The Rowley Poems Part 18

[Footnote 136: hid, secreted.]

[Footnote 137: sweetly.]

[Footnote 138: moulded.]

[Footnote 139: shooting, darting.]

[Footnote 140: grasp, hold.]

[Footnote 141: night-shade.]

[Footnote 142: ignorant, unknowing.]

[Footnote 143: consider.]

BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE:

OR THE DETHE OF

SYR CHARLES BAWDIN.

The featherd songster chaunticleer Han wounde hys bugle horne, And tolde the earlie villager The commynge of the morne:

Kynge EDWARDE sawe the ruddie streakes 5 Of lyghte eclypse the greie; And herde the raven's crokynge throte Proclayme the fated daie.

"Thou'rt ryght," quod hee, "for, by the G.o.dde That syttes enthron'd on hyghe! 10 CHARLES BAWDIN, and hys fellowes twaine, To-daie shall surelie die."

Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale Hys Knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite; "Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie 15 Hee leaves thys mortall state."

Syr CANTERLOUE thenne bendedd lowe, Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe; Hee journey'd to the castle-gate, And to Syr CHARLES dydd goe. 20

b.u.t.t whenne hee came, hys children twaine, And eke hys lovynge wyfe, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, For goode Syr CHARLESES lyfe.

"O goode Syr CHARLES!" sayd CANTERLOUE, 25 "Badde tydyngs I doe brynge."

"Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr CHARLES, "Whatte says thie traytor kynge?"

"I greeve to telle, before yonne sonne Does fromme the welkinn flye, 30 Hee hath uponne hys honour sworne, Thatt thou shalt surelie die."

"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr CHARLES; "Of thatte I'm not affearde; Whatte bootes to lyve a little s.p.a.ce? 35 Thanke JESU, I'm prepar'd."

"b.u.t.t telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, I'de sooner die to-daie Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are, Tho' I shoulde lyve for aie." 40

Thenne CANTERLOUE hee dydd goe out, To telle the maior straite To gett all thynges ynne reddyness For goode Syr CHARLESES fate.

Thenne Maisterr CANYNGE saughte the kynge, 45 And felle down onne hys knee; "I'm come," quod hee, "unto your grace To move your clemencye."

Thenne quod the kynge, "Youre tale speke out, You have been much oure friende; 50 Whatever youre request may bee, Wee wylle to ytte attende."

"My n.o.bile leige! alle my request Ys for a n.o.bile knyghte, Who, tho' may hap hee has donne wronge, 55 He thoghte ytte stylle was ryghte."

"Hee has a spouse and children twaine, Alle rewyn'd are for aie; Yff thatt you are resolv'd to lett CHARLES BAWDIN die to-daie." 60

"Speke nott of such a traytour vile,"

The kynge ynne furie sayde; "Before the evening starre doth sheene, BAWDIN shall loose hys hedde."

"Justice does loudlie for hym calle, 65 And hee shalle have hys meede: Speke, Maister CANYNGE! Whatte thynge else Att present doe you neede?"

"My n.o.bile leige!" goode CANYNGE sayde, "Leave justice to our G.o.dde, 70 And laye the yronne rule asyde; Be thyne the olyve rodde."

"Was G.o.dde to serche our hertes and reines, The best were synners grete; CHRIST'S vycarr only knowes ne synne, 75 Ynne alle thys mortall state."

"Lett mercie rule thyne infante reigne, 'Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure; From race to race thy familie Alle sov'reigns shall endure." 80

"But yff wythe bloode and slaughter thou Beginne thy infante reigne, Thy crowne uponne thy childrennes brows Wylle never long remayne."

"CANYNGE, awaie! thys traytour vile 85 Has scorn'd my power and mee; Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne Intreate my clemencye?"

"My n.o.bile leige! the trulie brave Wylle val'rous actions prize, 90 Respect a brave and n.o.bile mynde, Altho' ynne enemies."

"CANYNGE, awaie! By G.o.dde ynne Heav'n Thatt dydd mee beinge gyve, I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade 95 Whilst thys Syr CHARLES dothe lyve."

"By MARIE, and alle Seinctes ynne Heav'n, Thys sunne shall be hys laste."

Thenne CANYNGE dropt a brinie teare, And from the presence paste. 100

Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief, Hee to Syr CHARLES dydd goe, And satt hymm downe uponne a stoole, And teares beganne to flowe.

"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr CHARLES; 105 "Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne; Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate Of all wee mortall menne.

"Saye why, my friend, thie honest soul Runns overr att thyne eye; 110 Is ytte for my most welcome doome Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye?"

Quod G.o.dlie CANYNGE, "I doe weepe, Thatt thou so soone must dye, And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; 115 'Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye."

"Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye From G.o.dlie fountaines sprynge; Dethe I despise, and alle the power Of EDWARDE, traytor kynge. 120

"Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means I shall resigne my lyfe, The G.o.dde I serve wylle soone provyde For bothe mye sonnes and wyfe.

"Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, 125 Thys was appointed mee; Shall mortal manne repyne or grudge Whatt G.o.dde ordeynes to bee?

"Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode, Whan thousands dy'd arounde; 130 Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde:

"How dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte, Thatt cutte the airie waie, Myghte nott fynde pa.s.sage toe my harte, 135 And close myne eyes for aie?

"And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe, Looke wanne and bee dysmayde?

Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere, Bee alle the manne display'd. 140