Note 1207 — THE COMPLAINT OF VTER PENDRAGON.

[Vnconquered beautie whence had’st thou that power To make stout Vter stoope to his owne shame, That neuer stoopt to foes? why for that flower Of sweete delight in Igren, that faire dame, Did I forgoe the golden flower of fame? Victorious beautie and base yeelding lust Did cast great Vter’s conquests in the dust. Yet no such blame as writers do record Do I deserue for this vnhappie deed Proud Gorolus, the bright-cheekt Igren’s lord, Receiu’d no wrong but his owne merits meed, When in the field I made his heart to bleed, If thoughts of treason merit death and shame, His trecherous deeds did well deserue the same. His gracelesse treason he in act did show, For when I sent him to Nathaliod hight, In bloodie field against the Saxon foe, He swolne in heart with enuie and despight Of his associates good, did leaue the fight, And leauing stout Nathaliod for a pray Vnto the foes, from field he fled away. By which enforc’d I was with Mars to rise From Venus’ bed, and arme me for the field, Where like a storme in thunder clad from skies, Vpon my foes I fell, they could not shield Themselues from death, few scap’t that did not yeeld: Occa and Ossa both I downe did bring, And led them captiue like a conquering king. Againe I then gan thinke vpon my loue, Vpon mine Igren deare, against whose lord I finding cause, for that he late did proue Faithlesse to me, did with my lust accord ’Gainst him, as ’gainst my foe to draw my sword, Whom by his castle called Dunilioc, I slew with blade in battailes bloodie stroke. Then did I take mine Igren as mine owne And crown’d her queene in my emperiall chaire, On whom great Arthur I begot anone: And after him my Anna hight the faire, In seeming blisse I long liu’d void of care, For thrice nine yeares with Igren I did raigne, And ’gainst the Saxons did my state maintaine. But for the rape of Gorolus his wife, The heauens did powre down vengeance on my head, I by vntimely death did end my life, My sad soule hence enforc’d by poison fled, By Saxons wrought, who often wish’d me dead, And left behind for all my deeds of fame Iust cause for writers’ pens to speake my shame.] N.