pure Uirgins bed Behold I am conceau'd with childe To which vile folly you me led for now this déed that I haue wrought Throughout this country well is knowne And to my woâ—ull parents brought Whom now for me do make great mone How shall I looke them in the sace When they my shamelesse selfe shall sée Oh cuâ—sed Eue I séele thy case When thou hadst tasted on the trée Thou hidst thy selfe and so must I But God thy trespasse quickly found The darke may hide me from mans eye But leaue my shame still to abound Wide open are mine eyes to looke Upon my séed and heauy sinne And quite vnclasped is the booke Where my accounts are written in This sinne of mine deserueth death Be Iudge Lord Wigmoore I am shée For I haue tread a strumpets path And for the same I néeds must dye Bespotted with reproachfull shame To ages following shall I bee And in records be writ my blame Lord Wigmoore this is long of thée Lord Wigmoore prostrate at thy féete I craue my iust deserued doome That death may cut off from the roote This body blossom branch and bloome Let modesty accuse this crime Let loue and law and nature speake Was euer any wretch yet seene That in one instant all did breake Then Wigmoore Iustice on me shew That thus consented to this act Giue me my death for death is due To such as sinnes in such a fact Oh that the wombe had beene my graue Or I had perisht in my birth Or that same day may darknesse haue Wherein â— first drew vitall breath Let God regard it not at all Let not the sunne vpon it shine Let misty darknesse on it fall For to make knowne this sinne of mine The night wherein I was conceau'd Let be accurst with mournefull cryes Let twinckling starres from skyes bereau'd And clowds of darkenesse thereon rise Because they shot not vp the powers That gaue the passage to my life Come sorrow finish vp mine howers And let my time here end in griefe And hauing made this wofull moane A knife she snatched from her side Where Lucresse part was rightly showne For with the same fayre Isabell dyed Hereat Lord Wigmoore greeued sore In heart repenting his amisse And after would attempt no more To crop the flowers of Maidens blisse But liued long in wofull wise Till death did finish vp his dayes And now in Isabels graue he lyes Till iudgment comes-them both to raise A Song of Sir Richard Whittington who by strange fortunes came to bee thrice Lord Maior of London with his bountifull guifts and liberallity giuen to this honorable Citty To the tune of dainty come thou to me HEre must I tell the praise of worthy Whittington Knowne to be in his dayes thrice Maior of London But of poore parentage borne was he as we heare And in his tender age bred vp in Lancashire Poorely to London than came vp this simple lad Where with a Marchant man soone he a dwelling had And in a Kitchin plast a scullion for to be Wheras long time he past in labour drudgingly His daily seruice was turning spitts at the fire And to scoure pots of brasse for a poore Scullions hire Meat and drinke all his pay of coyne he had no store Therefore to run away in secret thought he bore So from this marchant man Whittington secretly Towards his Contry ran to purchase liberty But as he went along in a faire summer morne London bells swéetly rung Whittington back returne Euermore sounding so turne againe Whittington For thou in time shalt grow Lord Maior of London Wherevpon back againe VVhittington came with spéed A prentise to remaine as the Lord had decréed Still blessed be the bells this was his daily song They my good fortune tells most swéetly haue they rung If God so fauour me I will not prooue vnkind London my loue shall sée and my great bounties find But sée his happy chance this Scullion had a Cat Which did his state aduance and by it wealth he gat His maister ventred sorth to a land far vnknowne With Marchandize of worth as is in stories showne VVhittington had no more but his poore Cat as than Which to the ship he bore like a braue Marchant â—â—n Uentring the same quoth he I may get store of gold And Maior of London be as the bells haue me told Whittingtons Marchandire carried was to a land Troubled with Rats and Mice as they did vnderstand The King of that Contry there as he at dinner sat Daily remain'd in feare of many a Mouse and Rat. Meat that on trenchers lay no way they could keepe safe But by Rats borne away fearing no wand nor staffe Wherevpon soone they brought Whittingtons nimble Cat Which by the King was bought heapes of gold giuen for that Home againe came these men with their ship loaden so Whittingtons wealth began by this cat thus to grow Seullions life he forsooke to be a Marchant good And soone began to looke how well his credit stood After this he was chose Shriefe of this citty héere And then full quickly rose higher as did appeare For to this Citties praise Sir Richard Whittington Came to be in his dayes thrise Maior of London More his fame to aduance thousands he lent his King To maintaine warres in France Glory from thence to bring And after at a feast that he the King did make Burnd the bands all in ieast and would no money take Ten thousand pound he gaue to his Prince willingly And would not one penny haue thus in kind curtesie God did thus make him great So would he daily sée poore people sed with meat Prisoners poore cherisht were widdowes swéet comfort found Good déedes both far and néere of hun do still resound Whittington Colledge is one of his charities Records reporteth this to lasting memories New gate he builded faire for prisoners to liue in Christ Church he did repaire Christian loue for to win Many more such like déedes was done by VVittington Which Ioy and Comfort bréedes to such as lookes thereon Lancashire thou hast bred this flower of Charity Theâ—â—ah he be gâ—n and dead yet liues he lastingly Those bells that cald him so turne againe Whittington Call you bach many mee to liue so in London The life and death of the great Duke of Buckingham who came to an vntimely end for consenting to the deposing of the two gallant young princes King Edward the fourths Children To the tune of Shores wife A Tale of griefe I must vnfold a tale that neuer yet was told A tale that might to pitty mooue the spirits below and Saints aboue When warres did plague this maiden land great Buckingham in grace did stand With Kings and Quéenes he ruled so when he said I none durst say no. Great Glosters Duke that washe the thrâ—ane with blood of Kings to makâ— his owne By Henry Staffords help obtaind what reason wild to be refraind If any noble of this land against great
A CROVVNE GARLAND OF GOVLDEN ROSES Gathered out of Englands royall garden Being the liues and strange fortunes of many great personages of this Land Set forth in many pleasant new songs and sonetts neuer before imprinted By Richard Iohnson AT LONDON Printed by G. Eld for Iohn Wright and are to be sold at his shop at Christ Church gate 1612 A PRINCELY SONG made of the Red Rose and together by king Henry the seauenth and Elizabeth Plantaginet daughter to Edward the fourth from whom our now Soueraigne Lord King Iames linnially descended To the tune of when Flying fame WHen Yorke and Lankaster made war within this famous land The liues of Englands royall péeres did in much danger stand Seauen English Kings in bloody feelds for Englands crowne did fight In which their heires were all but twaine of liues bereaued quight Then thirty thousand Englishmen were in one battle slaine Yet could not all this English blood a setled peace obtaine For fathers kind their déere sonnes killd and sonnes their fathers slew Yea kindreds fought against their kind and not each others knew At last by Henries lawfull claime this wasting warre had end For Englands peace he soone restord and did the same defend For Tyrant Richard namd the third chiefe bréeder of this woe By him was slaine neare Leaster towne as cronicles doc show All feares of warre he thus exild which ioyd each Englishman And daies of long desired peace within the land began He ruld his Kingdome by true loue to theire his subiects liues For euery one had dayly ioy and comfort of their wines King Henry had such princely care our further peace to frame Tooke faire Elizabeth to wife that gallant Yorkest dame Fourth Edwards daughter blest of God to scape King Richards spight Was thus made Englands peareles Quéene and Henries hearts delight Thus Henry first of Tudors name and last of Lankaster With Yorkes right heire a true-loues knot did linke and tie full fast Renowned Yorke the White Rose gaue braue Lankaster the Red By wedlocke here conioynd to grow both in one princely bed These Roses sprang and budded faire and carried such a grace That Kings of England in their armes affords them worthy place And florish may these Roses long that all the world may tell The owner of these princely flowers in vertues doe excell To glorifie these Roses more King Henry and his Quéene First plac'd their pictures in red gold most gorgrous so be séene The Kings owne gard now weares the same vpon their backes and brest Where loue and loyalty remaines and euer-more shall rest The Red Rose on the backe is plast thereon a crowne of gold The White Rose on the brest as braue and costly to behold Bedeckt most rich with siluer stues on cotes of Scarlet red A blushing hew which Englands same now many a yeare hath bred Thus Tudor and Plantaginet these honors first deuized To well-come long desired peace with vs so dearely prized A peace that now maintayned is by Iames our royall King For peacobrings plenty to the land with euery blessed thing To speake againe of Henries praise his Princely liberall hand Gaue guifts and graces many waies vnto this famous land For which the Lord him blessings sent and multiplied his store In that he left more wealth to vs then any any King before For first his swéet and louely Quéene a ioy aboue the rest Brought him both sonnes and daughters faire to make this kingdome blest The royall blood that was at ebb so increased by this Quéene That Englands heires vnto this day doe florish faire and gréene The first faire blessing of his séede was Arthur prince of Wales Whose vertues to the Spanish court quite ore the Ocean sayles There Ferdinand the King of Spaine his daughter Katherne gaue For wife vnto the English Prince a thing that God would haue Yet Arthur in his lofty youth and blooming time of age Submitted méekely his swéet life to deaths impartiall rage Who dying so no issew left the swéet of natures ioy Which compast England round with grief◠and Spaine with sad anoy King Henries second comfort prou'd a Henry of his name In following time eight Henry cald a King of noble fame He conquered Bullen by his sword With many townes in France His manly might and fortitude did Englands fame aduance He Popish Abbies first supprest and Papestry puld downe And bound their lands by parliment vnto his royall crowne He had thrée children by thrée wiues all Princes raining here Edward Mary and Elizabeth a Quéene belou'd most deare These thrée swéet branches bare no frute God no such ioy did send Through which the Kingly Tudors name in England here had end The last Plantaginet that liu'd was nam'd Elizabeth Elisabeth last Tudor was the greatest Quéene of earth Seuenth Henry yet we name againe Whose grace gaue frée consent To haue his daughters married both to Kings of high dessent Margret the eldest of the twaine Was made great Scotlands Quéene As wise as faire as vertuous as eare was Lady séene From which faire Quéene our royall King by lineall course descendeth And rightfully inioyes that crowne Which God now still befrendeth For Tudor and Plantaginet by yéelding vnto death Hath made renowned Stewards name the greatest vpon earth His younger daughter Mary calld as Princely by degrée Was by her father worthy thought the Quéene of France to be And after to the Suffolke Duke was made a noble wise Where-in the famous English court she lead a vertuous life King Henry and his louely Quéene reioyst to sée the day To haue their children thus aduanst with honors euery way Which purchast pleasure and content with many a yeares delight Till sad mischance by cruell death procur'd them both a spight The Quéene that faire and princely damo that mother méeke and mild To ad more number to her ioyes againe grew big with child All which brought comfort to her King against which carefull hower He lodgd his deare kind-hearted Quéene in Londons stately Tower That Tower which prou'd so fatal once to Princes of degrée Prou'd fatall to this noble Quéene for therein died she In child-bed lost she her swéet life her life estéemed so deare Which had béene Englands louing Quéene full many a happy yeare The King herewith pocest with griefe spent many months in moane And dayly sight and said that he like her could find out none Nor none could he in fancy chuse to make his wedrd wise Therefore a widdower would remaine the remnant of his life His after daies be spent in peace and quietnesse of mind Like King and Quéene as these two were the world can hardly find Our King and Queene yet like to them in vertue and true loue Haue heauenly blessings in like sort from heauenly powers aboue A delightfull song of the foure famous feasts of England the one of them ordayned by King Henry the seuenth of the honor of Marchant Taylers shewing how seauen Kings haue bin
Glosters aime did stand Ould Buckingham with might and power in seas of woes did him deuoure He hoped when Richard was made King he would much greater honors bring To Buckingham and to his name and well reward him for the same In Clarence death he had a hand and gainst King Edwards Quéen did stand And to hir sonnes bore little lâ—ue when he as Bastards would them prooue King Edward swore him by his oth in true aledgeance to them both Which if I faile I wish quoth he all Christians curse may light on me It so fell out on All Soules day by law his life was tane away He had his wish though not his will for treasons end is alwaies ill In London hauing pleaded claime and Richard there by won the game He challengd honour for his gaine but was rewarded with disdaine On which disgrace within few houres Great Buckingham had raisd his powers But all in vaine the King was strong and Stafford néeds must suffer wrong His Army faild and durst not stand vpon a Traitors false command Beeing thus deceaued onld Stafford fled not knowing where to hide his head The King with speed to haue him found did offer ful two thousand pound Thus Richard sought to cast him downe whose wit did win him Englands Crowne The plaine old Duke his life to saue of his owne man did succour craue In hope that he would him releiue that late much land to him did giue Base Banester this man was nam'd by this vild déed for euer sham'd It is quoth he a common thing to iniure him that wrongd his King King Edwards children he betraid the like gainst him I will haue plaid Being true my heart him greatly graft but prouing false that loue is past Thus Banester his maister sold vnto his foe for hier of gold But marke his end and rightly see the iust reward of trechery The Duke by law did loose his blood for him he sought to doe most good The man that wrought his Maisters woe by lingring griefe was brought full low For when the King did heare him speake how basely he the Duke did take Instead of gold gaue him disgrace with vanishment from towne and place Thus Banester was forst to beg and craue for food with cap and leg But none to him would bread bestow that to his master proued a foe Thus wandred he in poore estate repenting his misdeed to late Till starued he gaue vp his breath by no man pittied at his death To wofull ends his Children came sore punisht for their fathers shame Within a kennell one was drownd where water scarse could hide the ground Another by the powers diuine was strangely eaten vp of swine The last a wofull ending makes by strangling in a stinking Iakes Let traitors this behold and see and such as false to masters be Let disobedient sonnes draw neere these iudgements wel may touch them néerâ— Both old and young that liue not well looke to be plagu'd by heauen or hell â—o haue you heard the story than of this great Duke of Buckingham The wofull death of Queene Iane Wife to King Henry the eight and how King Edward was cut out of his mothers belly To the tune of the lamentation for the Lord of Essex VVHen as King Henry ruld this land he had a Quéene I vnderstand Lord Semors daughter faire and bright King Henries comfort and delight Yet death by his remorslesse power did blast the bloome of this sweet flower Oh mourne mourne mourn faire Ladies Iane your Quéene the flower of England dies His former Quéenes béeing wrapt in lead This gallant Dame possest his bed Where rightly from her wombe did spring a ioyfull comfort to hir King A welcome blessing to the land preserud by Gods most holy hand Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Queen the flower of England dies The Queen in trauell pained sore full thirty wofull daies and more And no way could deliuered be as euery Lady wisht to see Wherefore the King made greater mone then euer yet his grace had showne Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Queen the flower of England dies Beeing somthing eased in his mind his eyes a slumbring sleepe did find Where dreaming he had lost a rose but which he could not well suppose A ship he had a rose by name oh no it was his royall Iane Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Queen the flower of England dies Being thus perplext in greefe and care a Lady to him did repaire And said oh King shew vs thy will thy Queenes sweet life to saue or spill If she cannot deliuered be yet saue the flower if not the tree Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Quéene the flower of England dies Then downe vppon his tender knée for help from heauen prayed he Meane while into a sleepe they cast his Quéene which euermore did last And opening then her tender woombe aliue they tooke this budding bloome Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Quéen the flower of Englands dead This babe so borne much comfort brought and cheard his fathers drooping thought Prince Edward he was cald by name gracâ—d with vertue wit and fame And when his father left this earth he ruld this land by law full birth Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Quéen the flower of Englands dead But marke the powerfull will of heauen we from this ioy were soone bereauen Sir yeares he raigned in this land and then obeyed Gods command And left his Crowne to Mary heere whose fiue years raigne cost England deare Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Iane your Quéen the flower of Englands deaâ— Elizabeth raigned next to her Europes pride and Englands starre Wonder world foor such a Quéene vnder heauen was neuer seene A mayd a Saint an Angell bright in whom all princes tooke delight Oh mourne mourne mourne faire Ladies Elizabeth the flower of Englands dead A short and sweet sonnet made by one of the maides of honor vpon the death of Queene Elizabeth which she sowed vppon a sampler in red silke To a new tune or to Phillida flouts me GOne is Elizabeth whom we haue lou'd so deare She our kind Mistris was full foure and forty yeare England she gouernd well not to be blamed Flanders sho succord still and Ireland tamed France she befrended Spaine she hath soiled Papists reiected and the Pope spoyled To Princes powerfull to the world vertuous To her foes mercifull to subiects gracious Her soule is in heauen the world keepes her glory Subiects her good deeds and so ends my story The life and death of famous Th. Stukely an English gallant in the time of Queene Elizabeth who ended his dayes in a battaile of Kings in Barbarie To the tune of King Henries going to Bullin IN the west of England borne there was I vnderstand A famous gallant liuing in his dayes by birth a wealthy Clothiers sonne Deeds of wonder he hath done to purchase him a
lawes of all good men commended O noble Duke alas alas thy wofull death is come to passe How wast thou led vnto Tower-hill with billes beset about Euen like a lambe contented still before the wooluish rout O Summerset alas alas thy wofull death is come to passe How did the Common people cry with heaped voyces shril Pardon pardon with hands on high hoping to kéepe him still He stood vpright a noble Duke with constant courage bold Content your selues this was his suse the lawes haue me controld Alas poore soules alas alas your wo will shortly come to passe Pray for the peace of Edward King your Soueraigue he did say That he may prosper in liuâ—ng all ye good people pray Least that his foes alas alas do bring his wofull death to passe Our Summer sweet was thus berest and winter did ensue What carefull hearts to vs were left are since approoued true Oh England cry alas alas that thy woe should come thus to passe Finis A pleasant new Sonnet intituled mine owne deare Lady braue To the tune of Rogero MYne owne deare Lady braue would God it were my hap To be the Spanniell that you haue to dandlo in yourlap Or that â— were so feate to please you with my skippes To take me vp in your conceit to stand and lick your lippes Or that my pranking pace in all points could agree To touch your traine in euery place at least as neere as he Or that I could so bragge or simper with my taile To take me vp into your lap to know what I doe ayle Then should I hope and haue each dainty in the dish And harbor like a pretty knaue according to my wish And sleepe betweene your paps with striking on the â—ead As tenderly each Lady raps such puppies in their beds Would God you would voutchsafe to grant me halfe the grace A lick or leape some time to haue in such a puppies place Should neuer faining whelpe so closely kéepe you play For I will neither yaune nor yelpe your secrets to bewray But what it should behooue A Spaniell to professe To cloake or hide when you remooue my part shall be no lesse And what doth want in him my fauor might supply For though your puppie can do frim yet not so well as I. Perhaps you will forget your puppies dainty toyes When you and I were closely met to play for pritty boyes Then pitty now peruse this written verse of mine Or else the Dog I craue to choose the happy state of thine FINIS A new Sonnet of a curst wife and her husband PAssing along through Redriffe I heard one sore complaining Then streight I drew me neere to him to know the cause and meaning Of this his sorrow care and griefe which did his minde disaster Alasse sayes he what shall I doe my wife will needs be maister For I may did wo worth the time that ere with her I matched For with her nailes that are so sharpe my face she hath bescratched To a Surgion I was driuen to run for to goe beg a plaister So thus God knowes vnto my greefe my wife will be my maister I drndge I droile I tosse I toyle till that the day be ended At night I make to her account what monny I haue spended Or else my pockets she will search and say I am a waster Thus like a mome I liue at home and she will needes be maister For all the paines that I do take yet still she will be chiding Crcept siue groats each night I bring at home ther 's no abiding She saies that I am good for nought but for some foolish Ieaster With angry browes and deadly vowes she sweares to be my master Thus honnest friend as you haue heard I daily liue in sorrow Of neuer a neighbor that I haue dare I once lend or borrow If I should liue as many yeares as euer did King Nestor Yet in my mind it still me feares that she would be my maister I dare not stir forth of her sight but when I am a working For her iealous mind doth thinke I am with one or other lurking And if at any time I should but chance to spend a teaster Shee le call me knaue base rogue and slane and sweares shee le bee the maister FINIS