hand hath set
Before your eyes, might cause you to forget
Your discontent, the obiect of the eye
Oft times giues ease to woes, which inward lie.

Behold vpon that mountaine’s top so steepe,
Which seemes to pierce the cloudes and kisse the skie,
How the gray shepheard driues his flock of sheepe
Downe to the vale, and how on rockes fast by
The goates frisk to and fro for iollitie:
Giue eare likewise vnto these birds sweet songs,
And let them cause you to forget your wrongs.”

To this I made replie: “Fond man,” said I,
“What vnder heau’n can slack th’increasing woe,
Which in my grieued hart doth hidden lie?
Of choice delight what obiect canst thou show,
But from the sight of it fresh griefe doth grow?
What thou didst whilome point at to behold,
The same the summe of sorrow doth infold.

That gray coat shepheard, whom from farre we see,
I liken vnto thee, and those his sheepe
Vnto my wreatched self compar’d may bee:
And though that carefull pastor will not sleepe,
When he from rauenous wolues his flock should keepe:
Yet here, alas, in thrall thou keepest me,
Vntill that woolfe my brother hungrie bee.

Those shaghair’d goates vpon the craggie hill,
Which thou didst shew, see how they friske and play,
And euerie where doe run about at will:
Yea when the lion markes them for his prey,
They ouer hils and rockes can flie away:
But when that lion fell shall follow me
To shed my blood, O whither shall I flee?

Those sweet-voic’d birds, whose aires thou dost commend,
To which the echoing wood returnes replie,
Though thee they please, yet me they do offend:
For when I see, how they do mount on hie,
Wauing their out-stretcht wings at libertie:
Then do I thinke, how bird-like in a cage
My life I leade, and griefe can neuer swage.”

Heere sighes broke off my speech, and that in mind
I vndisturb’d might in that place bemone
The lot adiudg’d to me by fates vnkind,
I did command my keeper to be gone,
And there to leaue me to my selfe alone,
Who doubting nothing what I would assay,
Left me, as was his wont, and went his way.

He being gone, I wandring to and fro,
Began t’imagine how I might preuent
My wretched thrall, doom’d endlesse by my foe,
T’attempt all danger I stood fully bent,
Finding the meanes to perfect my intent,
Which at the last I found, alas, the while,
Since fawning fortune did my hopes beguile.

Alone long wandring through the desert wood
Farre from the castle, I did chance t’espie,
Whereas a lustie gelding grasing stood,
Whom straight I backt, and did for freedome flie
Through vnknowne waies, that none might me descrie:
But what is hid from heau’n, or who can shun
God’s firme edict, by which all things are done?

In swift careire, as I did heedlesse passe,
And through a meadow greene did make my way,
In midst of which a muddie quauemire was,
Into the same my horse did fall, and lay
Vp to the bellie, which my flight did stay,
Where striuing, as I was from thence t’haue past,
They that pursu’d me, found me sticking fast.

To Cardiffe thence they bore me backe againe,
As one whom frowning fortune did despise,
And to the king of me they did complaine,
Who with himselfe did tyrant-like deuise,
That I for this offence should lose mine eies:
Which when he tooke, what did he leaue behind,
But woe in captiue bands to leade the blind?

My bodie thus the darkesome caue was made,
In which my soule abode, as it had been
Confin’d to dwell in house of endlesse shade,
The windowes shut, no light could enter in,
The light put out no comfort could be seene:
And left thus blind, I seeke to flie my foes,
Both soule and bodie Cardiffe doth inclose.

Bidding farewell vnto the world for euer,
There in my chamber, as a forlorne guest,
My wretched selfe I wilfully did seuer
From all resort, where with long night opprest
(For day did shun the place of mine vnrest)
To yeeld griefe passage, after sad sighes giuen,
Thus oft I call’d, with hands vp-lift to heau’n.

“Thou powerfull God, whose champion I haue been
Fiue cold bleake winters, both by day and night,
In field against the cursed Saracen,
Although I seeme forgotten in thy sight,
Yet now behold me heere a wofull wight:
And seeing I liue in such calamitie,
Send death to end my dolefull miserie.

Can I distinguish day from darkesome night?
Or do I know the seasons of the yeare?
Know I when spring deckes earth with sweet delight,
When summer’s sun glads earth with his bright cleare,
Or when in woods Autumnus’ fruits appeare?
O no, of nought but winter can I tell,
Whom by his boystrous blasts, I know right well.

Where is become that azure concauite,
That doth so many wonders rare infold?
Where all the host of starres, so infinite?
Where daie’s great monarch drawne in carre of gold?
Where night’s bright queene, so beautious to behold?
O still, they do remaine in heau’n’s faire frame,
Although I neuer more shall see the same.

Where now the valley greene, and mountaine bare,
The riuer, forrest, wood, and crystall springs,
The hauke, the hound, the hinde, the swift-foot hare,
The lute’s sweet straine, the voice that sweetly sings,
And princely sports in courts of mightie kings?
Where now are these? O let not memorie
With thought of these augment my miserie.

Heere do I sit in shades of darkenesse grim,
While others walke in light at libertie:
Heere I in waues of wofull teares do swim,
Condoling my vnhappie miserie,
While others laugh, and sing for iollitie:
Send then, O God, send death for my reliefe,
Too heauie is the burthen of my griefe.”

Thus many times, with bitter plaint and mone,
To vtter woes in words I did assay,
Witnesse ye wastefull walles, whose flintie stone
Haue euen dropt teares, to heare me night and day,
With pitious voice lament mine owne decay,
Oft wishing death, which sorow in the end,
And Henrie’s vnkind scoffe did timelesse send.

For as he should vpon a solemne day
Make triall of a scarlet vestiment,
The cape being straite, the which he did assay
To put vpon his head, by chance did rent,
Which with this scornefull scoffe to me he sent,
“Vnto our brother beare the same,” said he,
“We know he hath a sharper head then we.”

The garment being brought, the rent I found,
At which my troubled thoughts so grieued were,
That many doubts did in the same abound,
Which made me aske of him, that did it beare,
If any one before the same did weare:
Who told me of the king’s disdainfull scorne,
And how by chance the same by him was torne.

Affliction bleeding fresh at this wide wound,
My heart griefe’s burthen could no longer beare,
But downe I cast my selfe vpon the ground,
Where I with wretched hands, the hoarie heare
From off my aged head, alas, did teare,
And when my tongue was free, against my foe
I forc’d it vtter forth these words of woe.

“Woe, woe is me, that I was euer borne
Of halfe so many yeares to liue the space,
And in the end to liue my brother’s scorne,
Yea trebble woe to me, since such disgrace
Doth in despight my former deeds deface:
Then perish all my deeds, be neuer seene,
Die fame with shame, as it had neuer beene.

Could not disdainfull Henrie be content,
Into his hands my kingdome to surprise,
Could not my thraldome cause him to relent,
Nor th’vnsustained losse of both mine eyes
His rage ’gainst me his brother yet suffice?
But must he thus my princely state abuse,
And as an almesman his owne brother vse?

Why haue yee then, ah why, haue yee thus long,
Ye vnremorsefull fates produc’d that thread
Of loathed life, by life to lengthen wrong?
Why clip ye not my clew? why am I fed
With breath of life, and yet in life am dead?
Curst be such fate, and curst that fatall hower,
When first begot, I came within your power.”

Hardned with griefe, in spight of death to die,
Thenceforth as loathing life I stopt mine eares,
When hungrie food for appetite did crie:
And while with hunger nature slowly weares,
My food was sighes, my drinke griefe’s mournfull teares,
Famine at length did blow the banefull breath,
Whose bitter blast did strike my soule with death.

Euen as the naked woods, whose greene is lost,
Clad in hoare, their ruth do seeme to show,
In teares turn’d t’ysicles by wintrie frost:
So I my head made white with age and woe,
While from th’eyes organs teares downe drizeling flow,
When as I did perceiue approching death,
Thus tooke my last farewell with fainting breath.

“Adiew the daies, that did my dole prolong,
Adiew the nights, that vexed me so soare,
Adiew false fortune, cause of all my wrong,
Who laughes to scorne the fame I won of yore,
Adiew O wrongfull world for euermore:
Ye that conspir’d my sorowes to renew
Both daies, nights, fortune, world and all adew.

These hands to thee (O God) that for a gift
Thine owne deare Sonne for sin to death did yeeld,
These hands, I say, to thee I now do lift,
Which once did beare thy badge in brazen shield,
Against the Pagan foes in many a field,
Beseeching thee, from whom all mercies flowes,
To grant such grace, as death may end my woes.

Twice fortie yeares and more, my daies haue ben,
And twice fifteene the Ram his race hath runne,
Since first, O Cardiffe, as in darkesome den,
Within thy walles mew’d vp from sight of sunne,
Forlorne, to mourne my fortunes I begunne:
Then pitie take, O God, on th’aged blind,
Death now begins my captiue bands t’vnbind.

Leade on, leade on, vnto that heau’nly place,
Where in eternall blisse my soule must dwell,
Flie faith before, sue penitence for grace,
Backe, backe, my griefe, and vnto Henrie tell,
Beauchamp is dead, Cardiffe adew, farewell:”
This said, I downe did sinke into my bed,
In which my soule did leaue the bodie dead.

Thus hast thou heard the Norman’s blind duke tell
His fame in forren parts, the wretched wracke
Of his renowne, and cause for which he fell:
The iudge of heau’n to punish is not slacke,
Where men do cast heau’n’s gifts behind their backe:
Of which let my sad life in Cardiffe lead,
A lasting Mirrour be, though I be dead.