110

Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,
The myghty lyoun* doutted by se and lande!
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande!
What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne,
From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne?

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy name, When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar! 115 O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame, Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same! Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd grounde Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,

Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,
All merciles, in the ys no pitè !

O homycide, whiche sleest all that thou kan,
So forcibly upon this erle thow ran,

That with thy sworde enharpid of mortall drede,
Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!

My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne,
Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;
Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne

Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge.
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of every thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune,
Tyl fykkill fortune began on hym to frowne.

120

125

130

135

Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght compare,
Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede,
To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte me I dare.
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede,
Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede,
Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse,
Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.

*Alluding to his crest and supporters,

tracted for "redoubted."

139

"Doutted" is con

What nedethe mé for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?
Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,

Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must
Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,
Truly reportinge his right noble astate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate.

His noble blode never disteynyd was,
Trew to his prince for to defende his right,
Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas,
Treytory and treson he bannesht out of syght,
With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght,
As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same:
To slo suche a lord, alas, it was grete shame!

If the hole quere of the musis nyne

In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne,
As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd;
To me also allthouche it were promysyde
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,
All were to litill for his magnyficence.

O, yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,
Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate,
God the assyst unto thyn herytage,

And geve the grace to be more fortunate,
Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate.
And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge,
Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne.

I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long,
Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast,
Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge :
All flattringe faytors abhor and from the cast,
Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast:
Let double delinge in the have no place,
And be not light of credence in no case.

Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,
Eche man may sorow in his inward thought,
Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd

Allgyf Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught. Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought, 180 Bothe temporall and spirituall for to complayne This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,
And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd
In fee, as menyall men of his housold,

Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd:

To sorowfull weping they ought to be constreynd,

As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,
Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.

O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle,

That with one worde formed al thing of noughte; Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall;

185

190

Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast wrought All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght, With thy blode precious our finaunce thou dyd pay, And us redemed, from the fendys pray :

To the pray we, as prince incomperable,
As thou art of mercy and pite the well,
Thou bringe unto thy joye etermynable

195

The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell, 200 In endles blis with the to byde and dwell

In thy palace above the orient,

Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.

O quene of mercy! O lady full of grace!
Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere!
To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace,
Of all women O floure withouten pere !
Pray to thy son above the starris clere,
He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion.

205

210

In joy triumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,

With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,
His soule mot receyve into ther company

Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all solace :
Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace,

The father, the son, and the holy goste
In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.

215

t+t I have placed the foregoing poem of Skelton's before the following extract from Hawes, not only because it was written first, but because I think Skelton is in general to be considered as the earlier poet; many of his poems being written long before Hawes's "Graunde Amour."

X.

THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.

THE reader has here a specimen of the descriptive powers of Stephen Hawes, a celebrated poet in the reign of Hen. VII. tho' now little known. It is extracted from an allegorical poem of his (written in 1505,) intitled, "The Hist. of Graunde Amoure and La Belle Pucel, called the Palace of Pleasure," &c. 4to. 1555. See more of Hawes in Ath. Ox. v. i. p. 6. and Warton's Observ. v. ii. p. 105. He was also author of a book, intitled, "The Temple of Glass. Wrote by Stephen Hawes, gentleman of the bedchamber to K. Henry VII." Pr. for Caxton, 4to. no date.

The following Stanzas are taken from Chap. iii. and iv. of the Hist. above mentioned. "How Fame departed from Graunde Amour and left him with Governaunce and Grace, and howe he went to the Tower of Doctrine," &c.—As we are able to give no small lyric piece of Hawes's, the reader will excuse the insertion of this extract.

I LOKED about and saw a craggy roche,

Farre in the west, neare to the element, And as I dyd then unto it approche,

Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent

The royal tower of MORALL DOCUMENT,

Made of fine copper with turrettes fayre and hye,
Which against Phebus shone soe marveylously,

That for the very perfect bryghtnes

What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne,
I could nothyng behold the goodlines

Of that palaice, whereas Doctrine did wonne :
Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne,
The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus
Auster gan cover with clowde tenebrus.

Then to the tower I drewe nere and nere,
And often mused of the great hyghnes
Of the craggy rocke, which quadrant did appeare :*
But the fayre tower, (so much of ryches
Was all about,) sexangled doubtles;

Gargeyld with grayhoundes, and with many lyons,
Made of fyne golde; with divers sundry dragons.*

The little turrets with ymages of golde

About was set, whiche with the wynde aye moved With propre vices, that I did well beholde

About the tower, in sundry wyse they hoved With goodly pypes, in their mouthes ituned, That with the wynd they pyped a daunce Iclipped Amour de la hault plesaunce.

5

10

15

20

25

The toure was great of marveylous wydnes,
To whyche ther was no way to passe but one,

30

Into the toure for to have an intres:

A grece there was ychesyld all of stone
Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone

Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I

Wyth bothe the Grayhoundes in my company : +

35

* Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the royal supporters.

+ This alludes to a former part of the Poem.

V. 25, towers, PC.