The Fall of Owen Glendower, Who Died for Lack of Food

I pray thee, Baldwine, sith thou doest entende
To shewe the fall of such as climbe to hie,
Remember mee, whose miserable end
May teach a man his vicious life to flye,
Oh fortune, fortune, out on thee, I crye:
My liuely corps thou hast made leane and slender,
For lacke of foode, whose name was Owen Glendour.

A Welshman borne, and of the Troyan bloud,
But ill brought vp, whereby full well I finde,
That neyther byrth nor linage make vs good,
Though it bee true that cat will after kinde:
Fleshe gendreth fleshe, but not the soule or minde,
They gender not, but fouly doe degender,
When men to vice from vertue them surrender.

Each thing by nature tendeth to the same
Whereof it came, and is disposed like:
Downe sinkes the mould, vp mounts the fiery flame,
With horne the hart, with hoofe the horse doth strike,
The wolfe doth spoile, the suttle foxe doth pike,
And to conclude, no fishe, fleshe, foule or plant,
Of their true dame the property doth want.

But as for men, sith seuerally they haue
A minde, whose maners are by learning made,
Good bringing vp all only doth them saue
In honest actes, which with their parents fade:
So that true gentry standeth in the trade
Of vertuous life, not in the fleshely line:
For bloud is brute, but gentry is deuine.

Experience doth cause mee thus to say,
And that the rather for my countreymen,
Which vaunt and boast themselues aboue the day,
If they may straine their stocke fro worthy men:
Which let bee true, are they the better than?
Nay far the worse, if so they bee not good,
For why, they staine the bewty of their blood.

How would wee mocke the burden bearing mule,
If hee would brag hee were an horse’s sonne,
To presse his pride (might nothing else him rule)
His boastes to proue no more but bid him run:
The horse for swiftnes hath his glory wonne:
The mule could neuer the more aspyer,
Though hee should proue that Pegas was his sier.

Each man may crake of that which was his owne,
Our parents’ vertues are theirs, and no whit ours:
Who therefore will of noble birth bee knowne,
Ought shine in vertue like his auncestours:
Gentry consisteth not in landes and towers:
Hee is a churle, though all the world were his,
Yea Arthur’s heyre, if that hee liue amis.

For vertuous life a gentleman doth make
Of her possessour all bee hee poore as Iob,
Yea though no name of elders hee can take,
For proofe take Merlin fathered by an hob:
But who so sets his minde to spoyle and rob,
Although hee come by due discent from Brute,
Hee is a chorle, vngentle, vile, and brute.

Well, thus did I for want of better wit,
Because my parents naughtely brought mee vp:
For gentlemen (they sayd) was nought so fyt,
As to attast by bold attempts the cup
Of conquest’s wine, whereof I thought to sup:
And therefore bent my selfe to rob and ryue,
And whome I could of landes and goodes depriue.

For Henry the fourth did then vsurpe the crowne,
Despoyled the king, with Mortimer the heyre:
For which his subiects sought to put him downe,
And I, while fortune offered mee so fayre,
Did what I might his honour to appayre:
And tooke on mee to bee the prince of Walles,
Entiste thereto by prophesies and tales.

For which, such idle as wayt vpon the spoyle,
From euery part of Walles vnto mee drewe:
For loytering youth vntaught in any toyle,
Are ready aye, all mischiefe to ensue:
Through helpe of these so great my glory grewe,
That I defied my king through lofty hart,
And made sharpe warre on all that tooke his part.

See lucke, I tooke lord Raynold Gray of Rythen,
And him enforst my daughter to espouse,
And so vnraunsomed I held him still; and sythen
In Wigmore land through battayle rigorous,
I caught the right heyre of the crowned house,
The earle of March, sir Edmund Mortimer,
And in a dungeon kept him prisoner.

Than all the marches longing vnto Wales,
By Syuerne west, I did inuade and burne:
Destroyed the townes in mountaynes, and in vales,
And rich in spoyles had homeward safe returne:
Was none so bolde durst once agaynst mee spurne:
Thus prosperously doth fortune forward call,
Those whome shee mindes to geue the sorest fall.

Whan fame had brought these tidings to the king,
(Although the Scots than vexed him right sore)
A mighty army against mee hee did bring:
Whereof the French king being warned afore,
Who mortall hate against king Henry bore,
To greeue our foe hee quickely to mee sent
Twelue thousand Frenchmen, armed to warre and bent.

A part of them led by the earle of March,
Lord Iames of Burbon, a valiaunt tried knight,
With held by wyndes to Walles ward forth to march,
Tooke land at Plimmouth priuely on a night:
And whan hee had done all that hee durst or might,
After that a meyney of his men were slaine,
Hee stole to ship and sailed home agayne.

Twelue thousand moe in Milford did ariue,
And came to mee, then lying at Denbigh:
With armed Welshmen thousands double fiue,
With whome wee went to Worcester well nigh,
And there encampt vs on a mount on high,
To abide the king who shortly after came,
And pitched his field, on a hill hard by the same.

There eyght dayes long our hostes lay face to face,
And neyther durst other’s power assayle:
But they so stopt the passages the space,
That vitayles could not come to our avayle,
Where through constraynde our hearts began to fayle,
So that the Frenchmen shranke away by night,
And I with mine to th’ mountaynes tooke our flight.

The king pursued greatly to his cost,
From hilles to woods, from woods to valleys playne:
And by the way his men and stuffe hee lost:
And when hee sawe hee gayned naught but payne,
Hee blewe retreate and gate him home agayne:
Then with my power I boldly came abroade,
Taken in my countrey for a very god.

Immediately after fell a ioly jarre
Betweene the king, and Percie’s worthy blouds,
Which grue at last vnto a deadly warre:
For like as drops engender mighty flouds,
And litle seedes sprout forth great leaues and buds,
Euen so small striues, if they bee suffered run,
Breede wrath and war, and death or they be don.

The king would haue the ransome of such Scots
As these the Percies tane had in the fielde:
But see how strongly lucre knits her knots,
The king will haue, the Percies will not yeelde,
Desire of goods some craues, but graunteth seelde:
Oh cursed goods, desire of you hath wrought
All wickednes, that hath or can bee thought.

The Percies deemde it meeter for the king
To haue redeemde theyr cosin Mortimer,
Who in his quarell all his power did bring
To fight with mee, that toke him prisoner,
Than of their pray to rob his souldier:
And therefore willed him see some meane were founde,
To quite forth him whome I kept vily bounde.

Because the king misliked theyr request,
They came themselues and did accorde with mee,
Complayning how the kingdome was opprest
By Henrye’s rule: wherefore wee did agree
To plucke him downe, and part the realme in three:
The north part theyrs, Wales wholy to bee mine,
The rest, to rest to th’earle of Marche’s line.

And for to set vs hereon more agog,
A prophet came (a vengeaunce take them all)
Affirming Henry to bee Gogmagog,
Whom Merline doth a mouldwarp euer call,
Accurst of God that must bee brought in thrall
By a wolfe, a dragon, and a lion strong,
Which should deuide his kingdome them among.

This crafty dreamer made vs three such beastes,
To thinke wee were the foresayde beastes in deede:
And for that cause our badges and our creastes
Wee searched out, which scarsly well agreede:
Howbeit the heroldes, ready at such a neede,
Drewe downe such issues from olde auncesters,
As proued these ensignes to bee surely oures.

Yee crafty Welshmen, wherefore doe yee mocke,
The noble men thus with your fayned rymes?
Yee noble men, why fly yee not the flocke
Of such as haue seduced so many times?
False prophesies are plagues for diuers crimes,
Which God doth let the deuilish sort deuise,
To trouble such as are not godly wise.

And that appearde by vs three beastes indeede,
Through false perswasion highly borne in hand,
That in our feate wee coulde not chuse but speede,
To kill the king and to enioy his land:
For which exployt wee bound our selues in band,
To stand contented ech man with his parte,
So fully folly assurde our foolish hearte.

But such, they say, as fishe before the net,
Shall seeldome surfet of the pray they take:
Of thinges to come the haps bee so vnset,
That none but fooles may warraunt of them make:
The full assured successe doth oft forsake:
For fortune findeth none so fit to flout,
As sure be sots which cast no kinde of doubt.

How sayst thou, Henry Hotspur, doe I lye:
For thou right manly gauest the king a fielde,
And there wast slayne because thou wouldest not fly:
Syr Thomas Percy thine vncle forst to yeelde,
Did cast his head (a wonder seene but seelde)
From Shrewsbury towne to th’top of London bridge:
Loe thus fond hope did both theyr liues abridge.

When king Henry this victory had wonne,
Destroyde the Percyes, put theyr power to flight,
Hee did apoynt prince Henry, his eldest sonne,
With all his power to meete mee if hee might:
But I discomfyt, through my partner’s fight,
Had not the heart to meete him face to face,
But fled away, and hee pursued the chase.

Now, Baldwine, marke, for I, calde prince of Wales,
And made beleeue I should bee hee in deede,
Was made to fly among the hilles and dales,
Where all my men forsooke mee at my neede:
Who trusteth loyterers seelde hath lucky speede:
And when the captayne’s courage doth him fayle,
His souldier’s hearts a litle thing may quayle.

And so prince Henry chased mee, that loe,
I found no place wherein I might abide:
For as the dogges pursue the seely doe,
The brache behinde, the houndes on euery side,
So traste they mee among the mountaynes wide:
Whereby I found I was the hartles hare,
And not the beast colprophet did declare.

And at the last: like as the litle roach,
Must eyther be eate, or leape vpon the shore,
When as the hungry pickerell doth approch,
And there finde death which it escapt before:
So double death assaulted mee so sore,
That eyther I must vnto mine enmy yeelde,
Or starue for hunger in the barrayn feelde.

Here shame and payne a while were at a strife,
Payne bade mee yeelde, shame bad mee rather fast:
The one bad spare, the other bad spend my life,
But shame (shame haue it) ouercame at last:
Then hunger gnew, that doth the stone wall brast,
And made mee eat both grauel, durt and mud,
And last of all, my dung, my flesh, and bloud.

This was mine end too horrible to heare,
Yet good enough for a life that was so ill,
Whereby, O Baldwine, warne all men to beare
Theyr youth such loue, to bring them vp in skill,
Bid princes fly colprophet’s lying byll,
And not presume to climb aboue theyr states:
For they bee faultes that foyle men, not theyr fates.