Classic Poem

THE Argument .

Faire I SABEL , E DWARD the Seconds Queene ,
P HILIP of France his Daughter; for the Spleene
She bare her Husband, for that he affected
Lascivious Minions, and her Love neglected;
Drew to her Favour (striving to preferre)
That valiant young Lord R OGER M ORTIMER :
Who with the Barons rose; but wanting Power,
Was taken and imprisoned in the Tower,
But by a sleepie Drinke which she prepar'd,
And at a Banquet given to his Guard,
He makes escape: to whom, to France she sends ;
Who thence to her his Service recommends.

Though such sweet comfort comes not now from her,
As Englands Queene hath sent to M ORTIMER :
Yet what that wants (may it my Power approve,
If Lines can bring) this shall supply with Love.
Me thinkes Affliction should not fright me so,
Nor should resume those sundry shapes of Woe;
But when I faine would find the cause of this,
Thy absence shewes me where my Error is.
Oft when I thinke of thy departing hence,
Sad Sorrow then possesseth ev'ry Sense:
But finding thy deare Bloud preserv'd thereby,
And in thy Life, my long-wish'd Libertie,
With that sweet Thought, my selfe I onely please,
Amidst my Griefe, which sometimes gives me ease;
Thus doe extremest Ills a Joy possesse,
And one Woe makes another Woe seeme lesse.
 That blessed Night, that mild-aspected Howre,
Wherein thou mad'st escape out of the Towre,
Shall consecrated evermore remaine;
Some gentle Planet in that Houre did raigne;
And shall be happie in the Birth of Men,
Which was chiefe Lord of the Ascendent then.
O how I fear'd, that sleepie Juyce I sent,
Might yet want power to further thine Intent!
Or that some unseene Mysterie might lurke,
Which wanting order, kindly should not worke:
Oft did I wish those dreadfull poys'ned Lees,
Which clos'd the ever-waking Dragons Eyes;
Or I had had those Sense-bereaving Stalkes,
That grow in shadie P ROSERPIN'S darke Walkes;
Or those blacke Weeds on Lethe Bankes below,
Or Lunarie , that doth on Latmus flow.
Oft did I feare this moist and foggie Clime,
Or that the Earth, wax'd barren now with time,
Should not have Herbes to helpe me in this case,
Such as doe thrive on India's parched Face.
 That Morrow, when the blessed Sunne did rise,
And shut the Lids of all Heavens lesser Eyes,
Forth from my Palace, by a secret Stayre,
I stole to Thames , as though to take the Ayre;
And ask'd the gentle Floud, as it doth glide,
If thou didst passe or perish by the Tide?
If thou didst perish, I desire the Streame,
To lay thee softly on his Silver Teame,
And bring thee to me, to the quiet Shore,
That with his Teares thou might'st have some Teares more.
When suddenly doth rise a rougher Gale:
With that (me thinkes) the troubled Waves looke pale,
And sighing with that little Gust that blowes,
With this remembrance seeme to knit their Browes.
Even as this sudden Passion doth affright me,
The chearefull Sunne breakes from a Cloud to light me:
Then doth the Bottome evident appeare,
As it would shew me, that thou wast not there;
When as the Water flowing where I stand,
Doth seeme to tell me, thou art safe on Land.
 Did Bulloyne once a Festivall prepare,
For England, Almaine, Cicill , and Navarre?
When France envi'd those Buildings (onely blest)
Grac'd with the Orgies of my Bridall Feast,
That English E DWARD should refuse my Bed,
For that lascivious shamelesse Ganimed?
And in my place, upon his Regall Throne,
To set that Girle-Boy, wanton G AVESTON .
Betwixt the feature of my Face and his,
My Glasse assures me no such difference is,
That a foule Witches Bastard should thereby
Be thought more worthie of his Love then I.
What doth availe us to be Princes Heires,
When we can boast, our Birth is onely theirs?
When base dissembling Flatterers shall deceive us
Of all that our great Ancestors did leave us:
And of our Princely Jewels and our Dowres,
Let us enjoy the least of what is ours;
When Minions Heads must weare our Monarchs Crownes,
To rayse up Dunghils with our famous Townes;
Those Beggers-Brats, wrapt in our rich Perfumes,
Their Buzzard-wings, imp'd with our Eagles Plumes;
And match'd with the brave Issue of our Blood,
Ally the Kingdome to their cravand Brood?
 Did L ONGSHANKS purchase with his conqu'ring Hand,
Albania, Gascoyne, Cambria, Ireland?
That young C ARNARVAN (his unhappie Sonne)
Should give away all that his Father wonne,
To backe a Stranger, proudly bearing downe
The brave Allies and Branches of the Crowne?
And did great E DWARD on his Death-bed give
This Charge to them which after wards should live,
That, that proud Gascoyne banished the Land,
No more should tread upon the English Sand?
And have these great Lords in the Quarrell stood,
And seal'd his last Will with their dearest Blood?
That after all this fearefull Massacre,
The Fall of B EAUCHAMP , L ACY , L ANCASTER ,
Another faithlesse Favourite should arise,
To cloud the Sunne of our Nobilities?
And gloried I in G AVESTONS great Fall,
That now a S PENSER should succeed in all?
And that his Ashes should another breed,
Which in his Place and Empire should succeed;
That wanting One, a Kingdomes Wealth to spend,
Of what that left, this now shall make an end;
To waste all that our Father wonne before,
Nor leave our Sonne a Sword, to conquer more?
Thus but in vaine we fondly doe resist,
“Where Power can doe (ev'n) all things as it list,
“And of our Right, with Tyrants to debate,
“Lendeth them meanes to weaken our Estate.
Whilst Parlaments must remedie their Wrongs,
And we must wait for what to us belongs;
Our Wealth but Fuell to their fond Excesse,
And all our Fasts must feast their Wantonnesse.
 Think'st thou our Wrongs then insufficient are,
To move our Brother to religious Warre?
And if they were, yet E DWARD doth detaine
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne , and Aquitaine:
And if not that, yet hath he broke the Truce;
Thus all accurre, to put backe all excuse.
The Sisters Wrong, joyn'd with the Brothers Right,
Me thinkes, might urge him in this cause to fight.
Be all those People senselesse of our Harmes,
Which for our Countrey oft have manag'd Armes?
Is the brave Normans Courage quite forgot?
Have the bold Britans lost the use of Shot?
The big-bon'd Almans , and stout Brabanders ,
Their Warlike Pikes, and sharpe-edg'd Semiters?
Or doe the Pickards let their Crosse-bowes lie,
Once like the Centaur's of old Thessalie?
Or if a valiant Leader be their lacke,
Where Thou art present, who should beat them backe?
 I doe conjure Thee, by what is most deare,
By that great Name of famous M ORTIMER ,
By ancient W IGMORES honourable Crest,
The Tombes where all thy famous Grandsires rest;
Or if then these, what more may Thee approve,
Ev'n by those Vowes of thy unfained Love;
In all thou canst to stirre the Christian King,
By forraine Armes some Comfort yet to bring,
To curbe the Power of Traytors that rebell,
Against the Right of Princely I SABEL .
Vaine witlesse Woman, why should I desire
To adde more heat to thy Immortall fire?
To urge thee by the violence of Hate,
To shake the pillars of thine owne Estate,
When whatsoever we intend to doe,
Our most Misfortune ever sorteth too;
And nothing else remaynes for us beside,
But Teares and Coffins (onely) to provide?
When still, so long as Burrough beares that name,
Time shall not blot out our deserved shame;
And whilst cleare Trent her wonted course shall keepe,
For our sad Fall she evermore shall weepe.
All see our Ruine on our Backes is throwne,
And we too weake to beare it out, are growne.
T ORLTON , that should our Businesse direct,
The generall Foe doth vehemently suspect:
“For dangerous Things get hardly to their End,
“Whereon so many watchfully attend.
What should I say? My Griefes doe still renew,
And but begin, when I should bid Adiew.
Few be my Words, but manifold my Woe,
And still I stay, the more I strive to goe.
Then till faire Time some greater Good affords,
Take my Loves-payment in these ayrie Words.