Classic Poem

Enter L LUELLEN , alias Prince of Wales, Rice AP M EREDITH , O WEN AP Rice , with swords and bucklers, and frieze jerkins .

Lluellen . Come, Rice, and rouse thee for thy country's good:
Follow the man that means to make you great;
Follow Lluellen, rightful Prince of Wales,
Sprung from the loins of great Cadwallader,
Descended from the the loins of Trojan Brute,
And though the traitorous Saxons, Normans, Danes,
Have pent the true remains of glorious Troy
Within the western mountains of this isle,
Yet have we hope to climb these stony pales,
When Londoners, as Romans erst, amazed,
Shall trembling cry, " Lluellen's at the gate! "
T' accomplish this, thus have I brought you forth
Disguised to Milford-Haven: here attend
The landing of the Lady Elinor.
Her stay doth make me muse: the wind stands fair,
And ten days hence we did expect them here.
Neptune, be favourable to my love,
And steer her keel with thy three-forked mace,
That from this shore I may behold her sails,
And in mine arms embrace my dearest dear.
Rice ap Mer . Brave Prince of Wales, this honourable match
Cannot but turn to Cambria's common good.
Simon de Montfort, her thrice-valiant sire,
That in the barons' wars was general,
Was loved and honour'd of the Englishmen:
When they shall hear she's your espoused wife,
Assure your grace we shall have great supply
To make our roads in England mightily.
Owen ap Rice . What we resolved must strongly be perform'd,
Before the king return from Palestine.
Whilst he wins glory at Jerusalem,
Let us win ground upon the Englishmen.
Lluellen . Owen ap Rice, 'tis that Lluellen fears:
I fear me Edward will be come ashore
Ere we can make provision for the war.
But be it as it will, within his court
My brother David is, that bears a face
As if he were my greatest enemy.
He by this craft shall creep into his heart,
And give intelligence from time to time
Of his intentions, drifts, and stratagems.
Here let us rest upon the salt sea shore,
And while our eyes long for our hearts' desires,
Let us, like friends, pastime us on the sands.
Our frolic minds are ominous for good.

Enter Friar H UGH AP D AVID , G UENTHIAN his wench in flannel, and J ACK his novice .

Friar . Guenthian, as I am true man,
So will I do the best I can;
Guenthian, as I am true priest,
So will I be at thy behest;
Guenthian, as I am true friar,
So will I be at thy desire.
Jack . My master stands too near the fire:
Trust him not, wench; he'll prove a liar.
Lluellen . True man, true friar, true priest, and true knave;
These four in one this trull shall have.
Friar . Here swear I by my shaven crown,
Wench, if I give thee a gay green gown,
I'll take thee up as I laid thee down,
And never bruise nor batter thee.
Jack . O, swear not, master; flesh is frail, —
Wench, when the sign is in the tail,
Mighty is love and will prevail:
This churchman doth but flatter thee.
Lluellen . A pretty worm, and a lusty friar,
Made for the field, not for the quire,
Guenthian . Mas friar, as I am true maid,
So do I hold me well apaid:
'Tis churchman's lay and verity
To live in love and charity;
And therefore ween I, as my creed,
Your words shall company your deed.
Davy, my dear, I yield in all,
Thine own to go and come at call.
Rice ap Mer . And so far forth begins our brawl.
Friar . Then, my Guenthian, to begin,
Sith idleness in love is sin, —
Boy, to the town I will thee hie,
And so return even by and by,
When thou with cakes and muscadine,
And other junkets good and fine,
Hast filled thy bottle and thy bag.
Jack . Now, master, as I am true wag,
I will be neither late nor lag,
But go and come with gossip's cheer,
Ere Gib our cat can lick her ear,
For long ago I learned in school,
That love's desires and pleasures cool
Sans Ceres' wheat and Bacchus' vine:
Now, master, for the cakes and wine.
Friar . Wench, to pass away the time in glee,
Guenthian, sit thee down by me,
And let our lips and voices meet
In a merry country song.
Guenthian . Friar, I am at beck and bay,
And at thy commandment to sing and say,
And other sports among.
Owen ap Rice . Ay, marry, my lord, this is somewhat like a man's money. Here's a wholesome Welsh wenchlapt in her flannel, as warm as wool, and as fit as a pudding for a friar's mouth.

The Friar and G UENTHIAN sing . L LUELLEN speaks to them .

Llullen. Pax vobis, Pax vobis! good fellows, fair fall ye!
Friar. Et cum spiritu tuo! Friends, have you any thing else to say to the friar?
Owen ap Rice . Much good do you, much good [do] you, my masters, heartily.
Friar . And you, sir, when ye eat. Have ye any thing else to say to the friar?
Lluellen . Nothing; but I would gladly know, if mutton be your first dish, what shall be your last service?
Friar . It may be, sir, I count it physic to feed but on one dish at a sitting. Sir, would you any thing else with the friar?
Rice ap Mer . O, nothing, sir: but if you had any manners, you might bid us fall to.
Friar . Nay, and that be the matter, good enough. Is this all ye have to say to the friar?
Lluellen . All we have to say to you, sir: it may be, sir, we would walk aside with your wench a little.
Friar . My masters and friends, I am a poor friar, a man of God's making, and a good fellow as you are, legs, feet, face, and hands, and heart, from top to toe, of my word, right shape and christendom; and I love a wench as a wench should be loved; and if you love yourselves, walk, good friends, I pray you, and let the friar alone with his flesh.
Lluellen . O friar, your holy mother, the Church, teaches you to abstain from these morsels. — Therefore, my masters, 'tis a deed of charity to remove this stumbling-block, a fair wench, a shrewd temptation to a friar's conscience.
Guenthian . Friend, if you knew the friar half so well as the Bailey of Brecknock, you would think you might as soon move Monk Davy into the sea as Guenth[ian] from his side.
Lluellen . Mass, by your leave, we'll prove.
Guenthian . At your peril, if you move his patience.
Friar . Brother, brother, and my good countrymen, —
Lluellen . Countrymen! nay, I cannot think that an English friar will come so far into Wales barefooted.
Owen ap Rice . That's more than you know; and yet, my lord, he might ride, having a filly so near.
Friar . Hands off, good countrymen, at few words and fair warnings.
Lluellen . Countrymen! not so, sir; we renounce thee, friar, and refuse your country.
Friar . Then, brother, and my good friends, hands off, and if you love your ease.
Rice ap Mer . Ease me no easings: we'll ease you of this carriage.
Friar . Fellow, be gone quickly, or my pikestaff and I will set thee away with a vengeance.
Lluellen . I am sorry, trust me, to see the Church so unpatient.
Friar. Ye dogs, ouns! do me a shrewd turn and mock me too? flesh and blood will not bear this. Then rise up, Robert, and say to Richard, Redde rationem villicationis tuae . Sir countryman, kinsman, Englishman, Welshman, you with the wench, return your habeas corpus ; here's a certiorari for your procedendo .
Owen ap Rice . Hold, friar! we are thy countrymen.
Rice ap Mer. Paid, paid! Digon! we are thy countrymen, Mon Dieu!
Friar . My countrymen! nay, marry, sir, shall you not be my countrymen; you, sir, you, specially you, sir, that refuse the friar and renounce his country.
Lluellen. Friar, hold thy hands. I swear as I am a gentleman, I am a Welshman, and so are the rest, of honesty.
Friar . Of honesty, sayest thou? they are neither gentlemen nor Welshmen that will deny their country. — Come hither, wench; I'll have a bout with them once more for denying of their country.
Rice ap Mer . Friar, thou wottest not what thou sayest: this is the prince, and we are all his train, disposed to be pleasant with thee a little; but I perceive, friar, thy nose will bide no jest.
Friar . As much as you will with me, sir, but not at any hand with my wench: I and Richard my man, sir, are here contra omnes gentes — but is this Lluellen, the great Camber-Briton?
Lluellen . It is he, friar: give me thy hand, and gramercles twenty times. I promise thee thou hast cudgelled two as good lessons into my jacket as ever churchman did at so short warning: the one is, not to be too busy with another man's cattle; the other, not in haste to deny my country.
Friar . 'Tis pity, my lord, but you should have more of this learning, you profit so well by it.
Lluellen . 'Tis pity, my lord, but you should have more of this learning, you profit so well by it.
Lluellen . 'Tis pity, friar, but thou shouldst be Lluellen's chaplain, thou edifiest so well; and so shalt thou be, of mine honour: here I entertain thee, thy boy, and thy trull, to follow my fortune in secula seculorum .
Friar . And Richard my man, sir, and you love me, — he that stands by me and shrunk not at all weathers; and then you have me in my colours.
Lluellen . Friar, agreed. — Rice, welcome the ruffians.

Enter the Harper [ with J ACK ], and sing to the tune of " Who list to lead a soldier's life. "

Harper . Go to, go to, you Britons all,
And play the men, both great and small:
A wondrous matter hath befall,
That makes the prophets cry and call,
Tum date dite dote dum,
That you must march, both all and some,
Against your foes with trump and drum:
I speak to you from God, that you shall overcome.
Lluellen . What now? Who have me here? " Tum date dite dote dum " !
Friar . What, have we a fellow dropt out of the element? What's he for a man?
Rice ap Mer . Knowest thou this goose-cap?
Friar . What, not Morgan Pigot, our good Welsh prophet? O, 'tis a holy harper!
Rice ap Mer . A prophet, with a murrain! Good my lord, let's hear a few of his lines, I pray you.
Jack . My lords, 'tis an odd fellow, I can tell you, as any is in all Wales. He can sing, rhyme with reason, and rhyme without reason, and without reason or rhyme.
Lluellen . The divel, he can! Rhyme with reason, and rhyme without reason, and reason without rhyme! Then, good Morgan Pigot, pluck out thy spigot, and draw us a fresh pot from the kinder-kind of thy knowledge.
Friar . Knowledge, my son, knowledge, I warrant ye. — How sayest thou, Morgan, art thou not a very prophet?
Harper . Friar, friar, a prophet verily,
For great Lluellen's love,
Sent from above
To bring him victory.
Rice ap Mer . Come, then, gentle prophet, let's see how thou canst salute thy prince. Say, shall we have good success in our enterprise or no?
Harper . When the weathercock of Carnarvon steeple shall engender young ones in the belfry, and a herd of goats leave their pasture to be clothed in silver,
Then shall Brute be born anew,
And Wales record their ancient hue.
Ask Friar David if this be not true.
Friar . This my lord, 'a means by you.
O, he is a prophet, a prophet.
Lluellen . Soft you now, good Morgan Pigot, and take us with ye a little, I pray. What means your wisdom by all this?
Harper . The weathercock, my lord, was your father, who by foul weather of war was driven to take sanctuary in Saint Mary's at Carnarvon, where he begat young ones on your mother in the belfry, viz. your worship and your brother David.
Lluellen . But what didst thou mean by the goats?
Harper . The goats that leave the pasture to be clothed in silver, are the silver goats your men wear on their sleeves.
Friar . O, how I love thee, Morgan Pigot, our sweet prophet!
Lluellen . Hence, rogue, with your prophecies, out of my sight!
Rice ap Mer . Nay, good my lord, let's have a few more of these metres: he hath great store in his head.
Jack . Yea, and of the best in the market, an your lordship would vouchsafe to hear them.
Lluellen . Villain, away! I'll hear no more of your prophecies.
Harper . When legs shall lose their length,
And shanks yield up their strength,
Returning weary home from out the holy land,
A Welshman shall be king and govern merry England.
Rice ap Mer . Did I not tell your lordship he would hit it home anon?
Friar . My lord, he comes to your time, that's flat.
Jack . Ay, master, and you mark him, he hit the mark pat.
Friar . As how, Jack?
Jack. Why, thus:
When legs shall lose their length,
And shanks yield up their strength,
Returning weary home from out the holy land,
A Welshman, shall be king and govern merry England. Why, my lord, in this prophecy is your advancement as plainly seen as a three half-pence through a dish of butter in a sunny day.
Friar . I think so, Jack; for he that sees three half-pence must tarry till the butter be melted in the sun: and so forth: apply, boy.
Jack. Non ego , master: do you, and you dare.
Lluellen . And so, boy, thou meanest, he that tarries this prophecy may see Longshanks shorter by the head and Lluellen wear the crown in the field?
Friar . By Lady, my lord, you go near the matter. — But what saith Morgan Pigot more?
Harper . In the year of our Lord God 1272, shall spring from the loins of Brute, one whose wife's name being the perfect end of his own, shall consummate the peace betwixt England and Wales, and be advanced to ride through Cheapside with a crown on his head; and that's meant by your lordship, for your wife's name being Ellen, and your own Lluellen, beareth the perfect end of your own name: so must it needs be that, [though] for a time Ellen flee from Lluellen, ye being betrothed in heart each to others, must needs be advanced to be highest of your kin.
Lluellen . Jack, I make him thy prisoner. Look, what way my fortune inclines, that way goes he.
Rice ap Mer . Sirrah, see you run swiftest.
Friar . Farewell: be far from the spigot.
Jack . Now, sir, if our country ale were as good as your metheglin, I would teach you to play the knave, or you should teach me to play the harper.
Harper. Ambo , boy; you are too light-witted as I am light-minded.
Jack . It seems to me thou art fitted and passing well.

Enter G UENTHER to L LUELLEN with letters .

Lluellen . Whattidings bringeth Guenther with his haste? Say, man, what bodes thy message, good or bad?
Guenther . Bad, my lord; and all in vain, I wot,
Thou dart'st thine eyes upon the wallowing main,
As erst did Ægeus to behold his son,
To welcome and receive thy welcome love;
And sable sails he saw, and so mayst thou,
For whose mishap the brackish seas lament.
Edward, O Edward!
Lluellen . And what of him?
Guenther . Landed he is at Dover with his men,
From Palestine safe; by his English lords
Received in triumph like an earthly god:
He lives to wear his father's diadem,
And sway the sword of British Albion.
But Elinor, thy Elinor!
Lluellen . And what of her?
Hath amorous Neptune gazed upon my love,
And stopt her passage with his forked mace?
Or, that I rather fear, — O deadly fear! —
Enamour'd Nereus doth he withhold
My Elinor?
Guenther . Nor Neptune, Nereus, nor other god
Withholdeth from my gracious lord his love:
But cruel Edward, that injurious king,
Withholds thy liefest lovely Elinor;
Ta'en in a pinnace on the narrow seas.
By four tall ships of Bristow, and with her
Lord Emerick, her unhappy noble brother,
As from Montargis hitherward they sail'd,
This say in brief these letters tell at large.
Lluellen . Is Longshanks, then, so lusty now become?
Is my fair love, my beauteous Elinor, ta'en?
Villains, damned villains, not to guard her safe,
Or fence her sacred person from her foes!
Sun, couldst thou shine, and see my love beset,
And didst not clothe thy clouds in fiery coats,
O'er all the heavens, with winged sulphur flames,
As when thy beams, like mounted combatants,
Battled with Python in the fallowed lays?
But if kind Cambria deign me good aspect,
To make me chiefest Brute of western Wales,
I'll short that gain-legg'd Longshank[s] by the top,
And make his flesh my murdering falchion's food.
To arms, true Britons, sprung of Trojans' seed.
And with your swords write in the Book of Time
Your British names in characters of blood!
Owen ap Rice, while we stay for further force,
Prepare, away in post, and take with thee
A hundred chosen of thy countrymen,
And scour the marches with your Welshmen's hooks,
That Englishmen may think the divel is come.
Rice shall remain with me: make thou thy bode
In resolution to revenge these wrongs
With blood of thousands guiltless of this rage.
Fly thou on them amain! — Edward, my love
Be thy life's bane! — Follow me, countrymen!
Words make no way: my Elinor is surprised;
Robb'd am I of the comfort of my life:
And know I this, and am not venged on him?

The Friar and J ACK his Novice, with G UENTHIAN and Harper, come forward .

Friar . Come, boy, we must buckle I see, the prince is of my profession right: rather than he will lose his wench, he will fight Ab ovo usque ad mala .
Novice . O master, doubt you not, but your Novice will prove a hot shot, with a bottle of Metheglin.