BOOK II. (continued 3)
Reading edition
FOOTNOTES:
XXIII. THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.
This beautiful old ballad most probably took its rise from one of these descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of queen Elizabeth; and in all likelihood from that which is celebrated in the foregoing ballad.
It was a tradition in the West of England, that the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gentleman of the Popham family [Sir John Popham], and that her picture, with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable family.
Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the subject of this ballad; who married Margaret daughter of Charles Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently distinguished as a naval officer and commander in all the expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter end of Q. Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhampton church.
It is printed from an ancient black-letter copy, corrected in part by the Editor's folio MS.
[Sir John Popham and Sir Richard Levison are not the only candidates for the honour of being associated with the Spanish Lady, for strong claims have also been brought forward in favour of Sir Urias Legh of Adlington, Cheshire, and of Sir John Bolle of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. A descendant of the latter worthy wrote a letter in his favour, which appeared in the Times of May 1, 1846, and from which the following particulars are extracted:—"In Illingworth's Topographical Account of Scampton, with Anecdotes of the family of Bolles, it is stated, 'the portrait of Sir John, drawn in 1596, at the age of thirty-six years, having on him the gold chain given him by the Spanish Lady, &c., is still in the possession of Captain Birch.' That portrait is now in the possession of Captain Birch's successor, Thomas Bosvile, Esq., of Ravensfield Park, Yorkshire." The writer of the letter signs himself Charles Lee, and dates from Coldrey, Hants. He adds another extract from Illingworth's Scampton, which is as follows: "On Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz, the Spanish Lady sent as presents to his wife, a profusion of jewels, and other valuables, amongst which was her portrait, drawn in green, plate, money, and other treasure. Some articles are still in the possession of the family, though her picture was unfortunately and by accident, disposed of about half a century since. This portrait being drawn in green, gave occasion to her being called in the neighbourhood of Thorpe Hall, the Green Lady, where to this day there is a traditionary superstition among the vulgar that Thorpe Hall was haunted by the Green Lady, who used nightly to take her seat in a particular tree near the mansion."
Mr. Chappell points out that this ballad is quoted in Cupid's Whirligig, 1616, and parodied in Rowley's A Match at Midnight, 1633. It is also quoted in Mrs. Behn's Comedy, The Rovers, or the banished Cavaliers, and in Richard Brome's Northern Lasse.
Shenstone was not satisfied with the beautiful simplicity of this charming ballad, and attempted in his Moral Tale of Love and Honour to place it before his readers "in less grovelling accents than the simple guise of ancient record." The mode he adopted was to spin it out by the frequent introduction of Ah me and 'tis true, and addresses to the "generous maid," Elvira, Iberia, &c. Wordsworth acted far differently, when he founded his exquisite Armenian Lady's Love upon this ballad:
"You have heard of a Spanish Lady, How she wooed an English man; Hear now of a fair Armenian, Daughter of the proud Soldàn."
The copy in the folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 393) begins with verse 33, the early part having been torn out.]
Will you hear a Spanish lady, How she wooed an English man? Garments gay as rich as may be Decked with jewels she had on. Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5 And by birth and parentage of high degree. As his prisoner there he kept her, In his hands her life did lye; Cupid's bands did tye them faster By the liking of an eye. 10 In his courteous company was all her joy, To favour him in any thing she was not coy. But at last there came commandment For to set the ladies free, With their jewels still adorned, 15 None to do them injury. Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me; O let me still sustain this kind captivity! Gallant captain, shew some pity To a ladye in distresse; 20 Leave me not within this city, For to dye in heavinesse: Thou hast set this present day my body free, But my heart in prison still remains with thee. "How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 25 Whom thou knowst thy country's foe? Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee: Serpents lie where flowers grow." All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight, God grant the same upon my head may fully light. 30 Blessed be the time and season, That you came on Spanish ground; If our foes you may be termed, Gentle foes we have you found: With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, 35 Then to your country bear away, that is your owne. "Rest you still, most gallant lady; Rest you still, and weep no more; Of fair lovers there is plenty, Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40 Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find, But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind. Leave me not unto a Spaniard, You alone enjoy my heart; I am lovely, young, and tender, 45 Love is likewise my desert: Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest; The wife of every Englishman is counted blest. "It wold be a shame, fair lady, For to bear a woman hence; 50 English soldiers never carry Any such without offence." I'll quickly change myself, if it be so, And like a page Ile follow thee, where'er thou go.[692] "I have neither gold nor silver 55 To maintain thee in this case, And to travel is great charges, As you know in every place." My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own, And eke five hundred[693] pounds in gold that lies unknown. 60 "On the seas are many dangers, Many storms do there arise, Which wil be to ladies dreadful, And force tears from watery eyes." Well in troth I shall endure extremity,[694] 65 For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.[695] "Courteous ladye, leave this fancy, Here comes all that breeds the strife;[696] I in England have already A sweet woman to my wife: 70 I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain." O how happy is that woman That enjoys so true a friend! Many happy days God send her;[697] 75 Of my suit I make an end:[698] On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,[699] Which did from love and true affection first commence.[700] Commend me to thy lovely lady, Bear to her this chain of gold;[701] 80 And these bracelets for a token; Grieving that I was so bold: All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,[702] For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.[703] I will spend my days in prayer, 85 Love and all her laws[704] defye; In a nunnery will I shroud mee Far from any companye:[705] But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this, To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90 Thus farewell, most gallant captain! Farewell too my heart's content![706] Count not Spanish ladies wanton, Though to thee my love was bent: Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee![707] 95 "The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladìe."
FOOTNOTES:
XXIV. ARGENTILE AND CURAN,
Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in XIII. Books, intitled, Albion's England, by William Warner: "An author (says a former editor,) only unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of his verse. His poem is an epitome of the British history, and written with great learning, sense, and spirit. In some places fine to an extraordinary degree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing episode (of Argentile and Curan). A tale full of beautiful incidents in the romantic taste, extremely affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in style; and in short, one of the most beautiful pastorals I ever met with." (Muses Library, 1738, 8vo.) To his merit nothing can be objected unless perhaps an affected quaintness in some of his expressions, and an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images.
Warner is said, by A. Wood,[708] to have been a Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in Oxford, at Magdalene-hall: as also in the latter part of his life to have been retained in the service of Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem. However that may have been, new light is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner of his death are now ascertained, by the following extract from the parish register book of Amwell, in Hertfordshire; which was obligingly communicated to the Editor by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious translator of Tasso, &c.
(1608—1609.) "Master William Warner, a man of good yeares and of honest reputation; by his profession an Atturnye of the Common Pleas; author of Albions England, diynge suddenly in the night in his bedde, without any former complaynt or sicknesse, on thursday night beeinge the 9th daye of March; was buried the satturday following, and lyeth in the church at the corner under the stone of Walter Ffader." Signed Tho. Hassall Vicarius.
Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser, and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age.[709] But Warner rather resembled Ovid, whose Metamorphoses he seems to have taken for his model, having deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge down to the æra of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions and entertaining episodes. And though he is sometimes harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays a most charming and pathetic simplicity: as where he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosamond:
"With that she dasht her on the lippes So dyed double red: Hard was the heart that gave the blow, Soft were those lippes that bled."
The edition of Albion's England here followed was printed in 4to. 1602; said in the title-page to have been "first penned and published by William Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the same author." The story of Argentile and Curan is I believe the poet's own invention; it is not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It was however so much admired, that not many years after he published it, came out a larger poem on the same subject in stanzas of six lines, intitled, The most pleasant and delightful historie of Curan a prince of Danske, and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre to Adelbright, sometime king of Northumberland, &c. by William Webster, London, 1617, in 8 sheets 4to. An indifferent paraphrase of the following poem.—This episode of Warner's has also been altered into the common ballad, of the two young Princes on Salisbury Plain, which is chiefly composed of Warner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations, but all greatly for the worse. See the collection of Hist. Ballads, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo.
[Percy had already in the first volume quoted from Warner's poem the story of the Patient Countess.]
The Bruton's 'being' departed hence seaven kingdoms here begonne, Where diversly in divers broyles the Saxons lost and wonne. King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly raigne; In loyal concorde during life these kingly friends remaine. When Adelbright should leave his life, to Edel thus he sayes; 5 By those same bondes of happie love, that held us friends alwaies; By our by-parted crowne, of which the moyetie is mine; By God, to whom my soule must passe, and so in time may thine; I pray thee, nay I cònjure thee, to nourish, as thine owne, Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, till she to age be growne; 10 And then, as thou receivest it, resigne to her my throne. A promise had for his bequest, the testatòr he dies; But all that Edel undertooke, he afterwards denies. Yet well he 'fosters for' a time the damsell that was growne The fairest lady under heaven; whose beautie being knowne, 15 A many princes seeke her love; but none might her obtaine; For grippell[710] Edel to himselfe her kingdome sought to gaine; And for that cause from sight of such he did his ward restraine. By chance one Curan, sonne unto a prince in Danske,[711] did see The maid, with whom he fell in love, as much as man might bee. 20 Unhappie youth, what should he doe? his saint was kept in mewe;[712] Nor he, nor any noble-man admitted to her vewe. One while in melancholy fits he pines himselfe awaye; Anon he thought by force of arms to win her if he maye: And still against the kings restraint did secretly invay. 25 At length the high controller Love, whom none may disobay, Imbased him from lordlines into a kitchen drudge, That so at least of life or death she might become his judge. Accesse so had to see and speake, he did his love bewray, And tells his birth: her answer was, she husbandles would stay. 30 Meane while the king did beate his braines, his booty to atchieve, Nor caring what became of her, so he by her might thrive; At last his resolution was some pessant should her wive. And (which was working to his wish) he did observe with joye How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scapt many an amorous toye.[713]35 The king, perceiving such his veine, promotes his vassal still, Lest that the basenesse of the man should lett,[714] perhaps, his will. Assured therefore of his love, but not suspecting who The lover was, the king himselfe in his behalf did woe. The lady resolute from love, unkindly takes that he 40 Should barre the noble, and unto so base a match agree: And therefore shifting out of doores, departed thence by stealth; Preferring povertie before a dangerous life in wealth. When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish in his hart Was more than much, and after her from court he did depart; 45 Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, his country, friends, and all, And only minding (whom he mist) the foundresse of his thrall. Nor meanes he after to frequent or court, or stately townes, But solitarily to live amongst the country grownes.[715] A brace of years he lived thus, well pleased so to live, 50 And shepherd-like to feed a flocke himselfe did wholly give. So wasting, love, by worke, and want, grew almost to the waine: But then began a second love, the worser of the twaine. A country wench, a neatherds maid, where Curan kept his sheepe, Did feed her drove: and now on her was all the shepherds keepe. 55 He borrowed on the working daies his holy russets oft,[716] And of the bacon's fat, to make his startops[717] blacke and soft. And least his tarbox[718] should offend, he left it at the folde: Sweete growte,[719] or whig,[720] his bottle had, as much as it might holde. A sheeve[721] of bread as browne as nut, and cheese as white as snow,60 And wildings,[722] or the seasons fruit he did in scrip bestow, And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe, and sheep-hooke lay him by, On hollow quilles of oten straw he piped melody But when he spyed her his saint, he wip'd his greasie shooes, And clear'd the drivell from his beard, and thus the shepheard wooes.65 "I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, as good as tooth may chawe, And bread and wildings souling[723] well, (and therewithall did drawe His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see yon crumpling[724] ewe, quoth he,[725] Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, if I might tup[726] with thee. Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, too elvish and too coy: 70 Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock enjoye? I wis I am not: yet that thou doest hold me in disdaine Is brimme[727] abroad, and made a gybe to all that keepe this plaine. There be as quaint[728] (at least that thinke themselves as quaint) that crave The match, that thou, I wot not why, maist, but mislik'st to have. 75 How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot, thou art a female) I, Her know not here that willingly with maiden-head would die.[729] The plowmans labour hath no end, and he a churle will prove: The craftsman hath more worke in hand then fitteth unto love: The merchant, traffiquing abroad, suspects his wife at home: 80 A youth will play the wanton; and an old man prove a mome.[730] Then chuse a shepheard: with the sun he doth his flocke unfold, And all the day on hill or plaine he merrie chat can hold; And with the sun doth folde againe; then jogging home betime, He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, or sings some merry ryme.[731] 85 Nor lacks he gleeful tales, whilst round the nut-brown bowl doth trot;[732] And sitteth singing care away, till he to bed be got: Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, forgetting morrow-cares: Nor feares he blasting of his corne, nor uttering of his wares; Or storms by seas, or stirres on land, or cracke of credit lost; 90 Not spending franklier than his flocke, shall still defray the cost. Well wot I, sooth they say, that say more quiet nights and daies The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he whose cattel he doth graize. Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but a man, and so am I: Content is worth a monarchie, and mischiefs hit the hie; 95 As late it did a king and his not dwelling far from hence, Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, for fair a matchless wench."— Here did he pause, as if his tongue had done his heart offence. The neatresse,[733] longing for the rest, did egge him on to tell How faire she was, and who she was. "She bore, quoth he, the bell 100 For beautie: though I clownish am, I know what beautie is; Or did I not, at seeing thee, I senceles were to mis. * * * * * Her stature comely, tall; her gate well graced; and her wit To marvell at, not meddle with, as matchless I omit. A globe-like head, a gold-like haire, a forehead smooth, and hie, 105 An even nose; on either side did shine a grayish eie: Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, white just-set teeth within; A mouth in meane;[734] and underneathe a round and dimpled chin. Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, stood bolt upright upon Her portly shoulders; beating balles her veined breasts, anon 110 Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was her middle falling still, And rising whereas women rise: * * *—imagine nothing ill. And more, her long, and limber armes had white and azure wrists; And slender fingers aunswere to her smooth and lillie fists. A legge in print, a pretie foot; conjecture of the rest: For amorous eies, observing forme, think parts obscured best. 116 With these, O raretie! with these her tong of speech was spare; But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake, the balle from Ide to bear. With Phœbe, Juno, and with both herselfe contends in face; Wheare equall mixture did not want of milde and stately grace. 120 Her smiles were sober, and her lookes were chearefull unto all: Even such as neither wanton seeme, nor waiward; mell,[735] nor gall. A quiet minde, a patient moode, and not disdaining any; Not gybing, gadding, gawdy: and sweete faculties had many. A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, might praise, might wish, might see;125 For life, for love, for forme; more good, more worth, more faire than shee. Yea such an one, as such was none, save only she was such: Of Argentile to say the most, were to be silent much." I knew the lady very well, but worthles of such praise, The neatresse said: and muse I do, a shepheard thus should blaze 130 The 'coate' of beautie[736]. Credit me, thy latter speech bewraies Thy clownish shape a coined shew. But wherefore dost thou weepe? The shepheard wept, and she was woe, and both doe silence keepe. "In troth, quoth he, I am not such, as seeming I professe: But then for her, and now for thee, I from myselfe digresse. 135 Her loved I (wretch that I am a recreant to be) I loved her, that hated love, but now I die for thee. At Kirkland is my fathers court, and Curan is my name, In Edels court sometimes in pompe, till love countrould the same: But now—what now?—deare heart, how now? what ailest thou to weepe?"140 The damsell wept, and he was woe, and both did silence keepe. I graunt, quoth she, it was too much that you did love so much: But whom your former could not move, your second love doth touch. Thy twice-beloved argentile submitteth her to thee, And for thy double love presents herself a single fee, In passion not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am she. 146 They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a space, When as the extasie had end, did tenderly imbrace; And for their wedding, and their wish got fitting time and place. Not England (for of Hengist then was named so this land) 150 Then Curan had an hardier knight; his force could none withstand: Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then had higher things in hand. First, making knowne his lawfull claime in Argentile her right, He warr'd in Diria[737], and he wonne Bernicia[737] too in fight: And so from trecherous Edel tooke at once his life and crowne, 155 And of Northumberland was king, long raigning in renowne.[738]
FOOTNOTES:
XXV. CORIN'S FATE.
Only the three first stanzas of this song are ancient; these are extracted from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. As they seemed to want application, this has been attempted by a modern hand.
Corin, most unhappie swaine, Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke? Little foode is on the plaine; Full of danger is the rocke: Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes; 5 Forests tangled are with brakes: Meadowes subject are to floodes; Moores are full of miry lakes. Yet to shun all plaine, and hill, Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 10 Hunger will as surely kill: How may then reliefe be found? [Such is hapless Corins fate: Since my waywarde love begunne, Equall doubts begett debate 15 What to seeke, and what to shunne. Spare to speke, and spare to speed; Yet to speke will move disdaine: If I see her not I bleed, Yet her sight augments my paine. 20 What may then poor Corin doe? Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell; For to linger thus in woe Is the lover's sharpest hell.]
⁂
XXVI. JANE SHORE.
Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed concerning this celebrated courtezan, no character in history has been more perfectly handed down to us. We have her portrait drawn by two masterly pens; the one has delineated the features of her person, the other those of her character and story. Sir Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton has copied an original picture of her. The reader will pardon the length of the quotations, as they serve to correct many popular mistakes relating to her catastrophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's History of Richard III. written in 1513, about thirty years after the death of Edw. IV.
"Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not for covetise, the protector sent into the house of Shores wife (for her husband dwelled not with her) and spoiled her of al that ever she had, (above the value of 2 or 3 thousand marks) and sent her body to prison. And when he had a while laide unto her, for the maner sake, that she went about to bewitch him, and that she was of counsel with the lord chamberlein to destroy him: in conclusion when that no colour could fasten upon these matters, then he layd heinously to her charge the thing that herselfe could not deny, that al the world wist was true, and that natheles every man laughed at to here it then so sodainly so highly taken,—that she was naught of her body. And for thys cause (as a goodly continent prince, clene and fautless of himself, sent oute of heaven into this vicious world for the amendment of mens maners) he caused the bishop of London to put her to open pennance, going before the crosse in procession upon a sonday with a taper in her hand. In which she went in countenance and pace demure so womanly; and albeit she was out of al array save her kyrtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, namelye, while the wondering of the people caste a comly rud in her chekes (of which she before had most misse) that her great shame wan her much praise among those that were more amorous of her body, then curious of her soule. And many good folke also, that hated her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei more her penance then rejoiced therin, when thei considred that the protector procured it more of a corrupt intent, then any virtuous affeccion.
"This woman was born in London, worshipfully frended, honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, saving somewhat too soone; her husbande an honest citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. But forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer wel ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom she never longed. Which was happely the thinge, that the more easily made her encline unto the king's appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and other wanton welth, was able soone to perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon her husband (as he was an honest man, and one that could his good, not presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al together. When the king died, the lord chamberlen [Hastings] toke her:[739] which in the kinges daies, albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare her, either for reverence, or for a certain friendly faithfulness.
"Proper she was, and faire: nothing in her body that you wold have changed, but if you would have wished her somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her in her youthe. Albeit some that now see her (for yet she liveth) deme her never to have bene wel visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat like, as though men should gesse the bewty of one longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the charnel-house; for now is she old, lene, withered, and dried up, nothing left but ryvilde skin, and hard bone. And yet being even such, whoso wel advise her visage, might gesse and devise which partes how filled, wold make it a fair face.
"Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in her pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could both rede wel and write; mery in company, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor ful of bable; sometime taunting without displeasure, and not without disport. The king would say, That he had three concubines, which in three divers properties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme, as one whom no man could get out of the church lightly to any place, but it were to his bed. The other two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles of their humilite content to be nameles, and to forbere the praise of those properties; but the meriest was the Shoris wife, in whom the king therfore toke special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to belie the devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where the king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and appease his mind: where men were out of favour, she wold bring them in his grace: for many, that had highly offended, shee obtained pardon: of great forfeitures she gate men remission: and finally in many weighty sutes she stode many men in gret stede, either for none or very smal rewardes, and those rather gay than rich: either for that she was content with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to do wyth the king, or for that wanton women and welthy be not alway covetous.
"I doubt not some shal think this woman too sleight a thing to be written of, and set amonge the remembraunces of great matters: which thei shal specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by that thei now see her. But me semeth the chaunce so much the more worthy to be remembred, in how much she is now in the more beggerly condicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after good substance, after as grete favour with the prince, after as grete sute and seeking to with al those, that in those days had busynes to spede, as many other men were in their times, which be now famouse only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were not much lesse, albeit thei be muche lesse remembred because thei were not so evil. For men use, if they have an evil turne, to write it in marble; and whoso doth us a good tourne, we write it in duste.[740] Which is not worst proved by her; for at this daye shee beggeth of many at this daye living, that at this day had begged, if shee had not bene." See More's workes, folio, bl. let. 1557, pp. 56, 57.
Drayton has written a poetical epistle from this lady to her royal lover, and in his notes thereto he thus draws her portrait: "Her stature was meane, her haire of a dark yellow, her face round and full, her eye gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each part's proportion, and each proportion's colour, her body fat, white and smooth, her countenance cheerfull and like to her condition. The picture which I have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich mantle cast under one arme over her shoulder, and sitting on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. What her father's name was, or where she was borne, is not certainly knowne: but Shore, a young man of right goodly person, wealth and behaviour, abandoned her bed after the king had made her his concubine. Richard III. causing her to do open penance in Paul's church-yard, commanded that no man should relieve her, which the tyrant did, not so much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his brother's life odious, he might cover his horrible treasons the more cunningly." See England's Heroical Epistles, by Mich. Drayton, Esq; Lond. 1637, 12mo.
An original picture of Jane Shore almost naked is preserved in the Provost's Lodgings at Eton; and another picture of her is in the Provost's Lodge at King's College, Cambridge: to both which foundations she is supposed to have done friendly offices with Edward IV. A small quarto Mezzotinto print was taken from the former of these by J. Faber.
The history of Jane Shore receives new illustration from the following letter of K. Richard III. which is preserved in the Harl. MSS. Num. 433, Art. 2378, but of which the copy transmitted to the Editor has been reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is said to have been addressed to Russel bp. of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484.
By the King.
"Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying unto you, that it is shewed unto us, that our Servant and Solicitor Thomas Lynom, marvellously blinded and abused with the late Wife of William Shore, now living in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made Contract of Matrimony with her, as it is said, and intendeth, to our full great marvel, to effect the same. WE, for many causes, would be sorry that he should be so disposed; pray you therefore to send for him, and in that ye goodly may, exhort, and stir him to the contrary: And if ye find him utterly set for to marry her, and none otherwise would be advertized, then, if it may stand with the laws of the church, we be content the time of marriage be deferred to our coming next to London; that upon sufficient Surety found of her good abearing, ye do so send for her Keeper, and discharge him of our said commandment, by Warrant of these, committing her to the rule, and guiding of her Father, or any other, by your direction, in the mean season. Given, &c.
"RIC. Rex."
It appears from two articles in the same MS. that K. Richard had granted to the said Thomas Linom the office of King's Solicitor (Art. 134.), and also the Manor of Colmeworth, com. Bedf. to him and his Heirs Male (Art. 596.)
The following ballad is printed (with some corrections) from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection. Its full title is, The woefull lamentation of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London, sometime king Edward IV. his concubine. To the tune of Live with me, &c. (See the first volume.) To every stanza is annexed the following burthen:
"Then maids and wives in time amend, For love and beauty will have end."
[The tale of Jane Shore's sufferings has found frequent narrators. The first known ballad upon her story was written by Thomas Churchyard (who died in 1604) and is included in the Mirror for Magistrates. The ballad here printed is attributed to Thomas Deloney, and was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company to William White, printer, on the 11th of June, 1603, but no copy of this edition is known to exist. Mr. Chappell remarks that no copy in any of the collections can be dated "earlier than Charles the Second's time, or at most than the Protectorate" (Roxburghe Ballads, vol. i. p. 479). It is printed in the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i. p. 145), and in the same collection is a burlesque song called King Edward and Jane Shore (vol. i. p. 153). The Roxburghe copy has a second part which Mr. Chappell says is "probably by another hand and of later date." Deloney has paid very little attention to facts, and many of his statements are groundless, for instance no one was hanged for succouring Jane (vv. 105-112), and instead of dying of hunger in a ditch (vv. 125-132), she survived her penance nearly fifty years. (She died in the 18th year of Henry VIII.'s reign.) Her husband is named Matthew Shore in verse 13, but we have the best authority for affirming that his true name was William. Richard III. followed Jane Shore with unrelenting hate, and not content with making her do penance, clapping her in prison and depriving her of all her property, which amounted to the value of 3000 marks, equal to about £20,000 of our present money, he prevented her from marrying a respectable man.
There is no date to the paper printed above, but as John Russell, D.D., Bishop of Lincoln, was Richard's Chancellor only from Nov. 1484 to July 1485, we can fix it pretty closely.
According to Mr. Nugent Bell, in his Huntingdon Peerage, the name of the father of Jane Shore was Thomas Wainstead. Granger says that the Duchess of Montagu had a lock of her hair which looked as if it had been powdered with gold dust. For further information, see Some Particulars of the Life of Jane Shore, by the Rev. Mark Noble, in Brayley's Graphic Illustrator, pp. 49-64.]
Of Rosamonde that was so faire, Had cause her sorrowes to declare, Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing, That was beloved of a king. In maiden yeares my beautye bright 5 Was loved dear of lord and knight; But yet the love that they requir'd, It was not as my friends desir'd. My parents they, for thirst of gaine, A husband for me did obtaine; 10 And I, their pleasure to fulfille, Was forc'd to wedd against my wille. To Matthew Shore I was a wife, Till lust brought ruine to my life; And then my life I lewdlye spent, 15 Which makes my soul for to lament. In Lombard-street I once did dwelle, As London yet can witness welle; Where many gallants did beholde My beautye in a shop of golde. 20 I spred my plumes, as wantons doe, Some sweet and secret friende to wooe, Because chast love I did not finde Agreeing to my wanton minde. At last my name in court did ring 25 Into the eares of Englandes king, Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd, But I made coye what he desir'd; Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare, Whose friendship I esteemed deare, 30 Did saye, It was a gallant thing To be beloved of a king. By her persuasions I was led, For to defile my marriage-bed, And wronge my wedded husband Shore, 35 Whom I had married yeares before. In heart and mind I did rejoyce, That I had made so sweet a choice; And therefore did my state resigne, To be king Edward's concubine. 40 From city then to court I went, To reape the pleasures of content; There had the joyes that love could bring, And knew the secrets of a king. When I was thus advanc'd on highe 45 Commanding Edward with mine eye, For Mrs. Blague I in short space Obtainde a livinge from his grace. No friende I had but in short time I made unto a promotion climbe; 50 But yet for all this costlye pride, My husbande could not mee abide. His bed, though wronged by a king, His heart with deadlye griefe did sting; From England then he goes away 55 To end his life beyond the sea. He could not live to see his name Impaired by my wanton shame; Although a prince of peerlesse might Did reape the pleasure of his right. 60 Long time I lived in the courte, With lords and ladies of great sorte; And when I smil'd all men were glad, But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad. But yet a gentle minde I bore 65 To helplesse people, that were poore; I still redrest the orphans crye, And sav'd their lives condemnd to dye. I still had ruth on widowes tears, I succour'd babes of tender yeares; 70 And never look'd for other gaine But love and thankes for all my paine. At last my royall king did dye, And then my dayes of woe grew nighe; When crook-back Richard got the crowne, 75 King Edwards friends were soon put downe. I then was punisht for my sin, That I so long had lived in; Yea, every one that was his friend, This tyrant brought to shamefull end. 80 Then for my lewd and wanton life, That made a strumpet of a wife, I penance did in Lombard-street, In shamefull manner in a sheet. Where many thousands did me viewe, 85 Who late in court my credit knewe; Which made the teares run down my face, To thinke upon my foul disgrace. Not thus content, they took from mee My goodes, my livings, and my fee, 90 And charg'd that none should me relieve, Nor any succour to me give. Then unto Mrs. Blague I went, To whom my jewels I had sent, In hope therebye to ease my want, 95 When riches fail'd, and love grew scant: But she denyed to me the same When in my need for them I came: To recompence my former love, Out of her doores shee did me shove. 100 So love did vanish with my state, Which now my soul repents too late; Therefore example take by mee, For friendship parts in povertie. But yet one friend among the rest, 105 Whom I before had seen distrest, And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die, Did give me food to succour me: For which, by lawe, it was decreed That he was hanged for that deed; 110 His death did grieve me so much more, Than had I dyed myself therefore. Then those to whom I had done good, Durst not afford me any food; Whereby I begged all the day, 115 And still in streets by night I lay. My gowns beset with pearl and gold, Were turn'd to simple garments old; My chains and gems and golden rings, To filthy rags and loathsome things. 120 Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife, For leading such a wicked life; Both sucking babes and children small, Did make their pastime at my fall. I could not get one bit of bread, 125 Whereby my hunger might be fed: Nor drink, but such as channels yield, Or stinking ditches in the field. Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe I yielded up my vital strength 130 Within a ditch of loathsome scent, Where carrion dogs did much frequent: The which now since my dying daye, Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers saye[741]; Which is a witness of my sinne, 135 For being concubine to a king. You wanton wives, that fall to lust, Be you assur'd that God is just; Whoredome shall not escape his hand, Nor pride unpunish'd in this land. 140 If God to me such shame did bring, That yielded only to a king, How shall they scape that daily run To practise sin with every one? You husbands, match not but for love, 145 Lest some disliking after prove; Women, be warn'd when you are wives, What plagues are due to sinful lives: Then, maids and wives, in time amend, For love and beauty will have end. 150
FOOTNOTES:
XXVII. CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL.
This little simple elegy is given, with some corrections, from two copies, one of which is in The golden garland of princely delights.
The burthen of the song, Ding Dong, &c. is at present appropriated to burlesque subjects, and therefore may excite only ludicrous ideas in a modern reader; but in the time of our poet it usually accompanied the most solemn and mournful strains. Of this kind is that fine aërial Dirge in Shakespear's Tempest:
"Full fadom five thy father lies, Of his bones are corrall made; Those are pearles that were his eyes; Nothing of him, that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange: Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell." "Burthen, Ding Dong."
I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude the above air in a manner the most solemn and expressive of melancholy.
My Phillida, adieu love! For evermore farewel! Ay me! I've lost my true love, And thus I ring her knell, Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 5 My Phillida is dead! I'll stick a branch of willow At my fair Phillis' head. For my fair Phillida Our bridal bed was made: 10 But 'stead of silkes so gay, She in her shroud is laid. Ding, &c. Her corpse shall be attended By maides in fair array, Till the obsequies are ended, 15 And she is wrapt in clay. Ding, &c. Her herse it shall be carried By youths, that do excell; And when that she is buried, I thus will ring her knell, 20 Ding, &c. A garland shall be framed By art and natures skill, Of sundry-colour'd flowers, In token of good-will[742]: Ding, &c. And sundry-colour'd ribbands 25 On it I will bestow; But chiefly black and yellowe[743]: With her to grave shall go. Ding, &c. I'll decke her tomb with flowers, The rarest ever seen, 30 And with my tears, as showers, I'll keepe them fresh and green. Ding, &c. Instead of fairest colours, Set forth with curious art[744], Ding, &c. Her image shall be painted 35 On my distressed heart. And thereon shall be graven Her epitaph so faire, "Here lies the loveliest maiden, That e'er gave shepheard care." 40 Ding, &c. In sable will I mourne; Blacke shall be all my weede; Ay me! I am forlorne, Now Phillida is dead! Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, My Phillida is dead! 46 I'll stick a branch of willow At my fair Phillis' head
FOOTNOTES:
THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.
SERIES THE SECOND.