Classic Poem

THE Argument .

Edward the sixt his timelesse Life bereft ;
(Though doubtfully) yet his Dominion left
To his Sister M ARY : but by H ENRY G RAY ,
Then Duke of Suffolke, bearing mightie sway ,
With the Consent, and by the pow'rfull Hand
Of J OHN , the stout Duke of Northumberland,
His fourth sonne G ILFORD D UDLEY , they affy'd
To faire Jane G RAY , which by the Mothers side
Some Title claym'd: this Marriage them betweene,
The Lady Jane was here proclaymed Queene .
But M ARY soone prevayling by her Pow'r ,
Causes those two preserved in the Tow'r,
There to be prison'd; where, their blame to quite,
They each to other these Epistles write.

Mine owne deare Lord, sith thou art lock'd from me,
In this disguise my love must steale to thee,
Since to renue all Loves, all Kindnesse past,
This Refuge scarcely left, yet this the last
 My Keeper comming, I of thee inquire,
Who with thy greeting answeres my desire;
Which my Tongue willing to returne againe,
Griefe stops my words, and I but strive in vaine:
Wherewith amaz'd, away in haste he goes,
When through my Lips my Heart thrusts forth my Woes
But then the Dores that make a dolefull sound,
Drive backe my Words, that in the noyse are drown'd,
Which somewhat hush'd, the Eccho doth record,
And twice or thrice reiterates my Word;
When like an adverse Winde in Isis course,
Against the Tide bending his boistrous force;
But when the Floud hath wrought it selfe about,
He following on, doth head-long thrust it out;
Thus strive my Sighes with Teares e're they begin,
And breaking out, againe Sighes drive them in.
 A thousand formes present my troubled thought,
Yet prove abortive e're they forth are brought.
“The depth of Woe with words we hardly sound,
“Sorrow is so insensibly profound.
As Teares doe fall and rise, Sighes come and goe,
So doe these numbers ebbe, so doe they flow.
These briny Teares doe make my Incke looke pale,
My Incke clothes Teares in this sad mourning vale,
The letters mourners, weepe with my dim Eye,
The Paper pale, griev'd at my miserie.
Yet miserable our selves why should we deeme,
Sith none are so, but in their owne esteeme?
“Who in distresse from resolution flies,
“Is rightly said, to yeeld to miseries.
They which begot us, did beget this Sinne,
They first begun, what did our griefe beginne,
We tasted not, 'twas they which did rebell,
(Not our offence) but in their fall we fell;
They which a Crowne would to my Lord have linck'd,
All hope of Life and Libertie extinct;
A Subject borne, a Soveraigne to have beene,
Hath made me now, nor Subject, nor a Queene.
Ah vile Ambition, how dost thou deceive us,
Which shew'st us Heav'n, and yet in Hell dost leave us?
“Seldome untouch'd doth Innocence escape,
“When Errour commeth in good Counsels shape,
“A lawfull title counter checkes proud Might,
“The weakest things become strong props to right.
Then my deare Lord, although affliction grieve us,
Yet let our spotlesse Innocence relieve us.
“Death but an acted passion doth appeare,
“Where truth gives Courage, and the Conscience cleare.
And let thy comfort thus consist in mine,
That I beare part of whatsoe're is thine;
As when we liv'd untouch'd with these disgraces,
When as our Kingdome was our deare embraces;
At Durham Palace, where sweet H YMEN sang,
Whose Buildings with our Nuptiall Musike rang:
When Prothalamions prays'd that happie day,
Wherein great D UDLEY match'd with Noble G RAY ,
When they devis'd to linke by Wedlocks Band,
The House of S UFFOLKE to N ORTHUMBERLAND ;
Our fatall Dukedome to your Dukedome bound,
To frame this Building on so weake a Ground.
For what avayles a lawlesse Usurpation,
Which gives a Scepter, but not rules a Nation?
Onely the surfet of a vaine Opinion:
“What gives Content, gives what exceeds Dominion.
 When first mine Eares were pierced with the Fame
Of Jane , proclaymed by a Princes Name,
A sudden fright my trembling Heart appalls:
“The feare of Conscience entreth yron Walls.
Thrice happy for our Fathers had it beene,
If what we fear'd, they wisely had fore-seene,
And kept a meane gate, in an humble Path,
To have escap'd the Heav'ns impetuous Wrath.
The true-bred Eagle strongly stems the Wind,
And not each Bird resembling their brave Kind;
He like a King, doth from the Clouds command
The fearefull Fowle, that move but neere the Land.
 Though M ARY be from mightie Kings descended,
My Bloud not from P LANIAGINET pretended;
My Grandsire B RANDON did our House advance,
By Princely M ARY , Dowager of France ;
The Fruit of that faire Stocke, which did combine,
And Y ORK'S sweet Branch with L ANCASTER'S entwine,
And in one Stalke did happily unite
The pure Vermillion Rose, and purer White;
I, the untimely Slip of that rich Stem,
Whose golden Bud brings forth a Diadem.
But oh, forgive me Lord, it is not I,
Nor doe I boast of this, but learne to die:
Whilst we were as our selves, conjoyned then,
Nature to Nature, now an Alien.
“To gaine a Kingdome, who spares their next Blood?
“Neerenesse contemn'd, if Sov'raigntie withstood
“A Diadem once dazeling the Eye,
“The day too darke to see Affinitie;
“And where the Arme is stretch'd to reach a Crowne,
“Friendship is broke, the dearest things throwne downe:
For what great H ENRY most strove to avoid,
The Heav'ns have built, where Earth would have destroy'd.
And seating E DWARD on his Regall Throne,
He gives to M ARY all that was his owne,
By Death assuring what by Life is theirs,
The Lawfull claime of H ENRIES lawfull heires,
By mortall Lawes the bond may be divorc'd,
But Heavens decree by no meanes can be forc'd:
That rules the case, when men have all decreed,
Who tooke him hence foresaw who should succeed,
For we in vaine relie on humane Lawes,
When Heaven stands forth to pleade the righteous cause,
Thus rule the Skies in their continuall course,
That yeelds to Fate, that doth not yeeld to force.
“Mans wit doth build for Time but to devoure,
“But Vertue's free from Time and Fortunes pow'r.
 Then, my kinde Lord, sweet G ILFORD , be not griev'd,
The Soule is Heavenly, and from Heaven reliev'd;
And as we once have plighted Troth together,
Now let us make exchange of Mindes to either;
To thy faire brest take my resolved Minde,
Arm'd against blacke Despaire, and all her kinde,
Into my bosome breathe that Soule of thine,
There to be made as perfect as is mine;
So shall our Faiths as firmely be approved,
As I of thee, or thou of me beloved.
This Life, no Life, wert thou not deare to me,
Nor this no Death, were I not woe for thee.
Thou my deare Husband, and my Lord before,
But truely learne to Die, thou shalt be more.
Now live by Prayer, on Heaven fixe all thy thought,
And surely finde, what e're by zeale is sought;
For each good motion that the Soule awakes,
A Heavenly figure sees, from whence it takes
That sweet Resemblance, which by power of kinde,
Formes (like it selfe) an Image in the minde,
And in our Faith the operations bee,
Of that Divinenesse which through that we see;
Which never erres, but accidentally,
By our fraile Fleshes imbecillity;
By each Temptation over-apt to slide,
Except our Spirit becomes our bodies guide;
For as these Towers our bodies doe enclose,
So our Soules prisons verily are those;
Our bodies, stopping that Celestiall light,
As these doe hinder our exterior sight;
Whereon Death seazing, doth discharge the debt,
And us at blessed Libertie doth set.
 Then draw thy Forces all up to thy Heart,
The strongest Fortresse of this Earthly part,
And on these three let thy assurance lye,
On Faith, Repentance, and Humilitie;
By which, to Heav'n ascending by degrees,
Persist in Prayer upon your bended Knees:
Whereon if you assuredly be stay'd,
You need in Perill not to be dismay'd,
Which still shall keepe you, that you shall not fall,
For any Perill that can you appall:
The Key of Heav'n thus with you, you shall beare,
And Grace you guiding, get you entrance there;
And you of those Celestiall Joyes possesse,
Which mortall Tongue's unable to expresse.
 Then thanke the Heav'n, preparing us this Roome,
Crowning our Heads with glorious Martyrdome,
Before the blacke and dismall dayes begin,
The dayes of all Idolatrie and Sinne;
Not suff'ring us to see that wicked Age,
When Persecution vehemently shall rage;
When Tyrannie new Tortures shall invent,
To inflict Vengeance on the Innocent.
Yet Heav'n forbid, that M ARIES Wombe should bring
Englands faire Scepter to a forraine King;
But she to faire E LIZABETH shall leave it,
Which broken, hurt, and wounded shall receive it:
And on her Temples having plac'd the Crowne,
Root out the dregges Idolatry hath sowne;
And Sions glory shall againe restore,
Laid ruine, waste, and desolate before;
And from blacke Sinders, and rude heapes of Stones,
Shall gather up the Martyrs sacred Bones;
And shall extirpe the Pow'r of Rome againe,
And cast aside the heavie Yoke of Spaine .
 Farewell, sweet G ILFORD , know our End is neere,
Heav'n is our Home, we are but strangers heere:
Let us make haste to goe unto the Blest,
Which from these wearie Worldly Labours rest.
And with these Lines, my dearest Lord, I greet thee,
Untill in Heav'n thy Jane againe shall meet thee.