MATILDA The faire and chaste Daughter of the Lord Robert Fitzwater THE TRVE GLORIE OF THE NOBLE HOVSE OF SVSSEX Phoebus erit nostri princeps et carminis author AT LONDON Printed by Iames Roberts for N. L. and Iohn Busby 1594. To the noble and vertuous Gentlewoman worthy of all honor Mistres Lucie Harrington Daughter to the Honorable Gentleman Sir IOHN HARRINGTON Knight YOVR rarest vertues honourable Mistres LVCIE haue made me amongst many other competent Iudges of your worth both to loue and admire you but the exceeding kinde affection which I knowe the House of POWLES-WORTH doe beare you a Family where-vnto I must confesse I am both in loue and dutie more deuote then to any other hath mooued mee for a more particuler proofe of that honor which both they and I are willing to doe you to dedicate my Poeme to your protection Vouchsafe therefore noble Mistres LVCIE your selfe beeing in full measure adorned with the like excellent gifts both of bodie and minde graciously to patronize MATILDA A mirror of so rare chastitie as neither the fayre speeches nor rich rewards of a King nor death in selfe could euer remoue from her owne chast thoughts or from that due regard which shee had of her neuer-stained honor Your gracious and curteous acceptance of these my labours may encourage mee heereafter to publish some worke of greater worth vnder your Name and protection to whom I wish all happinesse Yours in all humble seruice Michaell Drayton To the Honourable Gentlemen of Englande true fauorers of Poesie LEarned and honourable Gentlemen whose kind and fauourable acceptance of my late discourse of the life and death of Peirs Gaueston hath emboldened mee to publish this tragicall Historie of my Matilda which otherwise the fonde censures of the sottish and absurd ignorant had altogether discouraged me of those detractors I meane who without iudgement of reading haue rashlie and iniuriously wronged the most rare excellent men who haue written in this age wherein wee liue They themselues eyther wanting the vse of those tongues which as the keyes of knowledge vnlock the treasurie of most rarest inuention or els theyr dull eyes so ouer-clowded with mistie ignorance as neuer able to looke into celestiall secrets of diuine Poesie thereby to discerne the right and true method of a perfect and exquisite Poeme And yet such is the folly and shamelesse impudencie of some as wee see euery day which in their wanton and adultrate conceits bring forth such vgly Monsters as a modest and sober eye can hardly abide to view their deformities Then it is no meruaile though the diuine Muses take so small delight in our Clime finding their sweet and pleasant fields which should be holy and sacred defiled and polluted with such lothsome ordure And although there be many furnished with sundry sorts of good learning yet wanting that diuine touch and heauenlie instinct which giueth life to inuention doe basely disgrace that wherein theyr owne experience tells them they bee altogether ignorant But onely to you excellently qualified and rare accomplish'd Gentlemen the true heyres of the Muses I consecrate my labours whose wise and discreet censures haue heeretofore made knowne to me the true perfection of your owne honorable dispositions onely to you Matilda committeth her short discourse Michaell Drayton The vision of Matilda ME thought I saw vpon Matildas Tombe Her wofull ghost which Fame did now awake And crau'd her passage from Earths hollow wombe To view this Legend written for her sake No sooner shee her sacred Name had seene VVhom her kind friend had chose to grace her story But wiping her chast teares from her sad eyen Shee seem'd to tryumph in her double glory Glory shee might that his admired Muse Had with such method fram'd her iust complaint But proude shee was that reason made him chuse To patronize the same to such a Saint In whom her rarest vertues might be showne Though Poets skill should fayle to make them knowne H. G. Esquire THY learned Poeme Friend I will not prayse Nor will commend Matildas chastitie Shee by thy Muse her fame from graue doth rayse And hie conceit thy lines doth dignifie But that in this the honour thou doost giue To that sweet Maide in whose vnspotted minde Matildas rarest vertues yet doe liue As two so like the world can hardly finde Fayre Lucie with Matilda but compare In all regards of perfect modestie And see how like in euery good they are And then thy choyce with iudgement ratifie And I who know the worth of thy fit choyce Approue it good both with my pen and voyce Anonimos TEares in your eyes and passions in your harts VVith mournfull grace vouchsafe Matildas story The subiect sad a King to act the parts Of his owne shame to others endlesse glory But such is sinne where lawlesse lust is raigning Sweet to the taste till all turnes to infection VVhen count is cast a reckoning is remaining VVhich must be payd but not at our election Perrill and Greefe the interest of Pleasure Spending the stock that Danger long was gayning Makes soule and body banckrupt of that treasure VVhich vainly spent what helps our fond complayning O that my lines could so the Author grace As well his vertues merit prayse and place R. L. Esquire To M. Drayton I Like thy worke and doe allow thy wit And prayse thy choyce in patronizing it Yet more that thou the honor doost impart To Lucies prayse a Mayd of such desart VVho for her rarest vertues doth exceede Nor neuer age a better wit did breede A blessed Impe sprong from a noble race Admir'd for gyfts and beautified with grace A Phenix deck yet not with plumes of gold But with true Iemmes of heauens eternall mould Then happy man in thy Matildas fame Happy Matilda in rare Lucies name Deuise of wit by Graces onely graced Adorned skill in vertue highly placed Yet subiect wit and skill be all to fewe In chast Matilda sor rare Lucies due VV. G. Esquire MATILDA IF to this time some sacred Muse retaine Those choise regards by perfect vertue taught And in her chast and virgine-humble vaine Doth kindly cherrish one pure Mayden thought In whom my death hath but true pitty wrought By her I craue my life may be reueald VVhich blacke obliuion hath too long conceald Or on the earth if mercy may be found Or if remorce may touch the harts of men Or eyes may lend me teares to wash my wound Or passion be exprest by mortall pen Yet may I hope of some compassion then Three hundreth yeeres by all men ouer past Now sinding one to pittie mee at last You blessed Impes of heauenly chastitie You sacred Vestalls Angels onely glory Right presidents of imortalitie Onely to you I consecrate my storie It shall suffise for mee if you be sorie If you alone shall deigne to grace his verse VVhich serues for odours to perfume my hearse Let your delicious heauen-distilling teares Soften the earth to
Or what may be by him which cannot be Hee's Vertues right superlatiue degree From his affections neuer shall proceede One little thought of this so vile a deede Kings be the Gods Vizegerents heere on earth The Gods haue power Kings from that power haue might Kings should excell in vertue as in birth Gods punish wrongs Kings shold maintaine right They be the Sunnes from which we borrow light And they as Kings should still in iustice striue VVith Gods from whō their beings they deriue Inrag'd with this in greefes extremitie Minion quoth hee tis now no time to prate Dispatch or els Ile drench you presently Of this nor that I stand not to debate Expects thou loue where thou reward'st with hate I passe not I how ere thou like the motion Haue done at once and quickly take the Potion This sudden terror makes mee pause for breath Till sighing out at length this sad reply If it be so welcom to mee my death This is the vtmost of extremitie And yet when all is done I can but die His will be done sith hee will haue it so And welcome Death the end of all my woe And thou my Deaths-man slaue vnto his lust Th'executioner of his lawlesse will In whom the Tyrant doth repose such trust Detract no time his murthering minde fulfill Doe what thou dar'st the worst thou canst but kill And tell the Tyrant this when I am dead I loath'd his beastly and adulterous bed Nor let the King thy Maister euer thinke A vertuous Maid so cowardly and base As to be frighted with a poysoned drinke And liue an abiect in the worlds disgrace All eyes with shame to gaze mee in the face That ages which heer-after shall succeede Shall hold mee hatefull for so vile a deede Is this the greatest gyft he could bestowe Is this the Iewell wher-with hee doth present mee I am his friend what giues hee to his foe If this in token of his loue be sent mee Remedilesse I am it must content mee Yet afterward a prouerbe this shall proue The gift King Iohn bestow'd vpon his Loue. Then of this conquest let thy Soueraigne boast And make report with shame what hee hath done A thing more easie then subdue an Hoast Or conquer Kingdoms as his Father wonne O haplesse Sire of this vnhappy Sonne And hee more shame shall carrie to his graue Then Fortune honors to his Father gaue Thus spoke my minde as women vse to doe Hoping thereby som-what to ease my hart But words I found did but increase my woe Augment his rage not mittigate my smart And now comes in the reckoning ere wee part And now my valure must be try'd or neuer Or famous now or infamous for euer Taking the poyson from his deadly hand Vnto the King caroust my latest draught Goe wretch quoth I now let him vnderstand Hee hath obtayn'd what hee so long hath sought Though with my blood my fame I deerlie bought And though my youth hee basely haue betrayd Yet witnes Heauen I liu'd and dyed a Mayd Then why repine I sith hee thinks it meete Hee is my Soueraigne and my life is his Death is not bitter spyc'd with such a sweet VVhich leades the way to euerlasting blis Hee's all my ioy hee all my glory is Hee is the tuch by whom my gold is tryed Onely by him my death is sanctified For could my life haue giuen life to mee My youthes fayre flower yet blooming had not dyed Then how should this but meritorious bee VVhen by my death my life is sanctified Could euer thing more fitly bee applied In this is loue in this his care I finde My Lord is iust my Lord is onelie kinde Then let these teares th'Elixars of my loue Bee to his soule a pure preseruatiue And let my prayers be of such force to moue That by my death my Soueraigne may suruiue And from his raigne let Fame herselfe deriue His glorie like the Sunnes translucent rayes And as the heauen eternall be his dayes This mortall poyson now beginnes to rage And spreads his vigor thorough all my vaines There is no phisick can my greefe aswage Such is the torment which my hart destraines Boyling my intrales in most hellish paines And Nature weakned of her wonted force Must yeeld to death which now hath no remorce And those pure thoughts which once I choisly fed Now when pale death my sences doth surprize I offer heere vpon my dying bed This precious sweet perfumed sacrifice Hallowed in my almighty Makers eyes VVhich from this Alter lends me heauenly light Guiding my soule amid this darkesome night My glorious life my spotlesse Chastity Now at this hower bee all the ioyes I haue These be the wings by which my fame shall flye In memorie these shall my Name engraue These from obliuion shall mine honour saue VVith Laurell these my browes shall coronize And make mee liue to all posterities Our fond preferments are but childrens toyes And as a shaddow all our pleasures passe As yeeres increase so wayning are our ioyes And beautie crazed like a broken glasse A prettie tale of that which neuer was All things decay yet Vertue shall not dye This onely giues vs immortalitie My soule thus from her pryson set at large And gentlie freed from this poluted roome This prize vnloden from this lothsome Barge Such is the Heauens ineuitable doome My body layd at Dunmow in my Toombe Thus Baynards-Castle boastes my blessed birth And Dunmow kindly wraps mee in her earth Now scarcely was my breathlesse body cold But euery where my tragedy was spred And Fame abroad in euery Coast had told My resolution beeing lately dead The glorious wonder of all woman-head And to my Father flyes with this report VVho liu'd an Exile in the French-Kings Court His griefe too great to be bewail'd with teares VVords insufficient to expresse his woe His soule assaulted with a thousand feares As many sundry passions come and goe His thoughts vncertaine wandring to and froe At length this fearefull extasie ore-past Grones from his soule this passion at the last O Heauens quoth hee why was I borne accurst This onely comfort to mine age was left But to despite mee you haue done your worst And mee of all my worldly ioyes bereft I quite vndone by your deceitfull theft This was the Iewell I esteemed most And loosing this now all my treasurs lost Yee powers Diuine if you be cleane and chast In whom alone consists eternitie VVhy suffer you your owne to be disgra'st Subiect to death and black impuritie If in your shield be no securitie If so for Vertue these rewards be due VVho shall adore or who shall honour you VVhat ment you first to giue her vitall breath Or make the world proude by her blessed birth Predestinating this vntimely death And of her presence to depriue the earth O fruitlesse age now staru'd with Vertues dearth Or if you long'd to haue her company O why by poyson would you let her die O
Soile with drops of mercy once bedew'd VVhen iust men were instauled in thy throne But now with blood of Innocents imbrew'd Stayning the glory of fayre Albion O lustfull Monster ô accursed Iohn O heauens to whom should men for iustice cry VVhen Kings themselues thus raigne by tyrannie O gyue mee wings Reuenge I will ascend And fetch her soule againe out of their power From them proceeded this vntimely end VVho tooke her hence before her dying hower And rays'd that clowd which rayn'd this bloody shower And from the graue Ile dig her body vp VVhich had her bane by that vile poysoned cup. O pardon Heauens these sacriligious words This irreligious open blasphemie My wretched soule no better now affords Such is the passion of mine agonie My desperate case in this extremitie You harbour those which euer like you best VVith blessed Angels let her spirit rest No no Ile practise by some secret art How to infect his pure life-breathing ayre Or else Ile sheath my poyniard in his hart Or with strong poyson Ile annoynt his Chayre Or by inchauntment will his dayes impayre O no reuenge to God alone belongs And it is hee which must reuenge my wrongs O heauens perforce we must attend your time Our succours must awaite vpon you still In your iust waights you ballance euerie crime For vs you know what's good and what is ill VVho vnderstands your deepe and secret skill In you alone our destinies consist Then who is hee which can your power resist O could my sighes againe but giue thee breath Or were my teares such balme as could restore thee Or could my life redeeme thee from this death Or were my prayers but inuocations worthy Sighes teares life prayers were all to little for thee But since the heauen thus of my child disposeth Ah me thy Tombe now all my ioyes incloseth O what a wonder shall thy valure bring VVhat admiration to posteritie VVhat rare examples from thy vertues spring O what a glorie to thy Progenie To bee engrau'd in lasting memorie VVhen as applauding Fame in euery Coast Shall thus in honor of Fitzwaters boast England when peace vpon thy shores shall flourish And that pure Maiden sit vpon thy Throne VVhich in her bosome shall the Muses nourish VVhose glorious fame shal through the world be blown O blessed Ile thrice happy Albion Then let thy Poets in their stately rymes Sing forth her praises to succeeding tymes By this the Kings vile bloody rage is past And gentle time his choller doth digest The fire consumes his substance at the last The greefe asswag'd which did his spirit molest That fiend cast out wherewith he was possest And now he feeles this horror in his soule VVhen loathsome shame his actions doth controule Black hell-bred-humor of reuenging sin By whose inticements murder we commit The end vnthought of rashlie we begin Letting our passion ouer-rule our wit Missing the marke which most we ayme to hit Clogging our soules with such a masse of care As casts vs downe oft times into Dispayre Traytor to Vertue Reprobate quoth hee As for a King no more vsurpe the name Staine to all honor and gentilitie Mark'd in the face with th'yron of Defame The Picture of all infamie and shame Dispis'd of men abhor'd in euery place Hate to thy selfe the very worlds disgrace VVhen all thy race shal bee in tryumph set Their royall conquests and atchiuements done Henrie thy Father braue Plantagenet Thy conquering Brother Lion-hart his Sonne The Crownes spoyles these famous Champions won This still shall bee in thy dishonor said Loe this was Iohn the murderer of a Maide This act enrold in Booke of black Defame VVhere men of death and tragick murders reed Recorded in the Register of shame In lines whose letters freshlie euer bleed VVhere all the world shall wonder my misdeed And quote the place thus euer passing by Note heere King Iohns vile damned tyranny Her blood exhal'd from earth vnto the skye A fearefull Meteor still hangs ore my head Stayning the heauens with her Vermilion dye Changing the Sunnes bright raies to gorie red Prognosticating death and fearefull dread Her soule with houling and reuengfull steuen Shreeking before the gates of highest Heauen VVhose sacred Counsell now in iudgement set And Shee before them stands to plead her case Her drearie words in bloody teares are wet The euidence appeares before my face And I condemn'd a catife wanting grace Iustice cryes out vpon this sinfull deede And to my death the fatall starres proceed Earth swallow me and hide me in thy wombe O let my shame in thy deepe Center dwell VVrap vp this murder in thy wretched Tombe Let tender Mercy stop the gates of hell And with sweet drops this furious heate expell O let Repentance iust reuenge appease And let my soule in torment finde some ease O no her teares are now become a flood And as they rise increasing mine offence And now the shedding of her guiltlesse blood Euen like a Cankar gnawes my Conscience O ther's my greefe my paine proceedes from thence Yet neuer time weares out this filthy staine And I dishonor'd euer shall remaine Then doe I vow a solemne Pilgrimage Before my wretched miserable end This done betake mee to some Hermitage VVhere I the remnant of my dayes will spend VVhere Almes and Prayer I euer will attend And on the Tombe at last where thou doost lye VVhen all is done Ile lay me downe and dye And for his Penance lastly hee deuis'd Monthly to Dunmow would he take his way And in a simple Palmers weede disguis'd VVith deepe deuotion kneele him downe to pray Kissing the place whereas my body lay VVashing my Tombe with his repentant teares And being wet yet dryed it with his hayres And now before my spirit depart from hence O let me see the Muses owne delight Idea mirrour of all patience VVhose sacred Temples are with Garlands dight O let my soule bee blessed in her sight VVhich so adorns this poore world with her birth As where she is still makes a Heauen on earth O let mee once behold her blessed eyes Those two sweet Sunnes which make eternall spring VVhich banish drouping Night out of the skies In whose sweet bosome quiers of Angels sing To whom the Muses all their treasures bring Her brest Mineruas euer hallowed shrine VVhose sainted thoughts are sacred and diuine Slyde still sweet Ankor on thy siluer Sands Play dainty Musick when she walkes by thee VVith liquid Pearle wash those pure Lillie hands And all thy Bancks with Laurell shaddowed be And let sweet Ardens Nightingales with glee Record to her in many a pleasing straine VVhilst all the Nimphes attend vppon her traine FINIS