O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous tewisday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!

115

O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame, Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the same Most noble erle! O foule mysuryd ground, Whereon he gat his finall dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii

Goddes most cruel unto the lyfe of man,

All merciles, in thé is no pite!

120

O homicide, which sleest all that thou can,
So forcibly upon this erle thou ran,

That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede,
Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!

125

My wordes unpullysht be, nakide and playne,
Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;
But by them to knowlege ye may attayne

Of this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge;
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of every thing,

130

Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne,
Tyll fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne:
Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare,
Surmountinge in honor all eryls he did excede;
To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare;
Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede,
Valiant as Hector in every marciall nede,
Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse,

Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse.

135

What nedeth me for to extoll his fame

141

With my rude pen enkankered all with rust?

Whose noble actes show worshiply his name,

Transendyng far myne homly Muse, that muste Yet somwhat wright supprised with herty lust, Truly reportyng his right noble estate, Immortally whiche is immaculate?

145

His noble blode never destaynyd was,

Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas,

150

Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght,
With truth to medle was al his holl delyght,
As all his countrey can testyfy the same:
To sle suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame.
If the hole quere of the Musis nyne

In me all onely wer set and comprised,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence devyne,
As perfytly as could be thought or devisyd;
To me also allthough it were promised
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,
All were to lytell for his magnificence.
O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age,

Grow and encrese, remembre thyne estate;
God thé assyst unto thyn herytage,

And geve thé grace to be more fortunate! Agayn rebellyones arme thé to make debate; And, as the lyone, whiche is of bestes kynge, Unto thy subjectes be curteis and benygne.

I

pray God sende thé prosperous lyfe and long, Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast, Ryght to mayntayn, and to resyst all wronge : All flateryng faytors abhor and from the cast;

155

160

165

170

Of foule detraction God kepe thé from the blast!

Let double delyng in thé have no place,

And be not lyght of credence in no case.

175

With hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,
Eche man may sorow in his inward thought

This lordes death, whose pere is hard to fynd,
Allgif Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.
Al kynges, all princes, al dukes, well they ought,
Both temporall and spiritual, for to complayne
This noble man, that crewelly was slayne:

180

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,
And al other gentilmen with him enterteyned

185

In fee, as menyall men of his housold,
Whom he as lord worshyply mainteyned;

To sorowful weping they ought to be constreined,

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

O perlese Prince of heven emperyall!

190

That with one word formed al thing of noughte; Heven, hell, and erthe obey unto thy call;

Which to thy resemblaunce wondersly hast wrought All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast bought, With thy bloud precious our finaunce thou did pay, And us redemed from the fendys pray ;

195

To thé pray we, as Prince imcomparable,
As thou art of mercy and pyte the well,

Thou bring unto thy joye eterminable

The soull of this lorde from all daunger of hell,
In endles blys with thé to byde and dwell

200

In thy palace above the orient,

Where thou art Lord, and God omnipotent.

quene of mercy, O lady full of grace, Mayden most pure, and Goddes moder dere, To sorowful hartes chef comfort and solace, Of all women O flowre withouten pere! Pray to thy Son above the sterris clere,

205

He to vouchesaf, by thy mediacion,

To pardon thy servaunt and brynge to salvacion.

210

In joy triumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,

With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,

His soull mot receyve into theyr company

Thorow bounty of Hym that formed all solace:
Wel of pite, of mercy, and of grace,

215

The Father, the Sonn, and the Holy Ghost,
In Trinitate one God of myghtes moste!

*** 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.1

The reader has here a specimen of the descriptive powers of Stephen Hawes, a celebrated poet in the reign of Henry VII., though now little known. It is extracted from an allegorical poem of his (written in 1505) intitled, "The History 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 History above mentioned. "How Fame departed from Graunde Amoure 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 sawe 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

Made of fine copper, with turrettes fayre and hye,

The royall tower of MORALL DOCUMENT,

Which against Phebus shone so marveylously;

What of the tower and of the cleare sunne,

I coulde nothyng beholde the goodlines

That for the very perfect bryghtnes,

5

10

Of that palaice whereas Doctrine did wonne;
Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne,
The radiant bryghtnes 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

15

Of the craggy rocke, whiche quadrant did appeare;
But the fayre tower so much of ryches
Was all about sexangled doubtles,

20

Gargeyld with greyhoundes and with many lyons,
Made of fyne golde, with divers sundry dragons.

2

This poem has received some few corrections by comparison with The Pastime of Pleasure as put forth by the Percy Society in 1845.-Editor. 2 Greyhounds, lions, dragons, were at that time the royal supporters.

The little turretts' with ymages of golde

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

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

The toure was great, of marvelous wydnes,

25

To whyche there was no way to passe but one, Into the toure for to have an intres;

30

A grece there was, ychesyled all of stone Out of the rocke, on whiche men dyd gone Up to the toure; and in lykewise dyd I, Wyth bothe the grayhoundes in my company: Tyll that I came to a ryall gate,

3

Where I sawe stondynge the goodly portres,
Whiche axed me from whence I came a-late?
To whome I gan in every thynge expresse
All myne adventure, chaunce, and busynesse,
And eke my name I tolde her
every dell.
When she herde this, she lyked me ryght well.
Her name, she sayd, was called COUNTENAUNCE:
Into the 'base' courte she dyd me then lede,
Where was a fountayne depured of pleasance,
A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hede,
Made of fyne golde enameled with reed,
And on the toppe foure dragons blewe, and stoute
Thys dulcet water in foure partyes dyd spout.

4

Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght clere,
Sweter than Nylus or Ganges was theyr odoure,
Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere.

I dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure,
Fragraunt of fume, swete as any floure,
And in my mouthe it had a marveylous cent
Of divers spyces; I knewe not what it ment.

Ver. 25, towers. P.C.

V. 44, besy courte. P.C. 3 This alludes to a former part of the poem.

V. 49, partyes. P.C.

4 Nysus. P.C.

35

40

45

50

55