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And where art left, love teacheth more to find,
By signs in presence to express the mind.

Oft hath mine eye told thine eye beauty griev'd it,
And begg'd but for one look to have reliev'd it;
And still with thine eye's motion mine eye mov'd,
Lab'ring for mercy, telling how it lov'd: [mine;
You blusht, I blusht; your cheek pale, pale was
My red, thy red, my whiteness answer'd thine;
You sigh'd, I sigh'd, we both one passion prove;
But thy sigh is for hate, my sigh for love.
If a word pass'd that insufficient were,
To help that word mine eye let forth a tear;
And if that tear did dull or senseless prove,
My heart would fetch a throb to make it move.
Oft in thy face one favour from the rest
I singled forth, that pleas'd my fancy best;
This likes me most, another likes me more,
A third exceeding both those lik'd before :
Then one, as wonder were derived thence,
Than that, whose rareness passeth excellence.
Whilst I behold thy globe-like rowling eye,
Thy lovely cheek (methinks) stands smiling by,
And tells me those are shadows and supposes,
But bids me thither come and gather roses :
Looking on that, thy brow doth call to me,
To come to it, if wonders I will see :
Now have I done, and then thy dimpled chin
Again doth tell me newly I begin,
And bids me yet to look upon thy lip,
Lest wond'ring least, the great'st I over-slip :
My gazing eye on this and this doth seize,
Which surfeits, yet cannot desire appease.
Now like I brown (0 lovely brown thy hair!)
Only in brownness beauty dwelleth there.
Then love I black, thine eye-ball black as jet,
Which in a globe pure crystalline is set:
Then white; but snow, nor swan, nor ivory, please,
Then are thy teeth more whiter than all these;
In brown, in black, in pureness, and in white,
All love, all sweets, all rareness, all delight:
Thus thou, vile thief, my stol'n heart hence do'st
And now thou fly'st into a sanctuary. [carry,
Fie, peevish girl, ungrateful unto Nature !
Did she to this end frame thee such a creature,
That thou her glory should'st increase thereby,
And thou alone do'st scorn society?
Why, Heav'n made beauty like herself, to view,
Not to be lock'd up in a smokey mew:
A rosy-tincted feature is Heav'n's gold,
Which all men joy to touch, all to behold.
It was enacted, when the world begun,
That so rare beauty should not live a nun:
But if this vow thou needs wilt undertake,
O were mine arms a cloister for thy sake!
Still may his pains for ever be augmented,
This superstition idly that invented:

Ill might be thrive, who brought this custom hither,
That holy people might not live together.
A happy time, a good world was it then,
When holy women liv'd with holy men;
But kings in this yet privileg'd may be;
I'll be a monk, so I may live with thee.
Who would not rise to ring the morning's knell,
When thy sweet lips might be the sacring bell?
Or what is he, not willingly would fast,
That on those lips might feast his lips at last?
Who to his mattins early would not rise,
That might read by the light of thy fair eyes?
On worldly pleasures who would ever look,
That had thy curls his beads, thy brows his book?

Wert thou the cross, to thee who would not creep,
And wish the cross still in his arms to keep?
Sweet girl, I'll take this holy habit on me,
Of mere devotion that is come upon me:
Holy Matilda, thou the saint of mine,
I'll be thy servant, and my bed thy shrine.
When I do offer, be thy breast the altar;
And when I pray, thy mouth shall be my psalter.
The beads that we will bid, shall be sweet kisses,
Which we will number, if one pleasure misses;
And when an ave comes, to say Amen,
We will begin, and tell them o'er again:
Now, all good fortune, give me happy thrift,
As I should joy t' absolve thee after shrift.

But see how much I do myself beguile,
And do mistake thy meaning all this while!
Thou took'st this vow to equal my desire,
Because thou wouldst have me to be a friar,
And that we two should comfort one another,
A holy sister, and a holy brother:
Thon as a vot'ress to my love alone,
"She is most chaste that's but enjoy'd of one."
Yea, now thy true devotion do I find,
And sure, in this I much commend thy mind,
Else here thou do'st but ill example give,
And in a nunn'ry thus thou shouldst not live.
Is 't possible, the house that thou art in,
Should not be touch'd (though with a venial sin?)
When such a she-priest comes her mass to say,
Twenty to one they all forget to pray:
Well may we wish they would their hearts amend,
When we be witness that their eyes offend :,
All creatures have desires, or else some lie;
Let them think so that will, so will not L

Do'st thou not think our ancestors were wise,
That these religious cells did first devise,
As hospitals were for the sore and sick,
These for the crook'd, the halt, the stigmatic,
Lest that their seed, mark'd with deformity,
Should be a blemish to posterity?
Would Heav'n her beauty should be hid from sight,
Ne'er would she thus herself adorn with light,
With sparkling lamps, nor would she paint her
But she delighteth to be gaz'd upon : [throne,
And when the golden glorious Sun goes down,
Would she put on her star-bestudded crown,
And in her masking sute, the spangled sky,
Come forth to bride it in her revelry,
And gave this gift to all things in creation,
That they in this should imitate her fashion?
All things that fair, that pure, that glorious been,
Offer themselves of purpose to be seen.

In sinks and vaults the ugly toads do dwell,
The devils, since most ugly, they in Hell.
Our mother (Earth) ne'er glories in her fruit,
Till by the Sun clad in her tinsel sute;
Nor doth she ever smile him in the face,
Till in his glorious arms he her embrace:
Which proves she hath a soul, sense, and delight,
Of generation's feeling appetite.

Well, hypocrite (in faith) wouldst thou confess,
Whate'er thy tongue say, thy heart saith no less.

Note but this one thing (if nought else persuade) Nature of all things male and female made, Showing herself in our proportion plain ; For never made she any thing in vain; For as thou art, should any have been thus, She would have left ensample unto us. The turtle, that's so true and chaste in love, [move: Shows by her mate something the spirit doth

Th' Arabian bird, that never is but one,
Is only chaste, because she is alone:

But had our mother Nature made them two,
They would have done as doves and sparrows do;
And therefore made a martyr in desire,
To do her penance lastly in the fire:
So may they all be roasted quick, that be
Apostatas to Nature, as is she.

Find me but one so young, so fair, so free, (Woo'd, su'd, and sought by him that now seeks thee)

But of thy mind, and here I undertake
To build a nunn'ry for her only sake.

O, badst thou tasted of those rare delights, Ordain'd each-where to please great princes' sights!

To have their beauty and their wits admir'd,
(Which is by nature of your sex desir'd)
Attended by our trains, our pomp, our port,
Like gods ador'd abroad, kneel'd to in court,
To be saluted with the cheerful cry

Of highness, grace, and sovereign majesty:
"But unto them, that knows not pleasure's price,
All's one, a prison and a paradise."

If in a dungeon clos'd up from the light,
There is no diff'rence 'twixt the day and night;
"Whose palate never tasted dainty cates,
Thinks homely dishes princely delicates."

Alas, poor girl! I pity thine estate,
That now thus long hast liv'd disconsolate!
Why now at length yet let thy heart relent,
And call thy father back from banishment,
And with those princely honours here invest him,
Of which fond love, not hate, hath dispossest him.
Call from exile thy dear allies and friends,
To whom the fury of my grief extends ;
And if thou take my counsel in this case,
I make no doubt thou shalt have better grace:
And leave thy Dunmow, that accursed cell,
There let black night and melancholy dwell;
Come to the court, where all joys shall receive
thee,

And till that hour, yet with my grief, I leave thee.

ANNOTATIONS OF THE CHRONICLE HISTORY.

This epistle of king John to Matilda is much more poetical than historical, making no mention

at all of the occurrents of the time or state, touch

ing only his love to her, and the extremity of his passion, forced by his desires, rightly fashioning the humour of this king, as hath been truly noted by the most authentical writers, whose nature and disposition is truliest discerned in the course of his love: first, jesting at the ceremonies of the services of those times: then going about, by all strong and probable arguments, to reduce her to pleasures and delights: next with promises of honour, which he thinketh to be the last and greatest means, and to have greatest power on her sex, with a promise of calling home her friends, which he thought might be a great inducement to bis desires.

MATILDA TO KING JOHN. No sooner I receiv'd thy letters here, Before I knew from whom, or whence they were, But sudden fear my bloodless veins doth fill, As though divining of some future ill;

And in a shiv'ring ecstasy I stood,

A chilly coldness ran through all my blood!
Opening the packet, I shut up iny rest,
And let strange cares into my quiet breast,
As though thy hard unpitying hand had sent me
Some new-devised torture to torment me.
Well had I hop'd I had been now forgot,
Cast out with those things thou rememb’rest not;
And that proud beauty, which enforc'd me hither,
Had with my name been perished together:
"But O! (I see) our hoped good deceives us ;
But what we would forego, that seldom leaves us."
Thy blameful lines, bespotted so with sin,
Mine eye would cleanse, ere they to read begin >
But I to wash an Indian go about,

For ill so hard set on is hard got out.

I once determin'd still to have been mute,
Only by silence to refel thy suit;
But this again did alter my intent,
For some will say, that silence doth consent
"Desire with small encouraging grows bold,
And hope of every little thing takes hold."

I set me down, at large to write my mind,
But now, nor pen nor paper can I find;
For still my passion is so pow'rful o'er me,
That I discern not things that stand before me :
Finding the pen, the paper, and the wax,
These at command, and now invention lacks :
This sentence serves, and that my hand out-strikes;
That pleaseth well, and this as much mislikes.
I write, indite, I point, I rase, I quote,

I interline, I blot, correct, I note:

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I hope, despair, take courage, faint, disdain,
I make, allege, I imitate, I fain:
Now thus it must be, and now thus, and thus,
Bold, shame-fac'd, fearless, doubtful, timorous a
My faint hand-writing when my full eye reads,
From ev'ry word strange passion still proceeds.
O, when the soul is fett'red once in woe,
"Tis strange what humours it doth force us to!"
A tear doth drown a tear, sigh sigh doth smother,
This binders that, that interrupts the other:
Th' over-watch'd weakness of the sick conceit
Is that which makes small beauty seem so great;
Like things which hid in troubled waters lie,
Which crook'd, seem straight, if straight, the
And thus our vain imagination shows it, [contrary:
As it conceives it, not as judgment knows it.
(As in a mirrour, if the same be true,
Such as your likeness, justly such are you:
But as you change yourself, it changeth there,
And shows you as you are, not as you were:
And with your motion doth your shadow move,
If frown or smile, such the conceit of love.)
A form in all deformity should find?
Why tell me, is it possible the mind
Within the compass of man's face, we see,
How many sorts of several favours be;
And in the chin, the nose, the brow, the eye,
The smallest diff'rence that you can descry,
Alters proportion, altereth the grace,
Nay, oft destroys the favour of the face:
And in the world scarce two so like there are,
One with the other which if you compare,
But being set before you both together,
A judging sight doth soon distinguish either.
How woman-like a weakness is it then?
O, what strange madness so possesseth men!
Bereft of sense, such senseless wonders seeing,
Without form, fashion, certainty, or being?

For which so many die to live in anguish,
Yet cannot live, if thus they should not languish :
That comfort yields not, and yet hope denies not,
A life that lives not, and a death that dies not;
That hates us most, when most it speaks us fair,
Doth promise all things, always pays with air:
Yet sometime doth our greatest grief appease,
To double sorrow after little ease.

Like that which thy lascivious will doth crave,
Which, if once had, thou never more canst have;
Which if thou get, in getting thou do'st waste it,
Taken is lost, and perish'd if thou hast it:
Which if thou gain'st, thou ne'er the more hast
I losing nothing, yet am quite undone; [won,
And yet of that if that a king deprave me,
No king restores, though he a kingdom gave me.
() Do'st thou of father and of friends deprive me?
And tak'st thou from me all that Heav'n did give
me;

What nature claims by blood, allies, or nearness,
Or friendship challenge by regard or dearness,
Mak'st me an orphan ere my father die,
A woful widow in virginity?

Is thy unbridled lust the cause of all?
And now thy flatt'ring tongue bewails my fall.
The dead man's grave with feigned tears to fill,
So the devouring crocodile doth kill:

To harbour hate in show of wholesome things,
So in the rose the poison'd serpent stings:
To lurk far off, yet lodge destruction by,
The basilisk so poisons with the eye:
To call for aid, and then to lie in wait,
So the hyæna murthers by deceit :
By sweet enticement sudden death to bring,
So from the rocks th' alluring mermaids sing:
In greatest wants t' inflict the greatest woe,
Is ev'n the utmost tyranny can do.

But where (I see) the tempest thus prevails,
What use of anchors? or what need we sails?
Above us, blust'ring winds and dreadful thunder,
The waters gape for our destruction under ;
Here on this side the furious billows fly,
There rocks, there sands, and dang'rous whirl-pools
lie.

Is this the mean that mightiness approves ?
And in this sort do princes woo their loves?
Mildness would better suit with majesty,
Than rash revenge and rough severity.
O, in what safety temperance doth rest,
Obtaining harbour in a sovereign breast!
Which if so praiseful in the meanest men,
In pow'rful kings how glorious is it then?

(2) Fled I first hither, hoping to have aid,
Here thus to have mine innocence betray'd?
Is court and country both her enemy,
And no place found to shrowd in chastity?
Fach house for lust a harbour and an inn,
And ev'ry city a receipt for sin?
And all do pity beauty in distress;
If beauty chaste, then only pitiless.
Thus is she made the instrument to ill,
And unreliev'd may wander where she will.
Lascivious poets, which abuse the truth,
Which oft teach age to sin, infecting youth;
For the unchaste make trees and stones to mourn,
Or, as they please, to other shapes do turn.
Cinyra's daughter, whose incestuous mind
Made her wrong nature, and dishonour kind,
Long since by them is turn'd into a myrrh,
Whose dropping liquor ever weeps for her:

And in a fountain Biblis doth deplore

Her fault, so vile and monsterous before:
Scylla, which once her father did betray,
Is now a bird (if all be true they say :)
She that with Phoebus did the foul offence,
Now metamorphos'd into frankincense:
Other to flowers, to odours, and to gum,
At least, Jove's leman is a star become :
And more, they feign a thousand fond excuses,
To cloud their 'scapes, and cover their abuses &
The virgin only they obscure and hide,
Whilst the unchaste by them are deify'd;
And if by them a virgin be exprest,
She must be rank'd ignobly with the rest.

I am not now, as when thou saw'st me last, Time hath those features ntterly defac'd, And all those beauties which sate on my brow, Thou wouldst not think such ever had been now: And glad I am that time with me is done, () Vowing myself religiously a nun: My vestal habit me contenting more, Than all the robes adorning me before.

Had Rosamond (a recluse of our sort) Taken our cloister, left the wanton court Shadowing that beauty with a holy vail, Which she (alas) too loosely set to sale, She need not, like an ugly minotaur, Have been lock'd up from jealous Ele'nor, But been as famous by thy mother's wrongs, As by thy father subject to all tongues. "To shadow sin, might can the most pretend; Kings, but the conscience, all things can defend." A stronger hand restrains our wilful pow'rs, A will must rule above this will of ours; Not following what our vain desires do woo, For virtue's sake, but what we only do.

And hath my father chose to live exil'd,
Before his eyes should see my youth defil'd!
(*) And, to withstand a tyrant's lewd desire,
Beheld his towns spent in revengeful fire,
Yet never touch'd with grief: so only I,
Exempt from shame, might honourably die?
And shall this jewel, which so dearly cost,
Be, after all, by my dishonour lost?
No, no! each rev'rend word, each holy tear,
Of his, in me too deep impression bear;
His latest farewell, at his last depart,
More deeply is engraved in my heart;
Nor shall that blot by me his name shall have,
Bring his gray hairs with sorrow to the grave:
Better his tears to fall upon my tomb,
Than for my birth to curse my mother's womb.
(") Though Dunmow give no refuge here at all,.
Dunmow can give my body burial.

If all remorseless, no tear-shedding eye,
Myself will moan myself, so live, so die.

ANNOTATIONS OF THE CHRONICLE HISTORY.

This epistle containeth no particular points of history, more than the generality of the argument layeth open for after the banishment of the lord Robert Fitzwater, and that Matilda was become a recluse at Dunmow, (from whence this reply is imagined to be written) the king still earnestly persisting in his suit, Matilda, with this chaste and constant denial, hopes yet at length to find some comfortable remedy, and to rid herself of doubts by taking upon her this monastic habit; and to show that she still beareth in mind his former cruelty, bred by the impatience of his lust,

she remembereth him of her father's banishment, | And shall be happy in the birth of men, and the lawless exile of her allies and friends.

(1) Dost thou of father and of friends deprive me? Then complaining of her distress, that flying thither, thinking there to find relief, she seeth herself most assaulted, where she hoped to have found most safety.

(2) Fled I first hither, hoping to have aid, Here thus, &c.

After again standing upon the precise points of conscience, not to cast off this habit she had

taken.

() Vowing myself religiously a nun.

And at last, laying open more particularly the miseries sustained by her father in England, the burning of his castles and houses, which she proveth to be for her sake; as respecting only her bonour more than his native country, and his

own fortunes:

(*) And to withstand a tyrant's lewd desires, Beheld his towns spent in revengeful fires. Knitting up her epistle with a great and constant resolution:

Which was chief lord of the ascendant then.
(1) O how I fear'd that sleepy juice I sent
Might yet want pow'r to further thine intent!
Or that some unseen mystery might lurk,
Which, wanting order, kindly should not work!
Oft did I wish those dreadful pois'ned lees,
Which clos'd the ever waking dragon's eyes;
Or I had had those sense-bereaving stalks,
That grow in shady Proserpine's dark walks;
Or those black weeds on Lethe banks below,
Or lunary, that doth on Latmus flow.
Oft did I fear this moist and foggy clime,
Or that the earth, wax'd barren now with time,
Should not have herbs to help me in this case,
Such as do thrive on India's parched face.

That morrow when the blessed Sun did rise,
And shut the lids of all Heaven's lesser eyes,
Forth from my palace, by a secret stair,
(2) I stole to Thames, as though to take the air;
And ask'd the gentle flood, as it doth glide,
If thou didst pass or perish by the tide ?
If thou didst perish, I desire the stream
To lay thee softly on his silver team,
And bring thee to me to the quiet shore,
That with his tears thou might'st have some tears
When suddenly doth rise a rougher gale, [more.

(*) Though Dunmow give no refuge here at all, With that (methinks) the troubled waves look pale, Dunmow can give my body burial.

QUEEN ISABEL TO MORTIMER.

THE ARGUMENT,

Fair Isabel (Edward the second's queen,
Philip of France's daughter) for the spleen
She bare her husband, for that he affected
Lascivious minions, and her love neglected,
Drew to her favour (striving to prefer)
That valiant young lord Roger Mortimer,
Who with the barons rose, but wanting pow'r,
Was taken and imprison'd in the Tow'r;
But by a sleepy drink 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.

THO' such sweet comfort comes not now from her,
As England's queen hath sent to Mortimer:
Yet what that wants (may it my pow'r approve,
If lines can bring) this shall supply with love.
Methinks affliction should not fright me so,
Nor should resume those sundry shapes of woe;
But when I fain would find the cause of this,
Thy absence shows me where my errour is.
Oft when I think of thy departing hence,
Sad sorrow then possesseth ev'ry sense:
But finding thy dear blood preserv'd thereby,
And in thy life my long-wish'd liberty,
With that sweet thought myself I only please
Amidst my grief, which sometimes gives me ease:
Thus do extremest ills a joy possess,
And one woe makes another woe seem less.

That blessed night, that mild-aspected hour,
Wherein thou mad'st escape out of the Tow'r,
Shall consecrated evermore remain;
Some gentle planet in that hour did reign,

And sighing with that little gust that blows,
With this remembrance seem to knit their brows.
Even as this sudden passion doth affright me,
The cheerful Sun breaks from a cloud to light me;
Then doth the bottom evident appear,

As it would show me that thou wast not there:
When as the water flowing where I stand,
Doth seem to tell me, thou art safe on land.
(') Did Bulloin once a festival prepare
For England, Almain, Sicil, and Navarre?
When France envy'd those buildings (only blest)
Grac'd with the orgies of my bridal feast,
That English Edward should refuse my bed,
For that lascivious, shameless Ganymede ?
(*) And in my place, upon his regal throne,
To set that girl-boy, wanton Gaveston?
Betwixt the feature of my face and his,
My glass assures me no such diff'rence is,
(") That a foul witch's bastard should thereby
Be thought more worthy of his love than I.
What doth avail us to be princes' heirs,
When we can boast, our birth is only theirs?
When base dissembling flatt'rers shall deceive us
Of all that our great ancestors did leave us;
(") And of our princely jewels, and our dow'rs,
Let us enjoy the least of what is ours? [crowns,
When minions' heads must wear our monarchs
To raise up dunghills with our famous towns?
Those beggars-brats, wrapt in our rich perfumes,
Their buzzard wings imp'd with our eagles plumes,
(7) And match'd with the brave issue of our blood,
Ally the kingdom to their cravand brood.

[hand

Did Longshanks purchase with his conqu'ring (*) Albania, Gascoine, Cambria, Ireland, That young Carnarvon (his unhappy son) (2) Should give away all that his father won, To back a stranger, proudly bearing down The brave allies and branches of the crown? (10) And did great Edward on his death bed give This charge to them which afterwards should live, That that proud Gascoin, banished the land, No more should tread upon the English sand?

And have these great lords in the quarrel stood,
And seal'd his last will with their dearest blood?
(") That after all this fearful massacre,
The fall of Beauchamp, Lacy, Lancaster,
Another faithless fav'rite should arise,
To cloud the Sun of our nobilities?
(12) And glory'd I in Gaveston's great fall,
That now a Spenser should succeed in all?
And that his ashes should another breed,
Which in his place and empire should succeed?
That wanting one a kingdom's wealth to spend,
Of what that left this now shali make an end?
To waste all that our father won before,
Nor leave our son a sword to conquer more?
Thus, but in vain, we fondly do resist,
"Where pow'r can do (ev'n) all things as it list,
And of our right with tyrants to debate,
Lendeth them means to weaken our estate."
Whilst parliaments must remedy their wrongs,
And we must wait for what to us belongs;
Our wealth but fuel to their fond excess,
And all our fasts must feast their wantonness.

Think'st thou our wrongs then insufficient are
To move our brother to religious war?
(13) And if they were, yet Edward doth detain,
Homage for Poictou, Guien, and Aquitain:
And if not that, yet hath he broke the truce;
Thus all occur to put back all excuse.
The sister's wrong, join'd with the brother's right,
Methinks might urge him in this cause to fight,
Be all those people senseless of our harms,
Which for our country oft have manag'd arms?
Is the brave Normans courage quite forgot?
Have the bold Britons lost the use of shot?
The big-bon'd Almans, and stout Brabanders,
Their warlike pikes and sharp-edg'd scymeters?
Or do the Picards let their cross-bows lie,
Once like the Centaurs of old Thessaly?
Or if a valiant leader be their lack,
Where thou art present, who shall beat them back?
I do conjure thee by what is most dear,
By that great name of famous Mortimer,
(14) By ancient Wigmore's honourable crest,
The tombs where all thy famous grandsires rest,
Or if than these what more may thee approve,
Ev'n by those vows of thy unfeigned love;
In all thou can'st to stir the Christian king,
By foreign arms some comfort yet to bring,
To curb the pow'r of traitors that rebel
Against the right of princely Isabel.
Vain witless woman! why should I desire
To add more heat to thy immortal fire?
To urge thee by the violence of hate,
To shake the pillars of thine own estate,
When whatsoever we intend to do,
Our most misfortune ever sorteth to;
And nothing else remains for us beside,
But tears and coffins (only) to provide?
(When still so long as Borough bears that name,
Time shall not blot out our deserved shame:
And whilst clear Trent her wonted course shall
For our sad fall she evermore shall weep.
All see our ruin on our backs is thrown,
And we too weak to bear it out are grown.
(*) Torlton, that should our business direct,
The gen'ral foe doth vehemently suspect:
"For dangerous things get hardly to their end,
Whereon so many watchfully attend."
What should I say? My griefs do still renew,
And but begin when I should bid adieu.

VOL IV.

[keep,

Few be my words, but manifold my woe,
And still I stay the more I strive to go.
Then till fair time some greater good affords,
Take my love's payment in these airy words.

ANNOTATIONS OF THE CHRONICLE HISTORY.

(1) O, how I fear'd that sleepy juice I sent, Might yet want pow'r to further mine intent! Mortimer being in the Tower, and ordaining a feast in honour of his birth-day, as he pretended, and inviting thereunto sir Stephen Segrave, con-' stable of the Tower, with the rest of the officers/ belonging to the same, he gave them a sleepy drink, provided him by the queen, by which means he got liberty for his escape.

(2) I stole to Thames, as though to take the air, And ask'd the gentle flood as it doth glide.

Mortimer being out of the Tower, swam the river of Thames into Kent, whereof she having intelligence, doubteth of his strength to escape, by reason of his long imprisonment, being almost the space of three years.

(3) Did Bulloin once a festival prepare

For England, Almain, Sicil, and Navarre?, of the English blood, married Isabel, daughter of Edward Carnarvon, the first prince of Wales, Philip the Fair, at Bulloin, in the presence of the kings of Almain, Navarre and Sicil, with the chief nobility of France and England: which marriage was there solemnized with exceeding pomp and magnificence.

(*) And in my place, upon his regal throne, To set that girl-boy, wanton Gaveston. Noting the effeminacy and luxurious wantonand attire ever so womanlike, to please the ness of Gaveston, the king's minion, his behaviour his lascivious master.

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(3) That a foul witch's bastard should thereby. It was urged by the queen and the nobility, in the disgrace of Pierce Gaveston, that his mother was convicted of witchcraft, and burned for the same, and that Pierce had bewitched the king.

(") And of our princely jewels and our dow'rs, Let us enjoy the least of what is ours.

A complaint of the prodigality of king Edward; giving unto Gaveston the jewels and treasure which were left him by the ancient kings of England, and enriching him with the goodly manor of Wallingford, assigned as parcel of the dower to the queens of this famous isle.

(') And match'd with the brave issue of our blood, Ally the kingdom to their cravand brood.

Edward II. gave to Pierce Gaveston in marriage the daughter of Gilbert Clare, earl of Gloucester, begot of the king's sister Joan of Acres, married to the said earl of Gloucester.

(*) Albania, Gascoin; Cambria, Ireland. Albania, Scotland, so called of Albanact, the second son of Brutus; and Cambria, Wales, so called of Camber, the third son. The four realms and countries brought in subjection by Edward Longshanks.

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