“For nought would conserue mee here in this place.”
MS.:
“Ne nougt wold concerue me my place.”
[180] Humbly] So other eds. Kynge and Marche’s ed. “Humble.”
[181] thy] Other eds. “his.”
POETA SKELTON[182] LAUREATUS LIBELLUM SUUM METRICE ALLOQUITUR.
Ad dominum properato meum, mea pagina, Percy,
Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit;
Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis
Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.[183]
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet
Fortunam, cuncta quæ malefida rotat.
Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos;
Ad libitum, cujus ipse paratus ero.
[182] Poeta Skelton, &c.] From Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’s Workes, 1568, collated with a copy of the poem in a MS. vol now in the British Museum (MS. Reg. 18. D ii. fol. 165), which formerly belonged to the fifth Earl of Northumberland, son of the nobleman whose fate is here lamented: vide Account of Skelton, &c. This elegy was printed by Percy in his Reliques of An. Engl. Poet. (i. 95, ed. 1794), from the MS. just mentioned.
[183] cano] So MS. Not in Marshe’s ed.
SKELTON LAUREAT
VPON THE
DOULOUR[U]S DETHE AND MUCHE LAMENTABLE CHAUNCE OF THE MOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUMBERLANDE.
I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore
The dedely fate, the dolefulle desteny
Of hym that is gone, alas, without restore,
Of the bloud royall descending nobelly;
Whose lordshyp doutles was slayne lamentably
Thorow treson, again him compassed and wrought,
Trew to his prince in word, in dede, and thought.
Of heuenly poems, O Clyo, calde by name
In the colege of Musis goddes hystoriall,
Adres thé to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10
In elect vteraunce to make memoryall!
To thé for souccour, to thé for helpe I call,
Mine homely rudnes and dryghnes to expell
With the freshe waters of Elyconys well.
Of noble actes aunciently enrolde
Of famous pryncis and lordes of astate,
By thy report ar wont to be extold,
Regestringe trewly euery formare date;
Of thy bountie after the vsuall rate
Kyndell in me suche plenty of thy nobles, 20
These sorowfulle dites that I may shew expres.
In sesons past, who hath herde or sene
Of formar writyng by any presidente
That vilane hastarddis in their furious tene,
Fulfylled with malice of froward entente,
Confetered togeder of commonn[184] concente
Falsly to slee[185] theyr moste singuler good lord?
It may be regestrede of shamefull recorde.
So noble a man, so valiaunt lord and knyght,
Fulfilled with honor, as all the world[186] doth ken; 30
At his commaundement which had both day and nyght
Knyghtes and squyers, at euery season when
He calde vpon them, as meniall houshold men:
Were not[187] these commons vncurteis karlis of kind
To slo their owne lord? God was not in their mynd.
And were not they to blame, I say, also,
That were aboute him, his o[w]ne[188] seruants of trust,
To suffre him slayn of his mortall fo?
Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust;
They bode not till the reckenyng were discust: 40
What shuld I flatter? what shuld I glose or paint?
Fy, fy for shame, their hartes were to faint.
In England and Fraunce which gretly was redouted,
Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede,
To whom great estates obeyed and lowted,
A mayny of rude villayns made hym for to blede;
Unkyndly they slew him, that holp[189] them oft at nede:
He was their bulwark, their paues, and their wall,
Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befal!
I say, ye comoners, why wer ye so stark mad? 50
What frantyk frensy fyll in your brayne?
Where was your wit and reson ye should haue had?
What wilful foly made yow to ryse agayne
Your naturall lord? alas, I can not fayne:
Ye armyd you with will, and left your wit behynd;
Well may you[190] be called comones most vnkynd.
He was your chefteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,
Redy to assyst you in euery time of nede;
Your worshyp depended of his excellence:
Alas, ye mad men, to far ye did excede; 60
Your hap was vnhappy, to ill was your spede:
What moued you againe him to war or to fyght?