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| WHEN as king Henry rulde this land, | |
| The second of that name, | |
| Besides the queene, he dearly lovde | |
| A faire and comely dame. | |
| |
| Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, | 5 |
| Her favour, and her face; | |
| A sweeter creature in this worlde | |
| Could never prince embrace. | |
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| Her crisped lockes like threads of golde | |
| Appeard to each mans sight; | 10 |
| Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles, | |
| Did cast a heavenlye light. | |
| |
| The blood within her crystal cheekes | |
| Did such a colour drive, | |
| As though the lillye and the rose | 15 |
| For mastership did strive. | |
| |
| Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, | |
| Her name was called so, | |
| To whom our queene, dame Ellinor, | |
| Was known a deadlye foe. | 20 |
| |
| The king therefore, for her defence, | |
| Against the furious queene, | |
| At Woodstocke builded such a bower, | |
| The like was never seene. | |
| |
| Most curiously that bower was built | 25 |
| Of stone and timber strong, | |
| An hundered and fifty doors | |
| Did to this bower belong: | |
| |
| And they so cunninglye contriv’d | |
| With turnings round about, | 30 |
| That none but with a clue of thread, | |
| Could enter in or out. | |
| |
| And for his love and ladyes sake, | |
| That was so faire and brighte, | |
| The keeping of this bower he gave | 35 |
| Unto a valiant knighte. * * * * * | |
| “My Rosamonde, my only Rose, | |
| That pleasest best mine eye: | |
| The fairest flower in all the worlde | |
| To feed my fantasye: | 40 |
| |
| “The flower of mine affected heart, | |
| Whose sweetness doth excelle: | |
| My royal Rose, a thousand times | |
| I bid thee nowe farwelle! | |
| |
| “For I must leave my fairest flower, | 45 |
| My sweetest Rose, a space, | |
| And cross the seas to famous France, | |
| Proud rebelles to abase. | |
| |
| “But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt | |
| My coming shortlye see, | 50 |
| And in my heart, when hence I am, | |
| Ile beare my Rose with mee.” * * * * * | |
| And at their parting well they mighte | |
| In heart be grieved sore: | |
| After that daye faire Rosamonde | 55 |
| The king did see no more. | |
| |
| For when his grace had past the seas, | |
| And into France was gone; | |
| With envious heart, queene Ellinor, | |
| To Woodstocke came anone. | 60 |
| |
| And forth she calls this trustye knighte, | |
| In an unhappy houre; | |
| Who with his clue of twined thread, | |
| Came from this famous bower. | |
| |
| And when that they had wounded him, | 65 |
| The queene this thread did gette, | |
| And went where ladye Rosamonde | |
| Was like an angell sette. | |
| |
| But when the queene with stedfast eye | |
| Beheld her beauteous face, | 70 |
| She was amazed in her minde | |
| At her exceeding grace. | |
| |
| “Cast off from thee those robes,” she said, | |
| “That rich and costlye bee; | |
| And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, | 75 |
| Which I have brought to thee.” | |
| |
| Then presentlye upon her knees | |
| Sweet Rosamonde did falle; | |
| And pardon of the queene she crav’d | |
| For her offences all. | 80 |
| |
| “Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,” | |
| Fair Rosamonde did crye; | |
| “And lett mee not with poison stronge | |
| Enforced bee to dye. | |
| |
| “I will renounce my sinfull life, | 85 |
| And in some cloyster bide; | |
| Or else be banisht, if you please, | |
| To range the worlde soe wide. | |
| |
| “And for the fault which I have done, | |
| Though I was forc’d theretoe, | 90 |
| Preserve my life, and punish mee | |
| As you thinke meet to doe.” | |
| |
| And with these words, her lillie handes | |
| She wrunge full often there; | |
| And downe along her lovely face | 95 |
| Did trickle many a teare. | |
| |
| But nothing could this furious queene | |
| Therewith appeased bee; | |
| The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, | |
| As she knelt on her knee, | 100 |
| |
| Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke; | |
| Who tooke it in her hand, | |
| And from her bended knee arose, | |
| And on her feet did stand: | |
| |
| And casting up her eyes to heaven, | 105 |
| Shee did for mercye calle; | |
| And drinking up the poison stronge, | |
| Her life she lost withalle. | |
| |
| And when that death through everye limbe | |
| Had showde its greatest spite, | 110 |
| Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse | |
| Shee was a glorious wight. | |
| |
| Her body then they did entomb, | |
| When life was fled away, | |
| At Godstowe, neare to Oxforde towne, | 115 |
| As may be seene this day. | |
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