Classic Poem

I WAIL , I weep, I sob, I sigh full sore
The deadly fate, the doleful destiny
Of him that is gone, alas, without restore,
Of the blood royall descending nobelly;
Whose lordship doubtless was slain lamentably
Thorough treason again him compasséd and wrought,
True to his prince in word, in deed, and thought.

Of heavenly poets, O Clio called by name,
In the College of Muses goddess historial,
Address thee to me which am both halt and lame
In elect utterance to make memorial!
To thee for succour, to thee for help I call,
Mine homely rudeness and dryness to expel
With the freshe waters of Helicones well.

Of noble actes anciently enrolled
Of famous princes and lordes of estate,
By thy report are wont to be extolled,
Registering truely every former date;
Of thy bounty after the usual rate
Kindle in me such plenty of thy noblesse
These sorrowful ditties that I may shew express.

In seasons passed, who hath hearde or seen
Of former writing by any precedent
That villein hastardes in their furious tene,
Fulfilléd with malice of froward intent,
Confetteréd together of common consent
Falsely to slay their most singular good lord?
It may be registeréd of shameful record.

So noble a man, so valiant lord and knight,
Fulfilléd with honour, as all the world doth ken;
At his commandment which had both day and night
Knightes and squires, at every season when
He called upon them, as menial household men:
Were not these commons uncourteous carls of kind
To slay their own lord? God was not in their mind!

And were not they to blame, I say, alsó,
That were about him, his own servants of trust,
To suffer him slain of his mortál foe?
Fled away from him, let him lie in the dust;
They bode not till the reckoning were discussed.
What should I flatter? what should I glose or paint?
Fie, fie for shame, their heartes were too faint!

In England and France which greatly was redoubted,
Of whom both Flanders and Scotland stood in drede,
To whom great estates obeyéd and lowted,
A meiny of rude villeins made him for to bleed;
Unkindly they slew him, that holp them oft at need:
He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall,
Yet shamefully they slew him: that shame may them befall!

I say, ye commoners, why were ye so stark mad?
What frantic frenesy fell in your brain?
Where was your wit and reason ye should have had?
What wilful folly made you rise again
Your natural lord? alas, I cannot feign:
Ye arméd you with will, and left your wit behind:
Well may you be calléd commons most unkind!

He was your chieftain, your shield, your chief defence,
Ready to assist you in every time of need;
Your worship depended of his excellence:
Alas, ye madmen, too far ye did exceed;
Your hap was unhappy, too ill was your speed.
What movéd you again him to war or to fight?
What ailéd you to slay your lord again all right?

The ground of his quarrel was for his sovereign lord,
The well concerning of all the whole land,
Demanding such duties as needes must accord
To the right of his prince, which should not be withstand;
For whose cause ye slew him with your owne hand.
But had his noblemen done well that day
Ye had not been able to have said him nay.

But there was false packing, or else I am beguiled!
How be it, the matter was evident and plain,
For if they had occupied their spear and their shield
This nobleman doubtless had not been slain.
But men say they were linkéd with a double chain,
And held with the commons under a cloak,
Which kindled the wild fire that made all this smoke.

The commons reniéd their taxes to pay,
Of them demanded and askéd by the king;
With one voice impórtune they plainly said nay;
They buskt them on a bushment themselves in bale to bring,
Again the king's pleasure to wrestle or to wring;
Bluntly as beastes with boast and with cry.
They said they forsed not, nor caréd not to die.

The nobleness of the north, this valiant lord and knight,
As man that was innocent of treachery or train,
Pressed forth boldly to withstand the might,
And, like martial Hector, he fought them again,
Vigorously upon them with might and with main,
Trusting in noblemen that were with him there:
But all they fled from him for falsehood or fear.

Barons, knightes, squires, one and all,
Together with servantes of his family,
Turnéd their backs, and let their master fall,
Of whose life they counted not a fly:
Take up who would, for there they let him lie.
Alas, his gold, his fee, his annual rent
Upon such a sort was ill bestowed and spent!

He was environed about on every side
With his enemies, that were stark mad and wood;
Yet while he stood he gave them woundes wide.
Alas for ruth! what though his mind were good,
His corage manly, yet there he shed his blood:
All left alone, alas, he fought in vain!
For cruelly among them there he was slain.

Alas for pity! that Percy thus was spilt,
The famous Earl of Northumberland!
Of knightly prowess the sword, pommel, and hilt,
The mighty lion doubted by sea and land:
O dolorous chance of Fortune's froward hand!
What man, rememb'ring how shamefully he was slain,
From bitter weeping himself can restrain?

O cruel Mars, thou deadly god of war!
O dolorous Tuesday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shook thy sword so noble a man to mar.
O ground ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,
Which wert endyéd with red blood of the same
Most noble earl! O foul mysuréd ground
Whereon he gat his final deadly wound!

O Atropos, of the fatal sisters three,
Goddess most cruel unto the life of man,
All merciless, in thee is no pitie!
O homicide, which slayest all that thou can,
So forcibly upon this earle thou ran
That with thy sword, enharpéd of mortal dread,
Thou cut asunder his perfite vital thread!

My words unpolished be, naked and plain,
Of aureat poems they want illuminíng;
But by them to knowledge ye may attain
Of this lord's death and of his murderíng;
Which whiles he lived had foison of everything,
Of knights, of squires, chief lord of tower and town,
Till fickle Fortune began on him to frown.

Paregal to dukes, with kings he might compare,
Surmounting in honour all earles he did exceed;
To all countries about him report me I dare;
Like to Aeneas benign in word and deed,
Valiant as Hector in every martial need,
Provident, discreet, circumspect, and wise,
Till the chance ran again him of Fortune's double dice.

What needeth me for to extol his fame
With my rude pen encankeréd all with rust,
Whose noble acts shew worshiply his name,
Transcending far mine homely Muse, that must
Yet somewhat write, surprised with hearty lust,
Truly reporting his right noble estate,
Immortally which is immaculate?

His noble blood never distainéd was,
True to his prince for to defend his right,
Doubleness hating false matters to compáss,
Traitory and treason he banished out of sight,
With truth to meddle was all his whole delight,
As all his country can testify the same.
To slay such a lord, alas, it was great shame!

If the whole choir of the Muses nine
In me all only were set and comprised,
Enbreathéd with the blast of influence divine,
As perfitely as could be thought or devised:
To me alsó although it were promísed
Of laureat Phoebus wholly the eloquence,
All were too little for his magnificence.

O younge lion, but tender yet of age,
Grow and increase, remember thine estate;
God thee assist unto thine heritage,
And give thee grace to be more fortunate!
Again rebellion's arm thee to make debate;
And, as the lion, which is of beastes king,
Unto thy subjectes be courteous and benign.

I pray God send thee prosperous life and long,
Stable thy mind constant to be and fast,
Right to maintain, and to resist all wrong:
All flattering faytors abhor and from thee cast;
Of foul detraction God keep thee from the blast!
Let double dealing in thee have no place,
And be not light of credence in no case.

With heavy cheer, with dolorous heart and mind,
Each man may sorrow in his inward thought
This lordes death, whose peer is hard to find,
Algife England and France were thorough sought.
All kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought,
Both temporal and spiritual, for to complain
This nobleman, that cruelly was slain.

More specially barons, and those knightes bold,
And all other gentlemen with him entertained
In fee, as menial men of his househóld,
Whom he as lord worshiply maintained:
To sorrowful weeping they ought to be constrained,
As oft as they call to their remembránce
Of their good lord the fate and deadly chance.

O peerless Prince of heaven imperiall,
That with one word forméd all things of nought!
Heaven, hell, and earth obey unto thy call;
Which to thy resemblance wondrously hast wrought
All mankind, whom thou full dear hast bought,
With thy blood precious our finance thou did pay,
And us redeeméd from the fiendes prey;

To thee pray we, as Prince incomparable,
As thou art of mercy and pity the well,
Thou bring unto thy joy interminable
The soul of this lorde from all danger of hell,
In endless bliss with thee to bide and dwell
In thy paláce above the orient,
Where thou art Lord and God omnipotent.

O Queen of Mercy, O Lady full of grace,
Maiden most pure, and Goddes Mother dear,
To sorrowful heartes chief comfort and soláce,
Of all women O flower withouten peer!
Pray to thy Son above the stares clear,
He to vouchsafe, by thy mediatíon,
To pardon thy servant, and bring to salvatíon.

In joy triumphant the heavenly hierarchy,
With all the whole sorte of that glorious place,
His soul may receive into their company,
Thorough bounty of Him that forméd all soláce:
Well of pitý, of mercy, and of grace,
The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,
In Trinitate one God of mightes most!