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Thus having made an entrance for his love,
Which he believ'd assuredly in time
Of better news the messenger might prove,
By which he after to bis joys might climb,
Hoping a fair full to ensue this prime,

[me, Leaves me, not knowing well which way to turn Warm'd with the fire that unawares might burn

me.

Upon my weakness which so strongly wrought,
That in my breast a mutiny arose,
Fear and Desire a doubtful combat fought,
Like two most eager and ambitious foes,

Th' one fain would win, the other would not lose;
By this oft cleared, and by that accused,
Whilst still I fear'd by both to be abused.

And in myself, myself suspected treason,
Knowing who watch'd to win me for his prey,
And in so fit and dangerous a season,
When youth and beauty bare so great a sway,
And where he battery still to me might lay,

Who girt so strongly every way about,
Well might I fear I could not long hold out.

But setting all these sundry doubts aside,
From court resolv'd I secretly to go,
And to what place my happy stars should guide,
There I my self determin'd to bestow,
Until time might this passion overblow ;.

Or if at leat it wrought not, the extrusion
Might strengthen me yet in my resolution.

When my brave sire, that never me forsook,
But many a sweet sleep for my safety brake,
Much being pleased with the course I took,
As one that truly suffer'd for my sake,
Did his abode at Baynard's-castle make,
Whom since I thus had left the court, to leave

me

To his protection, gladly did receive me.
Whence all those sorrows seem'd to me exil'd,
Wherein my life I long before did waste,
The present time and happily beguil'd,
To think what peril I had lately past,
There in my freedom fortunately plac'd,

Even as a bird escap'd the fowler's snare,
Which former danger warned to beware.
When the proud king, whose purposes were crost,
Which this my flight had happen'd to prevent,
And that those means to which he trusted most,
Were those, which most had hinder'd his intent,
Finding his suit preposterously went,

Another course bethinks himself to run,
Else farther off than when he first begun.
And thenceforth plotteth to disperse the mass,
Which lay so full betwixt him and the light,
That in his suit the only hindrance was,
And (least expected) wrought him most despite,
Finding the cause why matters went not right,

He must forecast my father to remove,
Or he was like to walk without his love.
Thus scarcely cur'd of this late sickly qualm,
And that my heart sat happily at ease,
But as a ship, that in a quiet calm
Floats up and down on the uusurging seas,

By soine rough gust, which some ill star doth raise,
Is driven back into the troubled inain;

E'en so was 1, that safely else had lain.

For this great king, whom thus I did reject,
First seeks in court my father to disgrace,
Thereby to give the people to suspect,
To fault in something sitting near his place,
Them by all means it urging to embrace :

To which, if clearly he could find the way,
He made no doubt but once to have a day.
And for his purpose to promove his hate,
Into the plot he his court-devils drew,
Cunning in all the stratagems of state,
Which he suborn'd my father to pursue ;
By whose devices he soon overthrew

That noble lord, which succour should have
given

To me, that then was from all refuge driven.
And not their clear and far-discerning sight,
Into the quarrel that did throughly look,
Nor our allies, that to their utmost might
'Gainst his proceedings on our part that stuck,
And at our need us never once forsook,

Of the king's malice could th' effect prevent,
But to exile my father must be sent.

Not all his service to his sovereign done,
In war courageous, and in counsel sound,
Which from king John compassion might have won
To him, who faithful evermore was found:
Ingratitude, how deeply dost thou wound!

Sure, first devised to no other end,

But to grieve those whom nothing could offend.
Forlorn and hopeless, left before my foe,
By my ill fortune basely thus betray'd,
Never poor maiden was besieged so,
And all depressed that should lend me aid;
Such weight the Heaven upon my birth had laid!
But yet herself true Virtue never loseth,
'Gainst her fair course tho' Hell itself opposeth.
Embark'd for France, his sad dejected eyes
Swoln up with tears in most abundant store,
His ill luck threaten'd by the low'ring skies,
Fear him behind, and sorrow him before;
He under sail, from sight of either shore,

Wasteth withal his sad laments in vain,
To the rude waters only to complain.
When like a deer before the hounds embost,
When him his strengh beginneth to forsake,
Leaves the smooth lawns, to which he trusted most,
And to the covert doth himself betake,
Doubling, and creeps from brake again to brake:
Thus still I shift me from the prince's face,
Who had me then continually in chase.
The coast thus clear'd, suspicion laid to rest,
And each thing fit to further his intent,
It with much pleasure quieted his breast,
That every thing so prosperously went;
And if the rest successively consent,

Of former aid I being quite forsaken,
He hopes the fort might in short time be taken.
A prince's arms are stretch'd from shore to shore ;
Kings sleeping, see with eyes of other men.
Craft finds a key to open any door,
Little it boots myself in walls to pen;

The lamb was closed in the lion's den,

Whose watchful eyes too easily descry'd me,
And found me soon'st, where sar'st I thought to

hide me.

My paths by spies he diligently noted;
O'er me he held so vigilant a watch,
And on my beauty he so fondly doated,
That at each look he enviously did catch,
And ready still attending at my latch

He had those, that continually did ward,
Treason my handmaid, Falsehood was my
guard.

And since with me it fell so crossly out,
That to my shifts so hardly he me drave,
For some new course I thought to cast about,
Where safer harbour happily to have:
For this was not sufficient me to save,

His power so spacious every way did lie,
That still I stood in his ambitious eye.

And fear, which taught me every mean to prove,
And with myself of many to debate,
Me at the last it pleas'd the pow'rs to move,
To take upon me a religious state,
(The holy cloister none might violate)

Where after all these storms I did endure,
There I at last might hope to live secure.

Wherefore to Dunmow I myself convey'd,
Into an abbey, happily begun
By Juga, of our ancestry, a maid,

At whose sole charge that monast'ry was done,
Wherein she after did become a nun,

And kept her order strictly with the rest,
Which in that place virginity profess'd.
Where I my self did secretly bestow
From the vain world, which I too long had try'd,
Me my affliction taught myself to know,
My youth and beauty gently that did chide;
And by instruction, as a skilful guide,

Printed withal such coldness in my blood,
That it might so perpetuate my good.

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The king, who heard me safely thus to be
Set in my cloister, strongly discontent,
That me from thence he had not power to free,
Which his sad breast seem'd strongly to torment:
But since that I so wilfully was bent,

And he past hope then ever to enjoy me,
Resolv'd by some means lastly to destroy me.
And finding one most fit for such a fact,
To whom he durst his secret thoughts impart,
One, for his king, that any thing would act,
And for the purpose wanted not his art,
That had a strong hand and relentless heart,
On him the king (with me, poor maid, enrag'd)
Impos'd my death, and him thereto engag'd.
Who making haste the fatal deed to do,
Thither repairs, but not as from the king:
For well he knew what did belong thereto,
Nor therein needed any tutoring;
But as one sent upon some needful thing,
With a smooth count'nance and a settled brow,
Obtain'd to get in where I paid my vow.
Where I alone, and to his tale expos'd,
(As one to him a willing ear that lent)
Himself to me he but too soon disclos'd,
And who it was that bither had him sent,
From point to point relating his intent;

Who, whilst I stood struck dumb with this in

vasion,

He thus pursues me strongly with persuasion :

"Hear but," saith he, "how blindly thou dost

err,

Fondly to doat upon thine own perfection,
When as the king thee highly will prefer,
Nay, and his power attendeth thy protection;
So indiscreetly sort not thy election,

To shut that in a melancholy cell,
Which in a court ordained was to dwell.
"Yet further think, how dang'rous is his offer,
If thy neglect do carelessly abuse it:

Art thou not mad, that thus dost see a coffer
Fill'd up with gold, and proffer'd, to refuse it?
So far, that thou want'st reason to excuse it,
Thyself condemning in thine own good hap,
Spilling the treasure cast into thy lap.
"Wrong not thy fair youth, nor the world de-
prive

Of these rare parts which Nature hath thee lent,
"Twere pity thou by niggardise should'st thrive,
Whose wealth by waxing craveth to be spent ;
For which, thou of the wisest shalt be shent,

Like to some rich churl hoarding up his pelf,
Both to wrong others, and to starve himself,
"What is this vain and idle reputation,
Which to the show you seemingly respect?
Only the weakness of imagination,
Which, in conclusion, worketh no effect,
And lesser can the worshipers protect;

That only standeth upon fading breath,
And hath at once the being and the death.
"A fear that grew from doating superstition,
To which your weak credulity is prone,
And only since maintained by tradition,
Into our ears impertinently blown,
By folly gathered, as by errour sown;
Which us still threatening, hind'reth our desires,
Yet all it shows us be but painted fires.
"Persuade thyself this monast'ry to leave,
Which youth and beauty justly may forsake;
Do not thy prince of those high joys bereave,
Which happy him, more happy thee may make,
Who sends me else thy life away to take:

For dead to him if needsly thou wilt prove,.
Die to thyself, be bury'd with his love."
Rage, which resum'd the likeness of his face,
Whose eye seem'd as the basilisk to kill;
The horrour of the solitary place,
Being so fit wherein to work his will,
And at the instant he my life to spill;

All seem'd at once my overthrow to further,
By fear dissuaded, menaced by murther.
In this so great and peremptory trial,
With strong temptations sundry ways afflicted,
With many a yielding, many a denial,
Oft-times acquitted, often times convicted,
Terrour before me lively stood depicted;

When as it was, that but a little breath
Gave me my life, or sent me to my death.
But soon my soul had gather'd up her pox'rs,
Which in this need might friend-like give her aid,
The resolution of so many hours,

Whereon herself she confidently stay'd

In her distress, whose helps together lay'd,

Making the state which she maintained good.

Expel'd the fear usurping on my blood.

And my lock'd tongue did liberally enlarge,
From those strict limits wherein long confin'd
Care had it kept, my bosom to discharge,
And my lost spirits their wonted strength assign'd,
Into mine eyes which coming as refin'd,

Most bravely there mine honour to maintain,
Check'd his presumption with a coy disdain.
Who finding me inviolably bent,
And for my answer only did abide;
Having a poison murd'ring by the scent,
If to the organ of that sense apply'd,
Which for the same, when fittest time he spy'd,
Into my nostrils forcibly did strain,

Which in an instant wrought my deadly bane.
With his rude touch my veil disorder'd then,
My face discovering, my delicious check
Tincted with crimson, faded soon again,
With such a sweetness as made death seem meck,
And was to him beholding it most like

A little spark extinguish'd to the eye,
That glows again ere suddenly it die.
And whilst thereat amazed he doth stand,
Wherein he then such excellency saw,
Ruing the spoil done by his fatal band,
What naught before, him this at last could awe,
From his stern eyes as though it tears would

draw,

Which wanting them, wax'd suddenly as dead,
Grieving for me that they had none to shed.
When life grown faint, hies lastly to my heart,
The only fort to which she had to take,
Feeling cold death to seize on every part,
A strong invasion instantly to make:
Yet ere she should me utterly forsake,

To him who sadly stood me to behold,
Thus in mild words my grief I did unfold:

"Is this the gift the king on me bestows,
Which in this sort he sends thee to present me ?
I am his friend, what gives he to his foes,
If this in token of his love he sent me?
But 'tis his will, and must not discontent me:
Yet after, sure, a proverb this will prove,
The gift king John bestow'd upon his love.
"When all that race in memory are set,
And by their statues their achievements done,
Which won abroad, and which at home did get,
From son to sire, from sire again to son,
Grac'd with the spoils that gloriously they won:
Oh! that of him it only should be said,
This, was king John, the murth'rer of a
maid!'

"Oh! keep it safely from the mouth of Fame,
That none do hear of his unhallow'd deed;
Be secret to him, and conceal his shame,
Lest after-ages hap the same to read,
And that the letters showing it do bleed!

Oh! let the grave mine innocency hold,
Before of him this tyranny be told!”
Thus having spoke, my sorrows to assuage,
The heavy burthen of my pensive breast,
The poison then that in my brain did rage,
His deadly vigour forcibly express'd,
Not suff'ring me to stand upon the rest,

Longer for him it was no time to stay;
And death call'd on, to hasten me away.

Thus in my closet being left alone,
Upon the floor uncomfortably lying,
The fact committed, and the murth'rer gone,
Arrived at the utmost point of dying,
Some of the sisters me by chance espying,
Call'd all the rest, that in most woful plight
Came to behold that miserable sight.

Thus like a rose by some unkindly blast,
'Mongst many buds that round about it grow,
The with'ring leaves improsp'rously doth cast,
Whilst all the rest their sovereign beauties show:
Amidst this goodly sisterhood even so,

Nipt with cold death untimely did I fade,
Whilst they about me piteous wailing made.
And my sad soul, upon her sudden flight,
So soon forsaken of each several sense,
With all the horrour death could her affright,
Strongly disturbed at her parting hence,
All comfort fled her; for her last defence,

Doth to her spotless innocence betake her,
Which left her not, when all the rest forsake
her.

To show our pleasures are but children's toys,
And as mere shadows, or like bubbles pass,
As years increase, so waning are our joys,
Forgotten as our favours in a glass,
A very tale of that which never was:

Ev'n so, death us and our delights can sever,
Virtue alone abandoneth us never.

My spirit thus from imprisonment enlarg'd,
Glad to have got out of her earthly room,
My debt to nature faithfully discharg'd,
And at the hour appointed on my tomb:
Such was the Heaven's inevitable doom,

Me Baynard's castle to the world did bring,
Dunmow again my place of burying.

And scarcely was my breathless body cold,
But ev'ry where my tragedy was spread,
For tattling Fame in ev'ry place had told
My resolution, being lately dead,
Ruing my blood so prodigally shed;

And to my father flies with this mischance,
That time remaining in the court of France.
His loss too great to be bewail'd with tears,
It was not words that could express his woe,
Grief had herself so settled in his ears,
No more might enter, nothing out might go;
Scarce since man was, was man perplexed so:
Enough of sorrow is already shown,
And telling his, were to renew mine own
Let it suffice me, that I here relate,
And bear myself the burthen of my ill,
If to the life I have express'd my fate,
It's all I ask, and I obtain my will.
For that true sorrow needs not others' skill;

Enough's that present bitterness we taste,
Without remembring of that which is past.
Some say, the king repentant for this deed,
When his remorse to think thereof him drave,
Poorly disguised in a pilgrim's weed,
Offered his tears on my untimely grave,
For which, no doubt, but Heaven his sin for-
gave;

And my blood calling for revenge appeas'd,
He from the sin, I from my labours eas'd.

Thus told my story, I my love devise
To you, dear madam, fitt'st with you to rest,
Which all my virtues daily exercise,
That be imprinted in your patient breast,
By whom alone I rightliest am exprest;

For whom my praise, it grieves me, is too scant;
Whose happy name an epithet shall want,
Then, most sweet lady, for a maiden's sake,
To shed one tear if gently you but deign,
For all my wrongs it full amends shall make,
And be my pass to the Elysian plain.

In your chaste eyes such pow'r there doth remain,
As can th' afflicted prosp'rously deliver;
Happy be they, who look upon them ever.

THE LEGEND OF PIERCE GAVESTON.

FROM gloomy shadows of eternal night,
Shut up in darkness endlessly to dwell,
Oh! here behold me, miserable wight,
Awhile releas'd, my tragedy to tell;

Let me have leave my sorrows to impart,
Somewhat to ease my sad afflicted heart.
Goddess of arms and arts, Pallas divine,
Let thy bright fauchion lend me cypress boughs,
Be thou assisting to this poet of mine,
With funeral wreaths engarlanding his brows;
Pitying my woes, when none would hear me
weep,

That for my sorrows lays his own to sleep. Thou mournfull'st maiden of the sacred Nine, That baleful sounds immoveably dost breathe, With thy swoln visage and thy blubber'd eine, Let me to thee my sad complaints bequeath:

Ne'er to thyself canst thou win greater glory, Than in exactly setting forth my story. Tell how the Fates my giddy course did guide, Th' inconstant turns of ev'ry changing hour, By many a low ebb, many a lusty tide, Many a smooth calm, many a sousing show'r, The height whereto I lastly did ascend, Bend my beginning to my fatal end. When our first Edward sat on England's throne, Longshanks, who long victoriously did reign, First of that name, and second yet to none, In what to knighthood ever did pertain; My life began, a life so full of bliss, Then in his days, those happy days of his. Virtue did then men's hearts so much inflame, That no promotion could be got with gold: For in his days he that desired fame, Bought it of him that it full dearly sold;

By birth a Gascoigne, of a fair descent, And of our house, the heir my father born, In all his wars that with king Edward went, To him his liegeman, and a soldier sworn,

And in our country left his whole estate, To follow him, who seem'd to govern fate. Whose trust that great king highly did employ, And near his person had him for the same, Who with myself, then but a little boy, Into the court of famous England came, Whereas the king, for service by him done, Made me a page to the brave prince his son. All men in shape I did so far excel, (The parts in me such harmony did bear) As in my model Nature seem'd to tell, That her perfection she had placed here,

As from each age reserving the rar'st feature, To make me up her excellentest creature. My looks so powerful, adamants to love, And had such virtue to attract the sight, That they could fix it, or could make it move, As though it follow'd some celestial light; That where my thoughts intended to surprise, I at my pleasure conquer'd with mine eyes. As if some great Apelles in his art Would that the world his masterpiece should know,

Hateful excess did not so much devour,
Law had less force, and honesty more pow'r.
And since swift Time so violently preys
Upon those ages that ev'n holiest be;
Let me remember those so happy days,
In these sad hours which my vex'd eyes do see,
With greater grief to make me to deplore
These, when I think of those that were of yore.
Then, Muse, lo! I obsequiously appeal
To thee, (my life since I intend to show)
That thou of me wilt faithfully reveal
Even what the most inquisitive would know,
Whilst here my soul embodied did abide [pride.
In this vain world, which pamper'd me with

Imagination doing then her part;
When he had done the utmost he could do,

For that rare picture to fit out a mind,
This one was I, the wonder of my kind.

This dainty bait I laid for Edward's love,
Which soon upon him got so sure a tie,
As no misfortune e'er could it remove,
When she the utmost of her force did try;

Nor death itself had after power to sunder;
O seld-seen friendship, in the world a wonder!

Love, on this Earth the only mean thou art,
Whereby we hold intelligence with Heav'n,
And it is thou that only dost impart
The good that to mortality is given.

O sacred bond, by time that art not broken!
O thing divine, by angels to be spoken!

Thus with young Edward bath'd in worldly bliss,
Whilst tutors' care his wand'ring years did guide,
I liv'd, enjoying whatsoe'er was his,
Who ne'er my pleasure any thing deny'd:
Whose watchful eye so duely me attended,
As on my safety if his life depended.
But whether it my rare perfections were,
That won my youth such favour in his eye,
Or it pleas'd Heav'n (to show it held me dear)
To show'r on me this blessing from the sky,
I know not; but it rightly could direct,
That could produce so pow'rful an effect.

O thou dread book, where our fates are enroll'd,
Who hath so clear eyes as to look into thee?
What is that man, by whom thou art controll'd,
Or hath the key of reason to undo thee?

When none but Heaven thy dark decrees can

know,

Whose depth we sound not which dwell here delow.

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The soul her liking eas'ly can espy
(By sympathy, to her by Heav'n assign'd)
Through her clear windows, the well seeing eye,
Which doth convey the image to the mind,

Without advisement, and can apprehend
That, whose true cause man's knowledge Coth
transcend.

This Edward in the April of his age,

Whilst yet the crown sat on his father's head,
Like sportful Jove with his rapt Phrygian page,
Me with ambrosial delicacies fed:

He might command, who was the sov'reign's son,
But my direction only must be done.
My will a law authentically pass'd;
My yea by him was never cross'd with no ;
In his affection chain'd to me so fast,
That as my shadow still he seem'd to go;
To me this prince so pliant was in all,
Still as an Echo answ'ring to my call.
My smiles, his life; so joy'd he in my sight,
That his delight was led by my desire,
From my clear eyes so borrowing all his light,
As pale-fae'd Cynthia from her brother's fire.
He made my cheek the pillow for his head,
My brow his book, my bosom was his bed.

Like fair Idalia, bent to amorous sport
With young Adonis in the pleasant shade,
Expressing their affections in that sort,

As though her utmost passion should persuade
The one of us the other still to move
To all the tender dalliances of love.
The table thus of our delight was lay'd,
Serv'd with what daiuties pleasure could devise,
And many a Siren sweetly to us play'd,
But youth had not us therewith to suffice:
For we on that insatiately did feed,
Which our confusion afterwards did breed,
For still I spurr'd up his untam'd desire,
Then sitting in the chariot of the Sun;
My blandishments were fuel to that fire
Wherein he fry'd: I for his flight begun

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To wax his wings, and taught him art to fly, Who on his back might bear me through the sky. Whilst the vain world so cunningly could win U's, her false flatteries who too long did trust, Till having lost the clue which led us in, We wander'd in the labyrinth of lust.

For when the soul is nuzzled once in vice, The sweet of sin makes Hell a paradise. Who to the full thy vileness, World, e'er told? What is in thee, that's not extremely ill? A loathsome shop, where poison's only sold, Whose very entrance instantly doth kill;

Nothing in thee but villainy doth dwell, And all thy ways lead headlong into Hell, The king, whose trust I lewdly had betray'd, His son, like Phaeton, vent'ring on the skies, Perceiv'd his course was per'lous to be stay'd, For he was grave, and wonderfully wise,

And if with skill he curb'd not his desire, Edward might eas'ly set his throne on fire. This was a corsive to old Edward's days, And without ceasing fed upon his bones, That in the day bereav'd him of his case, Breaking his night's sleep with continual moans; This more depress'd and sadlier weigh'd him down,

Than the care else belonging to his crown,

And though he had judicially descry'd
The cause from whence this malady first grew,
It was no cure, unless he could provide
Means to prevent the danger to ensue ;

Wherefore he for his purpose made them way,
Against my courses that had aught to say.
When those in court my opposites that were,
This fair advantage and could finely take,
And for my fall what did to them appear
So fitly for their purposes to make,

Thereon their forces instantly to ground,
Me to the world perpetually to wound.
What thing so false, but taken was for truth,
So that on me a scandal it might bring,
By such as stuck not to accuse my youth,]
To sin in the unnaturallest thing,

And all forepassed outrages awake,
Me to mankind contemptible to make?
Wherefore the prince more straitly was bestow'd,
In foreign realms and I adjudg'd to roam,
And sharply censur'd to be held abroad,
Who had betray'd my hopeful trust at home;
Adjudg'd to die, were I by any found,
After my set day, on the English ground.
That, as astounded with a mighty blow,
I stood awhile insensible of pain,

Till somewhat waken'd by my colder woe,
I felt the wound by which my joys were slain,
By which I fainted hourly more and more,
Nor could I think what cure could me restore.
But as a turtle for her loved make,
Whose youth her dear virginity enjoy'd,
Sits shrouded in some solitary brake,
With melancholy pensiveness annoy'd:

Thus without comfort sat I all alone,
From the sweet presence of prince Edward gone.
My beauty, that disdain'd the summer's sight,
Now foully beaten with bleak winter's storins;
My limbs were put to travel day and night,
So often hugg'd in princely Edward's arms;

Those eyes oft viewing pleasure in her pride,
Saw fearful objects on their either side.
Whilst in these tempests I was strangely tost,
Myself coutining in my native France,
By many a sad calamity still crost,
Inseparables to my sore nischance;

Others, that stemm'd the current of the time, . Whence I had fall'n, strove suddenly to climb, Like the chameleon, whilst Time turns the hue, And with false Proteus puts on sundry shapes, This change scarce gone, a second doth ensue, One fill'd, another for promotion gapes:

Thus do they swarm like flies about the brim, Some drown'd, and some do with much danger

swim.

And some, on whom the Sun shone wond'rous fair,
Yet of the season little seem'd to vaunt,
For there were clonds hung in the troubled air,
Threat'ning that they of their desires might want z
Which made them flag, prepared else to fly,
Whilst with their falls they fading honour buy.
When posting Time, that never turns again,
Whose winged feet fly swiftly with the Sun,
By the fleet hours attending on his train,
His revolution fatally begun,

And in his course brought suddenly about
That, which before the wiser sort did doubt.

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