His bounty still gaue good desert her food;
His mind so great, and honorably free,
Made him too prone to loose credulitie.
99
His counsels thus are combred by his care,
In nothing certaine bnt vncertaintie,
His friends resolu’d on nothing but dispaire,
Yet shewes he greatnes in most misery,
Each place become a stage for Tragedy;
By error, wandring far beyond his scope,
Strong in desire, but weakest in his hope.
100
In publique shame, oft counsell seemes disgrac’d
No priuiledge can from the Fates protect:
In desperation, counsell hath no taste,
Vntamed rage doth all aduise reiect,
Hiding the course which reason should direct;
Making himselfe the author of his harms,
Without experience, valor wants his arms.
101
Now I, whose power in Williams wars was seene,
When first on Williams conquest he begun,
To shew my selfe the worlds imperious Queene,
Now turne my selfe against his warlike son,
To lose by me, by me his Father won:
On Englands part, gainst Normandy to stand,
Which Normandy had conquered by my hand.
102
The conquest William made vpon this Ile,
With Norman blood be-peopling Brittany,
Euen now as Brittons made within a while
Turne with reuenge to conquer Normandy,
Thus victory goes back to victory:
That his own blood, wins what before he won,
His conquering son, subdu’d his conquering son.
103
Thus Norman townes begirt with English arms,
The furious brother dealing wrathfull blowes:
Both pressing in where deadly perrill swarms,
These English-Norman, Norman-English foes,
At last doe get, what they at first did lose:
As Normandy did Englands fall prouoke,
Now Norman necks must beare the English yoke.
104
The flood of mischiefe thus comes in againe,
What Fortune works, not alwaies seems pretéded,
The wind thus turn’d, blows back the fire amaine,
Where first mischance began, she will be ended,
And he defend him, from those he offended:
For this we find, the course of fatall things,
Is best discern’d in states of Realms & Kings.
105
On whom of late in Palaestine I smild,
In ciuill warrs now dreadfully I frowne;
He call’d from exile, I from him exil’d,
To leaue his crowne, who had refus’d a crowne,
Who beat all down, now heare is beaten down,
Here to lose all, who there had gotten all,
To make his fall, more grieuous in his fall.
106
To England now a prisoner they him bring,
Now is he hers, which claim’d her for his owne,
A Captiue, where he should haue been a King,
His dugeon made wher shold haue been his throne
Now buried there, wheras he shold haue growne.
In one poore tower mew’d vp, within one place,
Whose Empires bounds the Ocean shold embrace.
107
Could mortall sence containe immortall hate,
Or reason sound the depth of things diuine,
Iudgement might stand amaz’d at Roberts state,
And thinke no might to be compar’d with mine,
That all power may vnto my power resigne:
And that in Roberts fall, the world may see
Amongst the starrs what power remaines in mee.
108
That sword which on his fortune hath such power
Yet powerles is to end his wretched dayes:
Those daies wc in their course all things deuoure,
To his swift griefe, makes slow and lazie staies,
To Tyrannies long raigne he thus obaies,
That he in life a thousand deaths might die,
Onely in mercy rackt with crueltie.
109
He hath no ioy but in his miseries,
His greatest comfort is the blessed light,
For which, (as I were angry with his eyes)
I make the King depriue him of his sight,
To sute his daies so iustly with the night,
That sencles stones to mone he should not see,
Yet sencles stones behold his misery.
120
And this he felt, that Fortune made him blinde,
Least his eyes obiects yet might lighten care:
That ye light wanting, more might light his minde,
Whose eyes might see how great his sorrows are;
That euery sence, that sences woe might share:
And so that sence depriu’d of ioy alone,
Might more increase the griefe of euery one.
111
These griefes and horrors, enemies of rest,
Which murther life where they do harbor long,
Kill humors, which his body oft opprest,
Vnnaturally, thus making nature strong,
As out of deaths dead stock new life still sprong,
As life with death had tempted him till now,
Yet death to life no ease would er’e allow.
112
Death he fear’d not, is taught his end to feare,
Life, once he lou’d, with him now fall’n in loue,
That foe, a friend, to hurt him doth forbeare,
That friend a foe, he cannot now remoue,
Twixt them, he all extremities doth proue:
Aged in youth, to pine his ioy thereby,
Youthfull in age, to suffer misery.
113
Courage forbids that he himselfe should kill,
His life too proud to be constrain’d to die,
His will permits not death now when he will,
What would dispaire, true valor doth deny;
Thus life’s life foe, death is deaths enemy:
Willing to die, by life him double killing,
Vrging to die, twice dying, he vnwilling.
114
So many yeeres as he hath worne a crowne,
So many yeeres as he hath hop’d to rise,
So many yeeres he liues thus quite thrown downe,
So many yeeres he liues without his eyes:
So many yeeres in dying ere hee dyes;
So many yeeres lockt vp in prison strong,
Though sorrow make the shortest time seeme long.
115
Thus sway I in the course of earthly things,
That Time might worke him euerlasting spite,
To shew, that power yet euer makes not kings,
Nor that conceit can compasse my deceit,
In fined things such meruails infinite:
Nor any wonder is to be supposed,
In that wherein all wonders are inclosed.
116
At Fortuns speech they stand as all amaz’d,
Whilst Fame herselfe doth wonder at his woe,
And all vpon this deadly Image gaz’d,
Whose misery shee had discribed so;
But in reuenge of this dispightfull foe,
Fame from a slumber (as it seem’d) awake,
On his behalfe, thus for herselfe be-spake.
117
What time I came fro world-renowned Rome,
To waken Europe from her drouzie traunce,
Summoning the Princes of great Christendome,
To Palaestine their Ensignes to aduaunce,
Souding my trump in England, Spaine, & Fraunce
To moue the Christians to religious war,
Fro Pagans hands to free CHRISTS sepulchar.
/>
118
That holy Hermit Peter, then as one
Which as a Saint bewaild so great a losse:
With Bulloigne Godfrey, Christs strong champion,
Vnder the Banner of the bloody CROSSE,
Now on the Alps the conquering collours tosse,
Leading along the brauest Christian band,
To reare their Tropheys in the HOLY LAND.
119
Hether the flocks of gallant spirits do throng,
The place whence immortalitie doth spring,
To whom the hope of conquest doth belong,
Nor any thought, lesse, then to be a King;
Hether doth Fame her deerest children bring:
And in this Camp shee makes her treasury,
The rarest Iems of Europs Chiualry.
120
This conquering lord, the Conquerors eldest sonne,
Whose hand did then the Norman scepter weld,
In Armes to win what once his Father won,
To Englands conquest is againe compeld,
Whose crown fro him proud William Rufus held,
An exile thence, by’s angry Father driuen,
By Fortune robd, of all by Nature giuen.
121
With fame of this, once Roberts eares possest,
With heauenly wonder doth his thoughts inspire,
Leauing no place for wrong in his faire brest,
Giuing large wings vnto his great desire,
Warming his courage wt more glorious fire,
As thus to fight for his deere Sauiours sake,
Of Englands crowne he no account doth make.
122
Of kingdoms tytles he casts off the toyle
Which by proude Rufus tyranny is kept:
Deere as his life to him that hallowed soile,
Wherein that God in liuely manhood slept,
At whose deere death, the rocks for pitty wept;
A crown of gold this Christian knight doth scorne,
so much he lou’d those temples crown’d wt thorne
123
Those grieuous wants whose burthen weyed him downe,
The sums wc he in Germany had spent,
In gathering power to gaine the English crowne,
Garded with princly troopes in his rich Tent,
Like William Conquerors sonne magnificent,
Now by his need, he greeuously doth find,
Weakning his might, what neuer could his mind.
124
This braue high spirited Duke, this famous Lord,
Whose right of England Rufus held away,
To set an edge vpon his conquering sword,
In gage to Henry, Normandy did lay,
Thus to maintaine his valiant souldiers pay:
Rather of Realms himselfe to dispossesse,
Then Christendome should be in such distresse.
125
Eternall sparks of honors purest fire,
Vertue of vertues, Angels angeld mind,
Where admiration may it selfe admire,
Where mans diuinest thoughts are more diuin’d,
Saint sainted spirit, in heaues own shrine enshrind
Endeared dearest thing, for euer liuing,
Receiuing most of Fame, to Fame more giuing.
126
Such feruent zeale doth from his soule proceed,
As those curl’d tresses which his browes adorne,
Vntill that time Ierusalem were freed,
Hee makes a vow they neuer should be shorne,
But for a witnes of that vow be worne;
True vow, strog faith, great lord, most happy howr,
Perform’d, increasd, blest by effecting power.
127
True vow, so true, as truth to it is vowed,
Vowing all power to help so pure a vow,
Allowing perfect zeale to be allowed,
If zeale of perfect truth might ere allow,
Then much admir’d, but to be wondred now;
Faith in it selfe, then wonder more concealing,
Faith to the world, then wonder more reuealing.
128
Disheueld locks, what names might giue you grace?
Worne thus disheueld for his deere Lords sake,
Sweet-flowring twists, valors engirdling lace,
Browe-decking fringe, faire golden curled flake,
Honors rich garland, beauties meshing brake,
Arbors of ioy, which nature once did giue,
Where vertue should in endles Sommer liue.
129
Faire Memory, awaken Death from sleepe,
Call vp Times spirit, of passed things to tell,
Vnseale the secrets of th’vnsearched deepe,
Let out the prisoners from Obliuisions Cell,
Inuoke the black inhabitants of hell:
Into the earths deepe dungeon let the light,
And with faire day cleere vp his clowdy night.
130
Eternitie, bee prodigall a while,
With thine immortall arms imbrace thy loue,
Diuinest Powers, vpon your image smile,
And from your star-encircled thrones aboue,
Earths misty vapors from his sight remoue,
And in the Annals of the glorious fun,
Enrole his worth, in Times large course to run.
131
Truth in his life, bright Poesie vphold,
His life in truth adorning Poesie:
Which casting life in a more purer mold,
Preserues that life to immortalitie,
Both truly working, eyther glorifie;
Truth by her power, Arts power to iustifie,
Truth in Arts roabs, adorn’d by Poesie.
132
To his victorious Ensigne comes from far,
The Redshanck’d Orcads, toucht with no remorse,
The light-foote Irish, which with darts make war,
Th’ranck-ryding Scot, on his swist running horse,
The English Archer, of a Lyons force:
The valiant Norman all his troupes among,
In bloody conquests tryed, in Arms train’d long.
133
Remote by nature in thys colder Clyme,
Another nature he new birth doth bring,
And by the locks he haleth aged Tyme,
As newly he created euery thing;
Shewing the place where heauens eternall King
Our deere blood-bought redemption first began,
Man couering God, earth heauen, & God in man.
134
Poore Ilanders, which in the Oceans chaine,
Too long imprisoned from the cheerfull day,
Your warlike Guide now brings you to the maine,
Which to your glory makes the open way:
And his victorious hand becomes the kay
To let you in to famous victories;
The honor of your braue posterities,
135
Be fauourable faire heauen vnto thine owne,
And with that Bethelem birth-foretelling star
Still goe before this Christian Champion;
In fiery pillers lead him out from far,
Let Angels martch with him vnto this war,
With burning-bladed Cherubins still keepe,
Encompasse him with clowds when he doth sleep.
136
When heauen puts on her glittering vaile of stars,
And with sweet sleep the souldiers sences charms,
Then are his thoughts working these holy wars,
Plotting assaults, watchful at all alarms,
Rounding the Campe in rich apparreld Arms;
His sleep their watch, his care their safeties kay,
Their day his night, his night he makes their day.
137
Valors true valor, honours liuing crowne,
Inspired thoughts, desert aboue desert,
Greatnes beyond imaginations bound,
>
Nature more sweet then is exprest by Art,
A hart declaring a true princly hart:
Courage vniting courage vnto glory,
A subiect fit for an immortall story.
138
Why shold not heauen by night when forth he went
Conuert the stars to Sunnes to giue him light?
And at his prayers by day in his close Tent,
The Tapers vnto starrs, to help his sight?
That in his presence darknes might be bright;
That euery thing more purer in his kind,
Might tell the purenes of his purer mind.
139
Yet Letters but like little Ilands bee,
And many words within this world of fame,
Whose Regions rise and fall in their degree,
Large volumes short descriptions of his name,
Like little Maps painting his Globes great fame:
Wit lost in wonder, seeking to expresse
His vertues sum, his praises vniuerse.
140
In greeuous toyles consisteth all his rest,
In hauing most, of most enioyeth none,
Most wanting that whereof he is possest,
A King ordain’d, ne’re to enioy his throne,
That least his own, which richly is his own;
In this deuision from himselfe deuided,
Himselfe a guide for others safety, guided.
141
His one poore lyfe, deuided is to many,
Dead to his comfort, doth to others liue,
Vnto himselfe he is the least of any,
All from him taken, vnto all doth giue,
Depriu’d of ioy, of care his to depriue:
Who al controuleth, now that all controules,
Body of bodyes, his soule of their soules.
142
Religious war, more holy pilgrimage,
Both Saint & souldier, Captaine, Confessor,
A deuout youth, a resolute old age,
A warlike States-man, peacefull Conqueror,
Graue Consull, true autentique Senator;
Feare-chasing resolution, valiant feare,
Hart bearing nought, yet patient all to beare.
143
Skill, valour guides, and valour armeth skill,
Courage emboldneth wit, wit courage arms,
This is the thred which leadeth on his will,
This is the steere which guides him in these storms,
To see his good, and to foresee his harms:
Not flying life, in fortune so content,
Not fearing death, as truly valient.
144
He feasts desire with sweetest temperance,
Greatnes he decks in modesties attire,
Honor he doth by humblenes aduance,
By sufferance he raiseth courage hier,
His holy thoughts by patience still aspire:
To fashion vertue strangely he doth seeke,
Making poore hope impatient, sorrow meeke.
145
Then in his ioy, he nothing lesse inioyes,
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 39
