Читать книгу The Ancient English Poetry - Various Authors - Страница 42

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore

The dedely fate, the dolefulle destenny

Of him that is gone, alas! withoute restore,

Of the blode569 royall descendinge nobelly; Whos lordshepe doutles was slayne lamentably5 Thorow treson ageyn570 hym compassyd and wrought; Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thought.

Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name

In the college of musis goddess hystoriall,

Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and lame10

In elect uteraunce to make memoryall:

To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call

Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle

With the freshe waters of Elyconys571 welle.

Of noble actes auncyently enrolde,15

Of famous princis and lordes of astate,572 By thy report ar wonte to be extold, Regestringe trewly every formare date; Of thy bountie after the usuall rate, Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,57320 Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.

In sesons past who hathe harde or sene

Of formar writinge by any presidente

That vilane hastarddis574 in ther furious tene,575 Fulfyld with malice of froward entente,25 Confeterd576 togeder of commoun concente Falsly to slo577 ther moste singular goode lorde? It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.

So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight,

Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken;30

At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night

Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when

He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men:

Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde578 To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde.35

And were not they to blame, I say also,

That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust,

To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo?

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust:

They bode579 not till the rekening were discust.40 What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose580 or paynt? Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint.

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted;581 Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede; To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede;58245 A mayny583 of rude villayns made him for to blede: Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them oft at nede: He was their bulwark, their paves,584 and their wall, Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot585 them befal.

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad?50

What frantyk frensy fyll586 in youre brayne? Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had? What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne587 Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne. Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd;55 Well may you be called comones most unkynd.

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,

Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede:

Your worship588 depended of his excellence: Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede:60 Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede: What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight? What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,

The welle concernyng of all the hole lande,65

Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord

To the right of his prince which shold not be withstand;

For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande:

But had his nobill men done wel that day,

Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay.70

But ther was fals packinge,589 or els I am begylde: How-be-it the matter was evident and playne, For yf they had occupied590 ther spere and ther shelde, This noble man doutles had not be slayne. Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn,75 And held with the commouns under a cloke, Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.

The commouns renyed591 ther taxes to pay Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge; With one voice importune, they playnly said nay:80 They buskt them on a bushment592 themself in baile593 to bringe: Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe,594 Bluntly as bestis withe boste595 and with cry They saide, they forsede596 not, nor carede not to dy.

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght,85

As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne,

Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght,

And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne,

Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne,

Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there:90

Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,

Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,

Turnid their backis, and let ther master fall,

Of whos [life] they counted not a flye;95

Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly.

Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente

Upon suche a sort597 was ille bestowde and spent.

He was envyronde aboute on every syde

Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode;598100 Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes wyde: Alas for routhe!599 what thouche his mynde were goode, His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode! All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne; For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne.105

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,600 The famous erle of Northumberlande: Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt, The myghty lyoun601 doutted602 by se and lande! O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande!110 What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne, From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne?

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy name,

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!115

O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,

Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same!

Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd603 grounde Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,120

Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,

All merciles, in the ys no pitè!

O homycide, whiche sleest604 all that thou kan, So forcibly upon this erle thow ran, That with thy sworde enharpid605 of mortall drede,125 Thou kit606 asonder his perfight607 vitall threde!

My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne,

Of aureat608 poems they want ellumynynge;609 Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge.130 Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson610 of every thing, Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune, Tyl fykkill611 fortune began on hym to frowne.

Paregall612 to dukis, with kings he myght compare, Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede,135 To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte613 me I dare. Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede, Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede, Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse,139 Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?

Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,

Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must

Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,614145 Truly reportinge his right noble astate, Immortally whiche is immaculate.

His noble blode never disteynyd was,

Trew to his prince for to defende his right,

Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas,150

Treytory615 and treson he bannesht out of syght, With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght, As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same: To slo suche a lord, alas, it was grete shame.

If the hole quere616 of the musis nyne155 In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde, Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne, As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd; To me also allthouche it were promysyde Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,160 All were to litill for his magnyficence.

O yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,617 Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate, God the assyst unto thyn herytage, And geve the grace to be more fortunate,165 Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate. And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge, Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne.

I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long,

Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast,170

Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge:

All flattringe faytors618 abhor and from the cast, Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast: Let double delinge in the have no place, And be not light of credence in no case.175

Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,

Eche man may sorrow in his inward thought,

Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd

Allgyf619 Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught. Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought180 Bothe temporall and spirituall for to complayne This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,

And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd

In fee, as menyall men of his housold,185

Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd:

To sorowfull weping they ought to be constreynd,

As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,

Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.

O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle,190

That with one worde formed al thing of noughte;

Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall;

Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast wrought

All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght,

With thy blode precious our finaunce620 thou dyd pay,195 And us redemed, from the fendys pray;621

To the pray we, as prince incomperable,

As thou art of mercy and pite the well,

Thou bringe unto thy joye etermynable622 The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell,200 In endles blis with the to byde and dwell In thy palace above the orient, Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.

O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,

Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere,205

To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace,

Of all women O floure withouten pere,

Pray to thy son above the starris clere,

He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion.210

In joy triumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,623 With all the hole sorte624 of that glorious place, His soule mot625 receyve into ther company Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all solace: Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace,215 The father, the son, and the holy goste In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.

†‡† I have placed the foregoing poem of Skelton's before the following extract from Hawes, not only because it was written first, but because I think Skelton is in general to be considered as the earlier poet; many of his poems being written long before Hawes's Graunde Amour.