[Queen Elenor's Confession:]
Shewing how King Henry, with the Earl Martial, in Fryars Habits, came to her instead of two
Fryars from France, which she sent for.
To a pleasant new Tune.
|
QUeen Elenor was a sick woman,
|
and afraid that she should dye;
|
Then she sent for two fryars of France,
|
for to speak with them speedily.
|
The King call'd down his nobles all,
|
by one, by two, and by three;
|
And sent away for Earl Martial,
|
for to speak with him speedily.
|
When that he came before the King,
|
he fell on his bended knee,
|
A boon, a boon, our Gracious King,
|
that you sent so hastily.
|
I'll pawn my livings, and my lands,
|
my scepter and my crown,
|
That whatever Queen Elenor says,
|
I will not write it down.
|
Do you but put on one fryar's coat,
|
and I'll put on another,
|
And we will to Queen Elenor go,
|
one fryar like another.
|
Thus both at[t]ired then they go:
|
when they came to White-hall,
|
The bells they did ring, and the quiristers sing,
|
and the torches did light them all.
|
When that they came before the Queen,
|
they fell on their bended knee,
|
A boon, a boon our Gracious Queen,
|
that you sent so hastily.
|
Are you two fryars of France, she said,
|
which I suppose you be;
|
But if you are two English fryars,
|
then hanged you shall be.
|
We are two fryars of France, they said,
|
as you suppose we be,
|
We have not been at any mass
|
since we came from the sea.
|
The first vile thing that e'er I did,
|
I will to you unfold,
|
Earl Martial had my maiden-head,
|
underneath this cloath of gold.
|
That is a vile sin, then said the King,
|
God may forgive it thee:
|
Amen, amen, quoth Earl Martial
|
with a heavy heart then spoke he.
|
The next vile thing that e'er I did,
|
to you I'd not deny;
|
I made a box of poyson strong,
|
to poyson King Henry.
|
That is a vile sin then said the King,
|
God may forgive it thee:
|
Amen, amen, quoth Earl Martial,
|
and I wish it so may be.
|
The next vile thing that e'er I did,
|
to you I will discover,
|
I poysoned fair Rosamond,
|
all in fair Woodstock-bower.
|
That is a vile sin, then said the King,
|
God may forgive it thee:
|
Amen, amen, quoth Earl Martial,
|
and wish it so may be.
|
Do you see yonders little Boy,
|
a catching of the Ball?
|
That is Earl Martials son, she said,
|
and I love him the best of all.
|
Do you see yonders little Boy,
|
a tossing of the ball,
|
That is King Henrys son she said,
|
and I love him the worst of all.
|
His head is like unto a bull,
|
his nose is like a boar.
|
No matter for that, King Henry said,
|
I love him the better therefore.
|
The King pull'd off his fryar's coat,
|
and appeared all in red;
|
She shriek'd, and she cry'd, she wrung her hands,
|
and said, she was betray'd.
|
The King look'd over his left shoulder,
|
and a grim look looked he,
|
And said, Earl Martial, but for my oath,
|
then hanged shouldst thou be.
|
|
|
|
|
|