The lamentable fall of Queene Elnor, who for her pride and wickednesse by Gods judgement, sunke in-
to the ground at Charingcrosse, and rose up at Queene Hive.
To the tune of Gentle and Courteous.
|
WHen Edward was in England king
|
the first of all that name:
|
Proud Elnor he made his Queene,
|
a stately Spanish Dame,
|
Whose wicked life and sinfull pride,
|
through England did excell:
|
To dainty Dames and gallant Maides,
|
this Queene was knowne full well.
|
She was the first that did invent
|
in Coaches brave to ride,
|
She was the first that brought this land
|
the deadly sinne of pride.
|
No English Taylor here could serve
|
to make her rich attyre:
|
But sent for Taylors into Spaine,
|
to feed her vaine desire.
|
They brought in fashions strange and new
|
with golden garments bright:
|
The farthingale, a[n]d mighty cuffes,
|
with gownes of rare delight
|
Our London dames in Spanish pride,
|
did florish every where,
|
Our English men like women then,
|
did weare long locks of haire.
|
Both man and childe, both maid & wife,
|
were drownd in Pride of Spaine,
|
And thought the Spanish Tailors then
|
our English men did staine:
|
Whereat the Queene did much despite
|
to see our English men.
|
In vestuees clad, as brave to see,
|
as any Spaniard then.
|
She cravd the King that every man,
|
that wore long locks of haire,
|
Might then be cut and powled all,
|
or shaven very neare.
|
Whereat the King did seem content,
|
and soon thereto agreed,
|
And first commanded that his owne
|
should then be cut with speed,
|
And after that to please his Queene,
|
proclaimed through the land,
|
That everie man that wore long haire,
|
should powle him out of hand.
|
But yet this Spaniard not content,
|
to women bore a spight:
|
And then requested of the King,
|
against all law and right.
|
That everie womankinde should have
|
her right breast cut away:
|
And then with burning Irons seard,
|
the blood to stench and stay,
|
King Edward then perceiving wel,
|
her spight to women kinde:
|
Devised soon by policy,
|
to turne her bloudie minde.
|
He sent for burning Irons straight,
|
all sparkling hot to see:
|
And said, O Queene come on thy way,
|
I wil begin with thee.
|
Which words did much displease the Queen
|
that penance to begin,
|
But askt him pardon on her knees,
|
who gave her grace therein.
|
But afterward they chanst to passe
|
along brave London streets,
|
Whereas the Maior of Londons wife,
|
in stately sort she meets.
|
With musicke, mirth and melody
|
unto the Church that went,
|
To give God thanks, that to Lord Maior
|
a noble Sonne had sent.
|
It grieved much this spightful Queen,
|
to see that any one,
|
Should so exceed in mirth and joy,
|
except her selfe alone:
|
For which she after did devise.
|
within her bloudy minde,
|
And practisd still most secretly,
|
to kill that Ladie kinde.
|
Unto Lord Maior of London then,
|
she sent he Letters straight,
|
To send his Lady to the Court,
|
upon her Grace to wait:
|
But when the London Lady came
|
before proud Elnors face,
|
She stript her from her rich array,
|
and kept her vile and base,
|
She sent her into wales with speed,
|
and kept her secret there,
|
And used her still more cruelly,
|
then ever man did heare:
|
She made her wash she made her starch
|
she made her drudge alway:
|
She made her nurse up children small,
|
and labour night and day.
|
But this contented not the Queen,
|
but shewd her more despight:
|
She bound this Lady to a post:
|
at twelve at lock at night,
|
And as (poore Lady) she stood bound,
|
the Queene in angry mood,
|
Did set two snakes unto her breast,
|
that suckt away her blood.
|
Thus died the Maior of Londons wife,
|
most grievous for to heare:
|
Which made the Spaniard grow more proud,
|
as after shall appeare.
|
The wheat that dayly made her bread
|
was bolted twenty times,
|
The food that fed this stately Dame,
|
was boild in costly wines.
|
The water that did spring from ground
|
she would not touch at all,
|
But washt her hands with dew of heaven
|
that on sweet Roses fall,
|
She bathd her body manie a time,
|
in fountaines filled with milke,
|
And every day did change attire,
|
in costly Median silke.
|
But comming then to London backe,
|
within her coach of gold,
|
A tempest strange within the skies,
|
this Queene did there behold:
|
Out of which storme she could not goe,
|
but their remaind a space,
|
Foure horses could not stirre her Coach
|
a foot out of that place.
|
A judgement surely sent from heaven,
|
for shedding guiltlesse bloud,
|
Upon this sinful Queene, that slew
|
the London Lady good.
|
King Edward then (as wisedome wild)
|
accusd her for that deede;
|
But she denied, and wisht that God
|
would send his wrath with speed,
|
If that upon so vile a thing
|
her heart did ever thinke,
|
She wisht the ground might open wide,
|
and therein she might sinke:
|
With that at Charing-Crosse she sunke,
|
into the ground alive,
|
And after rose with life againe,
|
in London at Queene-Hive.
|
Where after that she languisht sore,
|
full twentie daies in paine:
|
At last confest, the Ladies blood
|
her guilty hands did staine:
|
And likewise how that by a Frier
|
she had a base borne childe,
|
Whose sinful lust and wickednesse,
|
her marriage bed defilde.
|
Thus you have heard the fall of pride,
|
a just reward of sinne:
|
For those that wil forsweare themselves
|
Gods vengeance daily winne,
|
Beware of pride ye London Dames,
|
both Wives and Maidens all,
|
Beare this imprinted in your minde,
|
that pride must have a fall.
|
|
|
|
|
|