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For I must leave my fairest flower,
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,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee.'

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;

And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace,
Which like the silver-pearled dewe
Ranne downe her comely face.

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde
Her vitall spirits faile;

And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace :

And twentye times, with watery eyes,

He kist her tender cheeke,

Untill he had revivde againe

'Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?' The king did often say,

'Because,' quoth shee, to bloodye warres
My lord must pass awaye.

But since your grace on forrayne coa
Amonge your foes unkinde

Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?

Nay rather let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
Which would offend you there.

Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,

And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte.

So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;

But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death Ile rather chuse !'

'Content thyself, my dearest love;
Thy rest at home shall bee
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle,
For travell fits not thee.

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Sweet peace their pleasures breede;
The nourisher of hearts content,
Which fancy first did feede.

My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke
With musickes sweet delight;
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes,
Against my foes do fighte.

My Rose in robes of pearle, and golde,
With diamonds richly dighte;

Shall dance the galliards of my love,
Whilst I my foes do fighte.

And

you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence.'

353

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamond, for very griefe,

Not one plaine word could speake.

And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore:
After that daye faire Rosamond
The king did see no more.

For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone;
With envious heart, queene Elinor,
To Woodstocke came anone.

And forth she calles the trustye knighte,
Which kept this curious bower;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous flower.

And when that they had wounded him,
The queene his thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamond
Was like an angell sette.

But when the queene with stedfast eye
Beheld her heavenlye face,

She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.

'Cast off from thee thy robes,' she said, 'That riche and costlye bee;

And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.'

Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamond did falle;

And pardon of the queene she crav'd
For her offences all.

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Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,'
Faire Rosamond did crye;

And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye.

I will renounce my sinfuil life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,

And for the fault which I have done,
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As yon thinke good to doe.'

And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there;
And downe along her lovely face
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,

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,
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,

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 Oxford towne,
may be seene this day.

As

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[This ballad, the first two lines of which are sung by Falstaff, in Henry IV. pt. 2, Act ii. sc. 4, was given in Percy's Reliques,' from a printed copy, corrected in part by the Folio MS.' It is also contained in Ritson's 'Ancient Songs and Ballads,' where it is said to be by Thomas Deloney. Neither of these versions, however, is so correct as that of an old black-letter copy, in broadside, in the British Museum, entitled,

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To the tune of Flying Fame.' 'Printed by and for Alex. Milbourn, in Green-Arbor-Court, in the Little Old-Baily." From at copy it is here printed. In the same collection there is another copy, also in broadside, in Roman letter, the title of which is The Noble Atchievements of King Arthur, and his Knights of the Round Table.' To the tune of Flying Fame.' These titles, as Ritson remarks, and as the reader will see, are incorrect, though the subject of the ballad, as Dr. Percy points out, is taken from the ancient romance of King Arthur,' (commonly called Morte d'Arthur,') being a poetical translation of ch. cviii., cix., cx., in Part I., as they stand in edition 1634, 4to.]

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