The lamentable fall of Queene Elnor, who for her pride and wickednesse, by Gods Judgment, sunke into the ground at Charing crosse, and rose up againe at Queene hive. To the tune of, Gentle and Curteous.
|
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 daintie 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 Taylors heere could serve
|
to make her rich attire:
|
But sent for Taylors into Spaine,
|
to feede her vaine desire.
|
They brought in fashions strange and new
|
with golden garments bright:
|
The Farthingales, and mighty Ruffes,
|
with Gownes of rare delight.
|
[Our Lon]don Dames in Spanish pride,
|
[did flourish e]very where,
|
[Our English men l]ike Women then,
|
[did weare long lock]es of haire.
|
[Both man and childe, bot]h maide & wife,
|
[were drownd in Pride o]f Spaine:
|
[And thought the Spanish Ta]ylors then,
|
[our English men did staine]:
|
[Whereat the Queene did mu]ch despite
|
[to see] our english-men.
|
[In] vestures clad, as brav[e] to see
|
as any Spaniard then.
|
She cravd the King that every man
|
that wore long lockes of haire,
|
Might then be cut and powled all,
|
or shaven very neare.
|
Whereat the King did seeme content,
|
and soone thereto agreed:
|
And first commaunded that his owne,
|
should then be cut with speed.
|
And after that to please his Queene,
|
proclaymed through the land,
|
That every man that wore long haire,
|
[s]hould powle him out of hand.
|
[But y]et this Spaniard not content,
|
[to w]omen bore a spight:
|
[And the]n requested of the King
|
[against] all law and right:
|
[That ever]y woman-kind should have,
|
[her right b]reast cut away:
|
[And then] burning Irons seard,
|
[the blood to st]aunch and stay.
|
[King Edward] then perceiving well
|
[her spight t]o women-kind.
|
Devised soone by pollicie
|
to turne her bloody minde.
|
He sent for burning Irons straight,
|
all sparkling hot to see:
|
And sayd, O Queene, come on thy way
|
I will begin with thee.
|
Which wordes did much displease the Queene
|
that penance to begin:
|
But askt him pardon on her knees,
|
who gave her grace therein:
|
But afterward she chaunst to passe
|
along brave London streetes:
|
Whereas the Maior of Londons wife,
|
in stately sort she meetes.
|
With musicke, mirth, and melodie,
|
unto the Church that went:
|
To give God thanks that to L. Maior
|
a noble Sonne had sent.
|
It grieved much this spitefull Queene
|
to see that any one
|
Should so exceede in mirth and joy,
|
except her selfe alone:
|
For which she after did devise,
|
within her bloody minde,
|
And practisde still most secretly
|
to kill the Lady kinde.
|
Unto Lord Maior of London then
|
she sent her letters straight:
|
To send his Lady to the Court,
|
upon her Grace to waight.
|
But when the London Lady came,
|
before proude Elnors face:
|
She stript her from her rich array,
|
and kept her vile and bace.
|
She sent her into Wales with speede,
|
and kept her secret there:
|
And usde her still more crueller
|
then ever man did heare:
|
she made her wash, she made her startch
|
she made her drudge alway:
|
She made her nurse up children small,
|
and labour night and day.
|
But this contented not the Queene,
|
but shewd her more despight:
|
She bound this Lady to a post
|
at twelve a clocke at nyght:
|
And as poore Lady she stood bound
|
the Queene in angrie mood,
|
Did set two Snakes unto her breasts,
|
that suckt away her blood.
|
Thus died the Maior of Londons wif
|
most greevous for to heare:
|
Which made the Spaniard grow more proud
|
as after shall appeare.
|
The Wheate that dayly made her bred
|
was boulted twentie times,
|
The food that fed this stately Dame,
|
was boylde in costly wines.
|
The water that did spring from ground
|
she would not touch at all,
|
But washt her handes with dew of dea-ven,
|
that on sweete Roses fall:
|
She bathd her body many times,
|
in fountaines filde with milke,
|
And every day did change attire,
|
in costly median silke.
|
But comming then to London backe,
|
within her Coach of golde:
|
A tempest strange within the skies,
|
this Queene did there behold.
|
Out of which storme she could not goe,
|
but there remaind a space,
|
Foure horses could not stirre her coach
|
a foote out of that place.
|
A judgement surely sent from heaven
|
for shedding guiltlesse blood,
|
Upon this sinfull Queene that slew
|
the London Lady good:
|
King Edward then, as wisedome wild
|
accusde her for that deede:
|
But she denied and wisht that God
|
would send his wrath with speede.
|
If that upon so vile a thing,
|
her hart did ever thinke,
|
She wisht the ground might open wid
|
and therein she might sinke:
|
With that at Charing crosse she sunke
|
into the ground alive,
|
And after rose with lyfe againe
|
in London at Queene hive.
|
Where after that she languisht sore
|
full twentie dayes in paine:
|
At last confest the Ladies blood,
|
her guiltie handes did staine.
|
And likewise how that by a Fryer
|
she had a base borne childe,
|
Whose sinfull lust and wickednes
|
her mariage bed defilde.
|
Thus have you heard the fall of pride,
|
a just reward of sinne:
|
For those that wil forsweare themselves
|
Gods vengeance dayly winne.
|
Beware of Pride you London dames,
|
both wives and maydens all,
|
Beare this imprinted in your minde,
|
that Pride will have a fall.
|
|
|
|
|
|