PEMBROKE

My Lord of Essex, take no care for that, I warrant you it was not closely done. But who is this? lo Lords the withered flower, Who in his life shined Like the Morning's blush, Cast out a door, denied his burial right, A prey for birds and beasts to gorge upon. The best advice: But who comes posting here? Right noble Lords, I speak unto you all, The King intreats your soonest speed To visit him, who on your present want, Did ban and curse his birth, himself and me, For executing of his strict command. I saw his passion, and at fittest time, Assured him of his cousin's being safe, Whom pity would not let me do to death: He craves your company my Lords in haste, To whom I will conduct young Arthur straight, Who is in health under my custody. My Lord of Essex, well have you advised, I will accord to further you in this. The tenth of April at S. Edmunds Bury, God letting not, I will not fail the time. Now sweet S. Edmund holy Saint in heaven, Whose Shrine is sacred, high esteemed on earth, Infuze a constant zeal in all our hearts, To prosecute this act of much weight, Lord Bewchampe say, what friends have you procured. Until their presence, I'll conceal my tale, Sweet accomplices in holy Christian acts, That venture for the purchase of renown, Thrice welcome to the league of high resolve, That pawn their bodies for their souls regard. With swift unwonted gate, see what a thing is zeal, That spurs them on with fervence to this shrine, Now joy come to them for their true intent: And in good time, here come the war-men all, That sweat in body by the minds disease: Hap and hearts-ease brave Lordings be your lot. Amen my Lords, the Like betide your luck, And all that travel in a Christian cause. Well hath my Lord of Essex told his tale, Which I aver for most substantial truth, And more to make the matter to our mind, I say that Lewis in challenge of his wife, Hath title of and uncontrolled plea, To all that longeth to our English crown. Short tale to make, the Sea Apostolic, Hath offered dispensation for the fault. If any be, as trust me none I know, By planting Lewis in the Usurper's room: This is the cause of all our presence here, That on the holy Altar we protest, To aid the right of Lewis with goods and life, Who on our knowledge is in arms for England. What say you Lords? What say you Lords, will all the rest proceed, Will you all with me swear upon the Altar, That you will to the death, be aid to Le. & enemy to John? Every man lay his hand by mine, in witness of his hearts ac cord. Well then, every man to arms to meet the king, Who is already before London. What news Herald? The right Christian Prince my master, Lewis of France, is at hand, coming to visit your Honours, directed hither by the right honourable Richard Earl of Bigot, to con far with your honours. How near is his Highness? My heart misgave this sad accursed news: What have we done? fie Lords, what frenzy moved Our hearts to yield unto the pride of France? If we persever, we are sure to die: If we desist, small hope again of life. I, there's the way, lets rather kneel to him, Than to the French that would confound us all.