{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/eng/boeb/boeb06.htm","path":"neu/eng/boeb/boeb06.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/boeb/boeb06.htm","text":"WHEN as King Henry rulde this land,\n \u00a0\u00a0The second of that name,\n Besides the queene, he dearly lovde\n \u00a0\u00a0A faire and comely dame.\nMost peerlesse was her beautye founde,\n \u00a0\u00a0Her favour, and her face;\n A sweeter creature in this worlde\n \u00a0\u00a0Could never prince embrace.\nHer crisped lockes like threads of golde,\n \u00a0\u00a0Appeard to each man's sight;\n Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,\n \u00a0\u00a0Did cast a heavenlye light.\nThe blood within her crystal cheekes\n \u00a0\u00a0Did such a colour drive,\n As though the lillye and the rose\n \u00a0\u00a0For mastership did strive.\nYea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,\n \u00a0\u00a0Her name was called so,\n To whom our queene, Dame Ellinor,\n \u00a0\u00a0Was known a deadlye foe.\nThe king therefore, for her defence\n \u00a0\u00a0Against the furious queene,\n At Woodstocke builded such a bower,\n \u00a0\u00a0The like was never seene.\nMost curiously that bower was built,\n \u00a0\u00a0Of stone and timber strong;\n An hundered and fifty doors\n \u00a0\u00a0Did to this bower belong:\nAnd they so cunninglye contriv'd,\n \u00a0\u00a0With turnings round about,\n That none but with a clue of thread\n \u00a0\u00a0Could enter in or out.\nAnd for his love and ladyes sake,\n \u00a0\u00a0That was so faire and brighte,\n The keeping of this bower he gave\n \u00a0\u00a0Unto a valiant knighte.\nBut fortune, that doth often frowne\n \u00a0\u00a0Where she before did smile,\n The kinges delighte and ladyes joy\n \u00a0\u00a0Full soon shee did beguile:\nFor why, the kinges ungracious sonne,\n \u00a0\u00a0Whom he did high advance,\n Against his father raised warres\n \u00a0\u00a0Within the realme of France.\nBut yet before our comelye king\n \u00a0\u00a0The English land forsooke,\n Of Rosamond, his lady faire,\n \u00a0\u00a0His farewelle thus he tooke:\nMy Rosamonde, my only Rose,\n \u00a0\u00a0That pleasest best mine eye,\n The fairest flower in all the worlde\n \u00a0\u00a0To feed my fantasye,--\n\"The flower of mine affected heart,\n \u00a0\u00a0Whose sweetness doth excelle,\n My royal Rose, a thousand times\n \u00a0\u00a0I bid thee nowe farwelle!\nFor I must leave my fairest flower,\n \u00a0\u00a0My sweetest Rose, a space,\n And cross the seas to famous France.,\n \u00a0\u00a0Proud rebelles to abase.\nBut yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt\n \u00a0\u00a0My coming shortlye see,\n And in my heart, when hence I am,\n \u00a0\u00a0Ile beare my Rose with mee.\"\nWhen Rosamond, that ladye brighte,\n \u00a0\u00a0Did heare the king saye soe,\n The sorrowe of her grieved heart\n \u00a0\u00a0Her outward lookes did showe.\nAnd from her cleare and crystall eyes\n \u00a0\u00a0The teares gusht out apace,\n Which, like the silver-pearled dewe,\n \u00a0\u00a0Ranne downe her comely face.\nHer lippes, erst like the corall redde,\n \u00a0\u00a0Did waxe both wan and pale,\n And for the sorrow she conceivde\n \u00a0\u00a0Her vitall spirits faile.\nAnd falling downe all in a swoone\n \u00a0\u00a0Before King Henryes face,\n Full oft he in his princelye armes\n \u00a0\u00a0Her bodye did embrace.\nAnd twentye times, with watery eyes,\n \u00a0\u00a0He kist her tender cheeke,\n Untill he had revivde againe\n \u00a0\u00a0Her senses milde and meeke.\n\"Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0The king did often say:\n \"Because,\" quoth shee, \"to bloodye warres\n \u00a0\u00a0My lord must part awaye.\n\"But since your Grace on forrayne coastes,\n \u00a0\u00a0Amonge your foes unkinde,\n Must goe to hazard life and limbe,\n \u00a0\u00a0Why should I staye behinde?\n\"Nay, rather let me, like a page,\n \u00a0\u00a0Your sworde and target beare;\n That on my breast the blowes may lighte,\n \u00a0\u00a0Which would offend you there.\n\"Or lett mee, in your royal tent,\n \u00a0\u00a0Prepare your bed at nighte,\n And with sweete baths refresh your grace,\n \u00a0\u00a0At your returne from fighte.\n\"So I your presence may enjoye\n \u00a0\u00a0No toil I will refuse;\n But wanting you, my life is death:\n \u00a0\u00a0Nay, death Ild rather chuse.\"\n\"Content thy self, my dearest love,\n \u00a0\u00a0Thy rest at home shall bee,\n In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;\n \u00a0\u00a0For travell fits not thee.\n\"Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;\n \u00a0\u00a0Soft peace their sexe delightes;\n Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;\n \u00a0\u00a0Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.\n\"My Rose shall safely here abide,\n \u00a0\u00a0With musicke passe the daye,\n Whilst I amonge the piercing pikes\n \u00a0\u00a0My foes seeke far awaye.\n\"My Rose shall shine in pearle and golde,\n \u00a0\u00a0Whilst Ime in armour dighte;\n Gay galliards here my love shall dance,\n \u00a0\u00a0Whilst I my foes goe fighte.\n\"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste\n \u00a0\u00a0To bee my loves defence,\n Be carefull of my gallant Rose\n \u00a0\u00a0When I am parted hence.\"\nAnd therewithall he fetcht a sigh,\n \u00a0\u00a0As though his heart would breake;\n And Rosamonde, for very griefe,\n \u00a0\u00a0Not one plaine word could speake.\nAnd at their parting well they mighte\n \u00a0\u00a0In heart be grieved sore:\n After that daye, faire Rosamonde\n \u00a0\u00a0The king did see no more.\nFor when his Grace had past the seas,\n \u00a0\u00a0And into France was gone,\n With envious heart, Queene Ellinor\n \u00a0\u00a0To Woodstocke came anone.\nAnd forth she calls this trustye knighte\n \u00a0\u00a0In an unhappy houre,\n Who, with his clue of twined-thread,\n \u00a0\u00a0Came from this famous bower.\nAnd when that they had wounded him,\n \u00a0\u00a0The queene this thread did gette,\n And wente where Ladye Rosamonde\n \u00a0\u00a0Was like an angell sette.\nBut when the queene with stedfast eye\n \u00a0\u00a0Beheld her beauteous face,\n She was amazed in her minde\n \u00a0\u00a0At her exceeding grace.\nCast off from thee those robes,\" she said,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"That riche and costlye bee;\n And drinke thou up this deadlye draught\n \u00a0\u00a0Which I have brought to thee.\"\nThen presentlye upon her knees\n \u00a0\u00a0Sweet Rosamonde did falle;\n And pardon of the queene she crav'd\n \u00a0\u00a0For her offences all.\n\"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,\"\n \u00a0\u00a0Faire Rosamonde did crye;\n \"And lett mee not with poison stronge\n \u00a0\u00a0Enforc\u00e8d bee to dye.\n\"I will renounce my sinfull life,\n \u00a0\u00a0And in some cloyster bide;\n Or else be banisht, if you please,\n \u00a0\u00a0To range the world soe wide.\n\"And for the fault which I have done,\n \u00a0\u00a0Though I was forc'd theretoe,\n Preserve my life, and punish mee\n \u00a0\u00a0As you thinke meet to doe.\"\nAnd with these words, her lillie handes\n \u00a0\u00a0She wrunge full often there;\n And downe along her lovely face\n \u00a0\u00a0Did trickle many a teare.\nBut nothing could this furious queene\n \u00a0\u00a0Therewith appeased bee;\n The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,\n \u00a0\u00a0As she knelt on her knee,\nShe gave this comelye dame to drinke;\n \u00a0\u00a0Who tooke it in her hand,\n And from her bended knee arose,\n \u00a0\u00a0And on her feet did stand,\nAnd casting up her eyes to heaven,\n \u00a0\u00a0Shee did for mercye calle;\n And drinking up the poison stronge,\n \u00a0\u00a0Her life she lost withalle.\nAnd when that death through everye limbe\n \u00a0\u00a0Had showde its greatest spite,\n Her chiefest foes did plain confesse\n \u00a0\u00a0Shee was a glorious wight.\nHer body then they did entomb,\n \u00a0\u00a0When life was fled away,\n At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,\n \u00a0\u00a0As may be seene this day.","title":"A Book of Old English Ballads: Fair Rosamond","type":"page"}