An Excellent BALLAD of a PRINCE of ENGLANDs Courtship to the KING
of FRANCEs DAUGHTER, and how the Prince was disasterously Slain; and how the afore-
said Princess was afterwards married to a Forrester. To the Tune of, Crimson Velvet, etc.
|
IN the days of old
|
when fair France did flourish,
|
Stories plainly told,
|
Lovers felt annoy;
|
The King a Daughter had,
|
beautious, fair, and lovely,
|
Which made her Father glad,
|
she was his only Joy:
|
A Prince of England came,
|
Whose Deeds did merit fame,
|
he woo'd her long, and loe at last,
|
Look what he did require,
|
She granted his desire,
|
their hearts in one were linked fast.
|
Which when her Father proved,
|
Lord how he was moved,
|
and tormented in his mind,
|
He sought for to prevent them,
|
And to discontent them,
|
Fortune crossed Lovers kind.
|
When these Princes twain,
|
were thus bar'd of pleasure,
|
Through the King's Disdain,
|
which their Joys withstood.
|
The Lady lockt up close,
|
her Jewles and her Treasure,
|
Having no remorse
|
of State and Royal Blood:
|
In homely poor Array,
|
She went from Court away,
|
to meet her Love and Heart's Delight:
|
Who in a Forrest great,
|
Had taken up his seat,
|
to wait her coming in the night:
|
But loe what sudden Danger,
|
To this Princoly Stranger,
|
chanced as he sat alone;
|
By Out-laws he was robbed,
|
And with Poniard stabbed,
|
uttering many a dying groan.
|
The Princess armed by him,
|
and by true Desire,
|
Wandring all that night,
|
without dread at all:
|
Still unknown she past,
|
in her strange Attire,
|
Coming at the last,
|
within Eccho's call,
|
You fair Wood, quoth she,
|
Honoured may you be,
|
harbouring my Heart's Delight,
|
Which doth incompass here
|
My Joy and only Dear,
|
my trusty Friend and comely Knight:
|
Sweet I come unto thee,
|
Sweet I come to woe thee,
|
that thou maist not angry be,
|
For my long delaying,
|
And thy courteous staying,
|
amends for all I'll make to thee.
|
Passing thus alone,
|
through the silent Forrest,
|
Many a grievous groan
|
sounded in her ear,
|
Where she heard a Man
|
to lament the sorest
|
Chance that ever came,
|
forc'd by deadly strife:
|
Farewel, my Dear, quoth he,
|
Whom I shall never see,
|
for why my life is at an end;
|
For thy sweet sake I dye,
|
Through Villains cruelty,
|
to show I am a faithful Friend;
|
Here lye I a bleeding,
|
While my thoughts are feeding
|
on the rarest Beauty found:
|
O hard hap that may be,
|
Little knows my Lady
|
my heart blood lies on the ground.
|
With that he gave a groan
|
that did break asunder,
|
All the tender strings
|
of his gentle Heart:
|
She who knew his voice,
|
at his tale did wonder,
|
All her former joys
|
did to grief convert.
|
Straight she ran to see
|
who this Man should be,
|
That so like her Love did speak,
|
and found when as she came,
|
Her lovely Lord lay slain,
|
smear'd in blood, which life did break.
|
Which when that she espyed,
|
Lord how sore she cryed,
|
her sorrows could not counted be;
|
Her eyes like Fountains running,
|
While she cry'd out, My Darling,
|
would God that I had dy'd for thee.
|
His pale lips, alas,
|
twenty times she kissed,
|
And his face did wash
|
with her brinish tears;
|
Every bleeding wound,
|
her fair face bedewed,
|
Wiping off the blood
|
with her golden hair:
|
Speak my Love (quoth she)
|
Speak fair Prince to me,
|
one sweet word of comfort give;
|
Lift up thy fair eyes,
|
Listen to my cries,
|
think in what great grief I live:
|
All in vain she sued,
|
All in vain she wooed,
|
the Prince's life was fled and gone:
|
There stood she still mourning,
|
Till the Sun's approaching,
|
and bright day was comming on.
|
In this great Distress,
|
quoth this Royal Lady,
|
Who can now express
|
what will become of me?
|
To my Father's Court
|
never will I wander,
|
But some service seek,
|
where I may placed be.
|
Whilst she thus made her moan,
|
Weeping all alone,
|
in this deep and deadly fear,
|
A Forrester all in green,
|
Most comely to be seen,
|
ranging the Wood did find her there,
|
Round beset with sorrow,
|
Maid (quoth he) good morrow;
|
what hard hap hath brought you here?
|
Harder hap did never
|
Chance to a Maiden ever,
|
here lies slain my Brother dear.
|
Where might I be plac'd,
|
gentle Forrester tell me;
|
Where might I procure
|
a service in my need?
|
Pains will I not spare,
|
but will do my duty,
|
Ease me of my care,
|
help my extream need.
|
The Forrester all amazed,
|
On her beauty gazed,
|
till his heart was set on fire:
|
If fair Maid (quoth he)
|
You will go with me,
|
you sh[a]ll have your Heart's desire.
|
He brought her to his Mother,
|
And above all other,
|
he set forth this Maiden's praise;
|
Long was his heart inflamed,
|
At length her love he gained,
|
so Fortune did his glory raise.
|
Thus unknown he matcht,
|
with the King's fair Daughter,
|
Children seven he had,
|
e'er she to him was known:
|
But when he understood
|
she was a Royal Princess,
|
By this means at last
|
he shewed forth her fame:
|
He cloathed his Children then
|
Not like to other Men,
|
in partly colours strange to see,
|
The right side cloth of gold,
|
The left side to behold
|
of woolen cloath still framed he:
|
Men thereat did wonder,
|
Golden Fame did thunder
|
this strange deed in every place:
|
The King of France came thither,
|
Being pleasant weather,
|
in these woods the hart to chase.
|
The Children there did stand,
|
as their Mother willed,
|
Where the Royal King
|
must of force come by.
|
Their Mother richly clad
|
in fair Crimson Velvet,
|
Their Father all in Gray,
|
most comely to the eye.
|
When this famous King,
|
Noting ever[y]thing,
|
did ask how he durst be so bold,
|
To let his Wife to wear,
|
And deck his Children there,
|
in costly Robes of Pearl and Gold.
|
The Forrester bold replyed,
|
And the cause descryed;
|
and to the King he thus did say:
|
Well may they by their Mother,
|
Wear rich Cloaths with other,
|
being by Birth a Princess gay.
|
The King upon these words
|
more heedfully beheld them,
|
Till a crimson blush,
|
his conceit did cross:
|
The more I look (quoth he)
|
upon thy Wife and Children,
|
The more I call to mind
|
my Daughter whom I lost.
|
I am t[h]at Child (quoth she)
|
Falling on her knee,
|
pa[r]don me my Soveraign Liege.
|
The King perceiving this,
|
His Daughter dear did kiss,
|
till joyful tears d[i]d stop his speech:
|
With his Train he turned,
|
And with her sojourned,
|
straight he dub'd her Husband Knight,
|
He made him Earl of Flanders,
|
One of his chief Commanders;
|
thus was their sorrow put to flight.
|
|
|
|
|
|