IX.
AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
The subject of this poem, which was written by _Skelton_, is the death of _Henry Percy_, fourth earl of Northumberland, who fell a victim to the avarice of Henry VII. In 1489 the parliament had granted the king a subsidy for carrying on the war in Bretagne. This tax was found so heavy in the North, that the whole country was in a flame. The E. of Northumberland, then lord lieutenant for Yorkshire, wrote to inform the king of the discontent, and praying an abatement. But nothing is so unrelenting as avarice: the king wrote back that not a penny should be abated. This message being delivered by the earl with too little caution, the populace rose, and, supposing him to be the promoter of their calamity, broke into his house, and murdered him, with several of his attendants, who yet are charged by Skelton with being backward in their duty on this occasion. This melancholy event happened at the earl's seat at Cocklodge, near Thirske, in Yorkshire, April 28, 1489. See Lord Bacon, &c.
If the reader does not find much poetical merit in this old poem (which yet is one of Skelton's best), he will see a striking picture of the state and magnificence kept up by our ancient nobility during the feudal times. This great earl is described here as having, among his menial servants, _knights_, _squires_, and even _barons_: see v. 32. 183. &c. which, however different from modern manners, was formerly not unusual with our greater barons, whose castles had all the splendour and offices of a royal court before the laws against retainers abridged and limited the number of their attendants.
_John Skelton_, who commonly styled himself Poet Laureat, died June 21, 1529. The following poem, which appears to have been written soon after the event, is printed from an ancient MS. copy preserved in the British Museum, being much more correct than that printed among _Skelton's Poems_ in bl. let. 12mo. 1568.--It is addressed to Henry Percy, fifth earl of Northumberland, and is prefaced, &c. in the following manner:
POETA SKELTON LAUREATUS LIBELLUM SUUM METRICE ALLOQUITUR.
Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina Percy, Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit, Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis, Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano. Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet Fortunam, cuncta quæ male fida rotat. Qui leo sit felix, & Nestoris occupet annos; Ad libitum cujus ipse paratus ero.
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[Percy does not do justice to Skelton's poetical powers in the above note, as this _Elegy_ is written in a style not at all characteristic of him and is also far from being one of his best poems. Skelton was one of the earliest personal satirists in our language, and he flew at high game when he attacked the powerful Wolsey with fierce invective, in his "Why come ye nat to courte?" His _Boke of Phyllyp Sparrowe_ is described by Coleridge as "an exquisite and original poem," and its subject entitles him to the designation of the modern Catullus. It was very popular in his day, and the nursery rhyme of _Who killed Cock robin?_ was probably paraphrased from the portion of the poem in which the funeral of the sparrow is related. Skelton was a distinguished scholar and his earlier poems are written in the serious strain of the _Elegy_, but curiously enough about the time that he took orders (1498) and became rector of Diss in Norfolk, he began to write in a more natural, frolicsome and satirical vein, and adopted the metre now known as Skeltonian. He was not very particular as to the words he used, but he does not deserve the opprobrious epithet that Pope applies to him in the couplet--
"Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learned by rote, And beastly Skelton heads of houses quote."
Skelton graduated as poet laureate at the two Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and the King allowed him to wear an appropriate decoration at court. There is a full length portrait of the poet in Brydges' _British Bibliographer_ (vol. iv. p. 389), taken from one on the back of the title of _A ryght delectable tratyse upon a goodly Garlande or Chaplet of Laurell by Mayster Skelton, Poete laureat_.
The Rev. Alexander Dyce published the first complete collected edition of Skelton's Poetical Works in 1843 (2 vols. 8vo.)]
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SKELTON LAUREAT UPON THE DOLORUS DETHE AND MUCH LAMENTABLE CHAUNCE OF THE MOOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUMBERLANDE.
I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore The dedely fate, the dolefulle destenny Of him that is gone, alas! withoute restore, Of the blode[569] royall descendinge nobelly; Whos lordshepe doutles was slayne lamentably 5 Thorow treson ageyn[570] hym compassyd and wrought; Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thought.
Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name In the college of musis goddess hystoriall, Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10 In elect uteraunce to make memoryall: To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle With the freshe waters of Elyconys[571] welle.
Of noble actes auncyently enrolde, 15 Of famous princis and lordes of astate,[572] By thy report ar wonte to be extold, Regestringe trewly every formare date; Of thy bountie after the usuall rate, Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,[573] 20 Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.
In sesons past who hathe harde or sene Of formar writinge by any presidente That vilane hastarddis[574] in ther furious tene,[575] Fulfyld with malice of froward entente, 25 Confeterd[576] togeder of commoun concente Falsly to slo[577] ther moste singular goode lorde? It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.
So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight, Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken; 30 At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men: Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde[578] To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde. 35
And were not they to blame, I say also, That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust, To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo? Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust: They bode[579] not till the rekening were discust. 40 What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose[580] or paynt? Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint.
In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted;[581] Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede; To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede;[582] 45 A mayny[583] of rude villayns made him for to blede: Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them oft at nede: He was their bulwark, their paves,[584] and their wall, Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot[585] them befal.
I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad? 50 What frantyk frensy fyll[586] in youre brayne? Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had? What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne[587] Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne. Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd; 55 Well may you be called comones most unkynd.
He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence, Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede: Your worship[588] depended of his excellence: Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede: 60 Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede: What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight? What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?
The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord, The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 65 Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord To the right of his prince which shold not be withstand; For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande: But had his nobill men done wel that day, Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay. 70
But ther was fals packinge,[589] or els I am begylde: How-be-it the matter was evident and playne, For yf they had occupied[590] ther spere and ther shelde, This noble man doutles had not be slayne. Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn, 75 And held with the commouns under a cloke, Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.
The commouns renyed[591] ther taxes to pay Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge; With one voice importune, they playnly said nay: 80 They buskt them on a bushment[592] themself in baile[593] to bringe: Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe,[594] Bluntly as bestis withe boste[595] and with cry They saide, they forsede[596] not, nor carede not to dy.
The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght, 85 As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne, Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght, And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne, Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne, Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there: 90 Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.
Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle, Togeder with servaunts of his famuly, Turnid their backis, and let ther master fall, Of whos [life] they counted not a flye; 95 Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly. Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente Upon suche a sort[597] was ille bestowde and spent.
He was envyronde aboute on every syde Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode;[598] 100 Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes wyde: Alas for routhe![599] what thouche his mynde were goode, His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode! All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne; For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne. 105
Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,[600] The famous erle of Northumberlande: Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt, The myghty lyoun[601] doutted[602] by se and lande! O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande! 110 What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne, From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne?
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war! O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy name, When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar! 115 O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame, Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same! Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd[603] grounde Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!
O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre, 120 Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man, All merciles, in the ys no pitè! O homycide, whiche sleest[604] all that thou kan, So forcibly upon this erle thow ran, That with thy sworde enharpid[605] of mortall drede, 125 Thou kit[606] asonder his perfight[607] vitall threde!
My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne, Of aureat[608] poems they want ellumynynge;[609] Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge. 130 Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson[610] of every thing, Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune, Tyl fykkill[611] fortune began on hym to frowne.
Paregall[612] to dukis, with kings he myght compare, Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede, 135 To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte[613] me I dare. Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede, Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede, Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 139 Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.
What nedethe me for to extoll his fame With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust? Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name, Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,[614] 145 Truly reportinge his right noble astate, Immortally whiche is immaculate.
His noble blode never disteynyd was, Trew to his prince for to defende his right, Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas, 150 Treytory[615] and treson he bannesht out of syght, With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght, As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same: To slo suche a lord, alas, it was grete shame.
If the hole quere[616] of the musis nyne 155 In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde, Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne, As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd; To me also allthouche it were promysyde Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160 All were to litill for his magnyficence.
O yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,[617] Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate, God the assyst unto thyn herytage, And geve the grace to be more fortunate, 165 Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate. And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge, Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne.
I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long, Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast, 170 Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge: All flattringe faytors[618] abhor and from the cast, Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast: Let double delinge in the have no place, And be not light of credence in no case. 175
Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd, Eche man may sorrow in his inward thought, Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd Allgyf[619] Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught. Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought 180 Bothe temporall and spirituall for to complayne This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.
More specially barons, and those knygtes bold, And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd In fee, as menyall men of his housold, 185 Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd: To sorowfull weping they ought to be constreynd, As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce, Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.
O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle, 190 That with one worde formed al thing of noughte; Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall; Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast wrought All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght, With thy blode precious our finaunce[620] thou dyd pay, 195 And us redemed, from the fendys pray;[621]
To the pray we, as prince incomperable, As thou art of mercy and pite the well, Thou bringe unto thy joye etermynable[622] The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell, 200 In endles blis with the to byde and dwell In thy palace above the orient, Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.
O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace, Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, 205 To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace, Of all women O floure withouten pere, Pray to thy son above the starris clere, He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion. 210
In joy triumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,[623] With all the hole sorte[624] of that glorious place, His soule mot[625] receyve into ther company Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all solace: Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace, 215 The father, the son, and the holy goste In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.
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[+±+] I have placed the foregoing poem of _Skelton's_ before the following extract from _Hawes_, not only because it was written first, but because I think _Skelton_ is in general to be considered as the earlier poet; many of his poems being written long before _Hawes's Graunde Amour_.
FOOTNOTES:
[569] The mother of Henry, first Earl of Northumberland, was Mary daughter to Henry E. of Lancaster, whose father Edmond was second son of K. Henry III.--The mother and wife of the second Earl of Northumberland were both lineal descendants of K. Edward III.--The _Percys_ also were lineally descended from the Emperour Charlemagne and the ancient Kings of France, by his ancestor Josceline de Lovain (son of Godfrey Duke of Brabant), who took the name of _Percy_ on marrying the heiress of that house in the reign of Hen. II. Vid. Camden _Britan._, Edmondson, &c.
[570] [against.]
[571] [Helicons.]
[572] [estate.]
[573] [nobleness.]
[574] [rough fellows.]
[575] [wrath.]
[576] [confederated.]
[577] [slay.]
[578] [churls by nature.]
[579] [abode.]
[580] [gloss over.]
[581] [dreaded.]
[582] [crouched.]
[583] [a number.]
[584] [large shield.]
[585] [may.]
[586] [fell.]
[587] [against.]
[588] [honour.]
[589] [false dealing.]
[590] [used.]
[591] [refused.]
[592] [they prepared themselves for an ambush.]
[593] [trouble.]
[594] [contend.]
[595] [pride.]
[596] [heeded.]
[597] [set.]
[598] [wild.]
[599] [pity.]
[600] [destroyed.]
[601] Alluding to his crest and supporters. _Doutted_ is contracted for _redoubted_.
[602] [dreaded.]
[603] [misused, applied to a bad purpose.]
[604] [slayest.]
[605] [hooked or edged.]
[606] [cut.]
[607] [perfect.]
[608] [golden.]
[609] [embellishing.]
[610] [abundance.]
[611] [fickle.]
[612] [equal.]
[613] [refer.]
[614] [overpowered with hearty desire.]
[615] [treachery.]
[616] [whole choir.]
[617] [the earl's son was only eleven years old at the time of his father's death.]
[618] [deceivers.]
[619] [although.]
[620] [fine or forfeiture.]
[621] [prey of the fiends.]
[622] [interminable.]
[623] [hierarchy.]
[624] [whole company.]
[625] [may.]