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
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
bible to be read which heauen continue long Poore preaching likewise she ordaind with plenty in this land And still against the foes thereof most zealously did stand The pride of Rome this Quéene abates and spightfull Spaine kept vnder And succord much Low-contry states where at the world did wonder That such a worthy Prince as she should worke such worthy things And bring more honor to this land then all our former Kings The gould stil brought from Spanish mines in spight of all her foes Throughout all parts of Christendome her braue aduentures shewes Her battel 's sought vpon the Seas resounded vp to heauen Which to aduance her fame and praise her victory still giuen The Spanish power in eighty eight which thirsted for her blood Most nobly like an Amazon their purposes withstood And boldly in her royall campe in person she was séene The like was neuer done I thinke by any Englih Quéene Full many a Tray for since that time she hath consounded quite And not the bloodiest mind of all hir courage could affright For mercy ioynd with maiesty still made her foes her friends By pardoning many which deserud to haue vntimely ends Tirone with all his Irish rout of rebells in that land Though nere so desperate bold and stout but feard her great command She made them quake and tremble sore but for to heare her name She planted peace in that faire land and did their wildnesse tame Though warres she kept with dangers great in Ireland France and Spayne Yet her true subiects still at home in safety did remaine They ioyd to sée her princely sace and would in nombers run To méet her royall Maiesty more thick then moates in Sun But time that brings all thinges to end a swift foot course did run And of this royall maiden Quéene a wofull conquest won Hir death brought feare vppon the land no wordes but tales of woe In Subiects eares resounded then where euer men did goe But feare exchangd to present ioyes swéet comforts loud did ring In stead of Quéene the people cryd long liue our royall King Which name of King did séeme most strang and made vs sore to muse Because full many a yeare the name of King we did not vse But such a noble King he is and so maintaines our peace That we in heart may dayly wish his life may neuer cease His Quéene and his posterity good angels still defend This is my muses chiese desire her melody to end FINIS A Song of a Beggar and a King I Read that once in Affrica a Prince that there did raine Who had to name Cophetua as Poets they did faine From Natures workes he did incline For sure he was not of my minde He cared not for women kinde but did them all disdaine But marke what happened by the way As he out of his window lay He saw a beggar all in gray which did increase his paine The blinded boy that shootes so trim from heauen downe so high He drew a Dart and shot at him in place where he did lye Which soone did pierse him to the quick For when he felt the arrow prick Which in his tender heart did stick he looketh as he would dye What sudden chance is this quoth he That I to loue must subiect be Which neuer thereto would agrée but still did it defie Then from his window he did come and laid him on his bed A thousand heapes of care did runne within his troubled head For now he meanes to craue her loue And now he séekes which way to prooue How he his fancie might remoous and not this beggar wed But Cupid had him so in snare That this poore begger must prepare A salue to cure him of his care or els he would be dead And as he musing thus did lye he thought for to deuise How he might haue her company that so did mase his eyes In thée quoth he doth rest my life For surely thou shalt be my wife Or else this hand with bloody knife the Gods shall sure suffice Then from his bed he arose And to his Pallace gate he goes Full little then this begger knowes when she the King espied The Gods preserue your Maiesty tho beggars all gan cry Uouchsafe to giue your charity our childrens food to buy The King to them his pursse did cast And they to part it made great hast The silly woman was the last that after them did hye The King he cald her back againe And vnto her he gaue his chaine And said with vs you shall remaine till such time as we dye For thou shalt be my wife quoth he and honoured like the Quéene With thée I meane to lead my life as shortly shall be séene Our wedding day shall appointed be And euery thing in their degrée Come on quoth he and follow me thou shalt go shift thée cleane What is thy name say on quoth he Phenelophon O King quoth she With that she made a lowe courtsey a trim one as I wéene Thus hand in hand along they walke vnto the Kings Pallace The King with courteous comly talke this begger doth imbrace The begger blusheth Scarlet read And straight againe as pale as lead But not a word at all she said she was in such a mase At last the spake with trembling voyce And said O King I do reioyce That you will take me for your choice and my degrée so base And when the wedding day was come the King commanded straight The noble men both all and some vpon the Quéene to waight And she behaued her selfe that day As if she had neuer walkt the way She had forgot her gowne of gray that she did weare of late The Prouerbe old is come to passe The Priest when he began his masse Forgets that euer Clarke he was he knoweth not his estate Here may you read Cophetua through sancie long time fed Compelled by the blinded boy the beggar for to wed He that did louers lookes disdaine To do the same was glad and faine Or else he would himselfe haue slaine in stories as we read Disdaine no whit O Lady déere But pitty now thy seruant héere Least that it hap to thée this yeare as to that King it did And thus they lead a quiet life During their princely raine And in a tombe were buried both as writers sheweth plaine The Lords they tooke it grieuously The Ladies tooke it heauily The Commons cryed pitiously their death to them was paine Their fame did sound so passingly That it did pierce the Starry sky And thorow out the world did flye to euery Princes realme FINIS A Louers Song in praise of his Mistresse To the tune of Apelles IF that Appelles now did raigne who euer sought for to haue fame He might haue wone with lesser paine a greater honor to his name For with great paine he sought all Gréece Till he had sound the fairest péece Throughout all Greece he could not view so faire so feate so sine