An aged rampier with huge ruins heapt,
Which serv'd for shot 'gainst those that should
assail,

Whose narrow entrance they with cross-bows kept,
Whose sharpen'd quarries came in show'rs like hail.
Quoth the brave king, "First let the field be swept,
And with the rest we well enough shall deal."
Which tho' some heard, and so shut up their ear,
Yet relish'd not with many soldiers there.
Some that themselves by ransoms would enrich,
To make their prey of peasants yet despise,
Felt, as they thought, their bloody palms to itch,
To be in action for their wealthy prize;
Others, whom only glory doth bewitch,
Rather than life would to this enterprise ;

Most men seem'd willing, yet not any one
Would put himself this great exploit upon.
Which Woodhouse hearing, merrily thus spake,
One that right well knew both his worth and wit:
"A dangerous thing it is to undertake
A fort, where soldiers are defending it;
Perhaps they sleep, and if they should awake,
With stones, or with their shafts, they may us hit,
And in our conquest whilst so well we fare,
It were meer folly; but I see none dare."
Which Gam o'erhearing, being near at hand :
"Not dare!" quoth he, and angerly doth frown;
"I tell thee, Woodhouse, some in presence stand,
Dare prop the Sun, if it were falling down;
Dare grasp the bolt from thunder in his hand,
And through a cannon leap into a town;

I tell thee, a resolved man may do Things that thy thoughts yet never mounted to." "I know that resolution may do much," Woodhouse replies; "but who could act my thought,

With his proud head, the pole might eas'ly touch. And Gam," quoth he, though bravely thou hast

fought,

66

Yet not the fame thou hast attain'd to such,
But that behind as great is to be bought,

And yonder 'tis; then, Gam, come up with me,
Where soon the king our courages shall see."
"Agreed," quoth Gam; and up their troops they
Hand over head and on the French they ran, [call,
And to the fight couragiously they fall,
When on both sides the slaughter soon began.
Fortune a while indifferent is to all,

These what they may, and those do what they can;
Woodhouse" and Gam upon each other vie,
By arms their manhood desp'rately to try.
To climb the fort the light-arm'd English strive,
And some by trees there growing to ascend;
The French with flints let at the English drive,
Themselves with shields the Englishmen defend,
And fain the fort down with their hands would
rive;

Thus either side their utmost pow'r extend,

Till valiant Gam, sore wounded, drawn aside By his own soldiers, shortly after dy'd.

"For this service done by Woodhouse, there was an addition of honour given him; which was a hand holding a club, with the words, Frappe fort, which is born by the family of the Woodhouse of Norfolk to this day.

Then take they up the bodies of the slain,
Which for their targets ours before them bear,
And with a fresh assault come on again;
Scarce in the field yet such a fight as there:
Cross-bows and long-bows at it are amain,
Until the French, their massacre that fear,
Of the fierce English a cessation crave,
Offering to yield, so they their lives would

save.

Lewis of Bourbon, in the furious heat
Of this great battle, having made some stay,
Who with the left wing suffer'd a defeat
In the beginning of this luckless day,
Finding the English forcing their retreat,
And that much hope upon his valour lay;
Fearing lest he might undergo some shame,
That were unworthy of the Bourbon name,
Hath gather'd up some scatter'd troops of horse,
That in the field stood doubtful what to do,
Though with much toil, which he doth reinforce
With some small pow'r that he doth add thereto,
Proclaiming still the English had the worse;
And now at last, with him if they would go,
He dares assure them victory; if not,
The greatest fame that ever soldiers got.
And being wise, so Bourbon to beguile
The French, preparing instantly to fly,
Procures a soldier, by a secret wile,
To come in swiftly, and to crave supply,
That if with courage they would fight a while,
It certain was the English all should die;

For that the king had offer'd them to yield,
Finding his troops to leave him on the field.
When Arthur earl of Richmount, coming in
With the right wing, that long stay'd out of sight,
Having too lately with the English been;
But finding Bourbon bent again to fight,
His former credit hoping yet to win
(Which at that instaut easily he might)

Comes up close with him, and puts on as fast, Bravely resolv'd to fight it to the last. And both encourag'd by the news was brought Of the arriving of the dauphin's power, Whose speedy van their rear had almost raught (From Agincourt discover'd from a tower) Which with the Norman gallantry was fraught, And on the sudden coming like a shower,

Would bring a deluge on the English host,
Whilst yet they stood their victory to boast.
And on they come, as doth a rolling tide
Fore'd by a wind, that shoves it forth so fast,
Till it choke up sorne channel side to side,
And the craz'd banks doth down before it cast,
Hoping the English would not them abide,
Or would be so amated at their haste,

That should they fail to rout them at their
will,
[Gill,

Yet of their blood the fields should drink their

When as the English, whose o'er-weary'd arms
Were with long slaughter lately waxed sore,
These unexpected and so fierce alarms
To their first strength do instantly restore,
And like a stove their stiffen'd sinews warme
To act as bravely as they did before;

And the proud French as stoutly to oppose,
Scorning to yield one foot despight of blewa,

The fight is fearful; for stout Bourbon brings
His fresher forces on with such a shock,
That they were like to cut the archers' strings,
Ere they their arrows handsomely could nock:
The French, like engines that were made with
Themselves so fast into the English lock, [springs,
That th' one was like the other down to bear,
In wanting room to strike, they stood so near.
Till stagg'ring long, they from each other reel'd,
Glad that themselves they so could disengage!
And falling back upon the spacious field
(For this last scene that is the bloody stage)
Where they their weapons liberally could wield,
They with such madness execute their rage,

As though the former fury of the day,
To this encounter had but been a play.
Slaughter is now dissected to the full:

Here from their backs their batter'd armours fall;
Here a sleft shoulder, there a cloven skull;
There hang his eyes out-beaten with a mall;
Until the edges of their bills grow dull,
Upon each other they so spend their gall.

Wild shouts and clamours all the air do fill: The French cry "Tue," and the English "Kill." The duke of Barr, in this vast spoil, by chance With the lord St. John on the field doth meet, Tow'rds whom that brave duke doth himself advance,

"Who with the like encounter him doth greet: This English baron and this peer of France, Grappling together, falling from their feet, With the rude crowds had both to death been crush'd,

In for their safety had their friends not rush'd. Both again rais'd, and both their soldiers shift To save their lives, if any way they could; But as the French the duke away would lift, Upon his arms the English taking hold (Men of that sort, that thought upon their thrift) Knowing his ransom dearly would be sold,

Drag him away in spite of their defence, [thence.
Which to their quarter would have borne him
Mean while brave Bourbon, from his stirring horse
Gall'd with an arrow, to the earth is thrown;
By a mean soldier seized on by force,
Hoping to have him certainly his own;
Which this lord holdeth better so than worse,
Since the French fortune to that ebb is grown;
And he perceives the soldier him doth deem
To be a person of no mean esteem.
Berkeley and Burnell, two brave English lords,
Flush'd with French blood, and in their valour's
pride,

Above their arm'd heads brandishing their swords
As they triumphing through the army ride,
Finding what prizes fortune here affords
To every soldier, and more wistly ey'd

This gallant pris'ner; by this arming see
Of the great Bourbon family to be;

And from the soldier they his pris'ner take,

When Ross and Morley making in amaia, Bring the lord Darcy up with them along, Whose horse had lately under him been slain, And they on foot found fighting in the throng, Those lords his friends remounting him again, Being a man that valiant was and strong;

They all together with a gen'ral hand

Charge on the French that they could find to stand.

And yet but vainly, as the French suppos'd; For th' earl of Richmount forth such earth had found,

[fly

That on two sides with quick-set was enclos'd,
And the way to it by a rising ground,
By which a while the English were oppos'd,
At every charge; which else came up so round,
As that except the passage put them by,
The French as well might leave their arms, and
Upon both parts it furiously is fought,
And with such quickness riseth to that height,
That horrour need no farther to be sought,
If only that might satisfy the sight.

Who would have fame, full dearly here it bought,
For it was sold by measure and by weight:

And at one rate the price still certain stood, An ounce of honour cost a pound of blood. When so it hapt, that Dampier in the van Meets with stout Darcy; but whilst him he press'd, Over and over cometh horse and man, Of whom the other soon himself possess'd: When as Savesses upon Darcy ran To aid Dampier; but as he him address'd, A halbert taking hold upon his greaves, Him from his saddle violently heaves. When soon five hundred Englishinen at arms, That to the French had given many a chase, And when they cover'd all the field with swarms, Yet oft that day had bravely bid them base; Now at the last, by raising fresh alarms, And coming up with an unusual pace,

Made them to know, that they must run or yield; Never till now the English had the field. Where Arthur, earl of Richmount, beaten down, Is left (suppos'd of ev'ry one) for dead; But afterwards awaking from his swoon, By some that found him was recovered. So count Du Marle was likewise overthrown, As he was turning, meaning to have fled.

Who fights, the cold blade in his bosom feels; Who flies, still hears it whissing at his heels. Till all disrank'd, like silly sheep they run, By threats nor pray'rs to be constrain'd to stay, For that their hearts were so extremely done, That fainting, oft they fall upon the way; Or when they might a present peril shun, They rush upon it by their much dismay; That from the English should they safely fly, Of their own very fear yet they should die.

He on the sudden stabs him, and doth swear, Would th'ave his ransom, they should take it there.

As they affect those upon whom they fall;
For they, as victors, may do what they will,
For who this conqu'ror to account dare call?
In gore the English seem their souls to swill,
And the dejected French must suffer all;
Flight, cords, and slaughter, are the only three,
To which themselves subjected they do see,

A shoeless soldier there a man might meet
Leading his monsieur by the arms fast bound;
Another his had shackled by the fee,
Who like a cripple shuffled on the ground;
Another, three or four before him beat
Like harmful cattle driven to a pound:
They must abide it, so the victor will,
Who at his pleasure may or save or kill."
That brave French gallant, when the fight began
Whose lease of lackies ambled by his side,
Himself a lackey now most basely ran,
Whilst a ragg'd soldier on his horse doth ride;
That rascal is no less than at his man,
Who was but lately to his luggage ty'd ;

And the French lord now court'sies to that slave,
Who the last day his alms was like to crave.
And those few English wounded in the fight,
They force the French to bring with them away,
Who when they were depressed with the weight,
Yet dar'd not once their burden down to lay :
Those in the morn whose hopes were at their height,
Are fall'n thus low ere the departing day!

With picks of halberts prickt instead of goads,
Like tired horses lab'ring with their loads.

But as the English from the field return,
Some of those French who when the fight began
Forsook their friends, and hoping yet to earn
Pardon, for that so cowardly they ran,
Assay the English carriages to burn,
Which to defend them scarcely had a man;

For that their keepers to the field were got,
To pick such spoils as chance should them allot.

The captains of this rascal cow'rdly rout,
Were Isambert of Agincourt, at hand;
Riflant of Clunas, a dorp thereabout;
And for the chief in this their base command
Was Robinett of Burniville, throughout
The country known all order to withstand;

These, with five hundred peasants they had
The English tents upon an instant seiz❜d. [rais'd,

For setting on those with the luggage left,
A few poor suttlers with the camp that went,
They basely fell to pillage and to theft;
And having rifled every booth and tent,
Some of the silliest they of life bereft ;
The fear of which some of the other sent
Into the army with their sudden cries,
Which put the king in fear of fresh supplies.

For that his soldiers tired in the fight,
Their pris'ners more in number than they were,
He thought it for a thing of too much weight
T' oppose fresh forces, and to guard them there.
The dauphin's pow'rs yet standing in their sight,
And Bourbon's forces of the field not clear;

Those yearning cries that from the carriage

Accursed French, and could it not suffice,
That ye but now bath'd in your native gore,
But ye must thus unfortunately rise,
To draw more plagues upon ye than before?
And 'gainst yourselves more mischief to devise
Than th' English could have? and set wide the
To utter ruin, and to make an end [door
Of that yourselves, which others would not spend?
Their utmost rage the English now had breath'd,
And their proud hearts 'gan somewhat to relent;
Their bloody swords they quietly had sheath'd,
And their strong bows already were unbent;
To easeful rest their bodies they bequeath'd,
Nor farther harm at all to you they meant;

And to that pains must ye them needsly put,
To draw their knives once more your throats
to cut?

That French who lately by the English stood,
And freely ask'd what ransom he should pay,
Who somewhat cool'd and in a calmer mood,
Agreed with him both of the sum and day,
Now finds his flesh must be the present food
For wolves and ravens, for the same that stay;
And sees his blood on th' other's sword to flow,
Ere his quick sense could apprehend the blow.
Whilst one is asking what the bus'ness is,
Hearing (in French) his countryman to cry;
He who detains him pris'ner, answers this,

Monsieur, the king commands that you must die!
This is plain English." Whilst he's killing his,
He sees another on a Frenchman fly,

And with a pole-ax dasheth out his brains,
Whilst he's demanding what the garboil means.
That tender heart, whose chance it was to have
Some one that day who did much valour show,
Who might perhaps have had him for his slave,
But equal lots had fate pleas'd to bestow;
He who his pris'ner willingly would save,
Lastly constrain'd to give the deadly blow,

That sends him down to everlasting sleep,
Turning his face, full bitterly doth weep.

Ten thousand French, that inwardly were well,
Save some light hurts that any man might heal,
Even at an instant, in a minute fell,

And their own friends their deaths to them do deal.
Yet of so many, very few could tell,
Nor could the English perfectly reveal,

The desp'rate cause of this disastrous hap,
But ev'n as thunder kill'd them with a clap,
How happy were those in the very height
Of this great battle that had bravely dy'd!
When as their boiling bosoms, in the fight,
Felt not the sharp steel thorough them to slide;
But these now in a miserable plight,
Must in cold blood this massacre abide,

Caus'd by those villains (curst alive and dead) That from the field the passed morning fled. When as the king to crown this glorious day, Now bids his soldiers, after all this toil, (No forces found that more might them dis may)

Of the dead French to take the gen'ral spoil, Whose heaps had well-near stopt up ev'ry way, For ev'n as clods they cover'd all the soil: Commanding none should any one control, Catch that catch might, but each man to his dole,

They fall to groping busily for gold,

Of which about them the slain French had store; They find as much as well their hands can hold; Who had but silver, him they counted poor. Scarfs, chains, and bracelets, were not to be told; So rich as these no soldiers were before.

Who got a ring, would scarcely put it on, Except therein there were some radiant stone. Out of rich suits the noblest French they strip, And leave their bodies naked on the ground; And each one fills his knapsack, or his scrip, With some rare thing that on the field is found: About his business he doth nimbly skip,, That had upon him many a cruel wound:

[slain,

And where they found a French not outright They him a pris'ner constantly retain. Who scarce a shirt had but the day before, Nor a whole stocking to keep out the cold, Hath a whole wardrobe at command in store, In the French fashion flaunting it in gold; And in the tavern in his cups doth roar, Chocking his crowns; and grows thereby so bold, That proudly he a captain's name assumes, In his gilt gorget with his tossing plumes. Waggons and carts are laden till they crackt, With arms and tents there taken in the field; For want of carriage, on whose tops are packt Ensigns, coat-armours, targets, spears, and shields: Nor need they convoy, fearing to be sackt, For all the country to king Henry yields;

And the poor peasant helps along to bear,
What late the goods of his proud landlord were.
A horse well-furnish'd for a present war,
For a French crown might any where be bought;
But if so be that he had any scar,

Thro' ne'er so small, he valu'd was at nought.
With spoils so sated the proud English are,
Amongst the slain that who for pillage sought,
Except some rich caparizon he found,

For a steel saddle would not stoop to ground.
And many a hundred beaten down that were,
Whose wounds were mortal, others wondrous deep.
When as the English over-pass'd they hear,
And no man left a watch on them to keep,
Into the bushes and the ditches near
Upon their weak hands and their knees do creep;

But for their hurts took air, and were undrest, They were found dead, and buried with the rest. Thus when the king saw that the coast was clear'd, And of the French who were not slain were fled, Nor in the field not any then appear'd, That had the pow'r again so make a head: This conqueror exceedingly is cheer'd, Thanking his God that he so well had sped ; And so tow'rds Calais bravely marching on, Leaveth sad France her losses to bemoan.

THE BARONS' WARS, IN THE REIGN OF King Edward II, IN SIX BOOKS.

PREFACE TO THE READER. ON THIS AUTHOR'S PUBLISHING A SECOND AND IMPROV'D EDITION OF THE BARONS' WARS, WHICH HÉ HAD BEFORE CALLED MORTIMERIADOS.

THAT at first I made choice of this subject, I have not as yet repented; for, if the Muse hath

not much abused me, it was most worthy to have found a more worthy pen than mine own. For the Barons' Wars (omitting the quality of those arms whereof I have not here to speak) were surely as well for their length in continuance, as for their manifold bloodshed, and multitude of horrid accidents, fit matter for trumpet or tragedy. Therefore as at first the dignity of the thing was the motive of the doing, so the cause of this my second greater labour was the insufficient handling of the first, which though it were more than boldness to venture on so noble a subject without leisure and competent study, either of which travail hardly affords; yet the importunity of friends made me, contrary to mine own judgment, undertake and publish it so as the world hath seen; but herein I intend not to be too exact, as if either it needed too much excuse (knowing that even as it was, it ought to have passed for better than some would suffer, who can hardly think any thing hath savour but their own, though never so unsavoury) or as if I should seem now to have exceeded myself, and failing in my hopes be kept without excuse. Grammaticasters have quarrel'd at the title of Mortimeriados, as if it had been a sin against Syntaxis to have inscribed it in the second case: But not their idle reproof hath made me now abstain from fronting it by the name of Mortimer at all, but the same better advice which hath caused me to alter the whole; and where before the stanza was of seven lines, wherein there are two couplets, as in this figure appeareth,

1. 2.

the often harmony thereof soften'd the verse more than the majesty of the subject would permit, unless they had all been geminels, or couplets. Therefore (but not without new-fashioning the whole frame) I chose Arioste's stanza, of all other the most complete and best proportioned, consisting of eight; six interwoven or alternate, and a couplet

in base.

1.

The quadrin doth never double; or, to use a word of heraldry, never bringeth forth gemells: The quinzain too soon. The sestin hath twins in the base, but they detain not the music nor the close, as musicians. term it, long enough for an epic poem. The stanza of seven is touched be. fore; this of eight both holds the tune clean through to the base of the colum, which is the couplet at the foot or bottom, and closeth not but with a full satisfaction to the ear for so long detention.

Briefly, this sort of stanza hath in it majesty, perfection, and solidity, resembling the pillar which in architecture is called the Tuscan, whose shaft is of six diameters, and base of two. The other reasons this place will not bear; but generally all stanzas are, in my opinion, but tyrants and torturers, when they make invention obey their num ber, which sometimes would otherwise scantle it.