FITZWATER

Three Stags I slew. My Liege, I herd and old tale long ago, That Harold being Goodwins son of Kenned, When he had God fair England's government, Hunted for pleasure once within this wood, And singled out a fair and stately Stag, Which foot to foot, the king in running caught: And sure this was the Stag. Of death, my son: bright sun of all my joy? Death cannot have the power of virtuous life. I, let him rest, the poison urges sleep. When he awakes, there is no hope of life. I rend his spurs off, and disgraded him. My Marian wants words, such is her woe: But old Fitzwater for his girl and him Begs nothing, but world's plague for such a foe. Which causeless harmed a virtuous noble man, A pitier of his griefs, when he felt grief: Therefore be think thee of thy hateful deed, Thou faithless Prior, and thou this ruthless thief. Come maiden daughter, from my maiden son, And give him leave to do what must be done. It is a duty, and thy loves desire, I'll help thee girl to close up Robins sighed. Why how now votary? still at your book? Ever in mourning weeds? For shame, for shame, With better entertainment cheer our friends. Now by the blessed cross you are much too blame, To cross our mirth thus; you are much too blame Isay. Good Lord, hath never woe enough of well Adam! Indeed, indeed, Some sorrow fits: but this is more than need. And why good daughter: Hath some Palmister, Some Augur, or some dreaming Calculator (For such I know you often Harken to) Be prating gainst the name? Go too, go too, Do not believe them. Lester, fallen to woo. God for thy mercy, have ye catched me there? Wigmore is William, woman. Lester, speak, Thou art the simplest wooer in the world. Richmond, thanks: If you have ought to say about the maskers, Beseech the Gentlemen to enter in: For they are welcome guests to old Fitzwater. Son, son, I pray you fetch the Ladies in: We have been talking here about a match, And left our noble friends in discontent. How now Matilda? pray thee cheer thee girl. Dance out your Galliard: Gods deer holibread, You're too forgetful: dance, or by my troth, You'll move my patience more than I will speak. Nay soft vnmannerd sir, you are too rough: Her joints are weak, your arms are strong & tough: If ye come here for sport you welcome be, If not, better your room than such bade company. Dost threaten me? theu will I see thy face. My dread Lord, hear me, and forgive this fault: What I have erst done, long since you forgave: If I did led the Barons in the field, The Barons chosen me, when they could not choose But make some leader, you were so missed. When better thoughts entered your royal breast, We then obeyed you, as our Sovereign head. What pledge desires my Liege? Peace thou headstrong boy. Pardon me sovereign: all my power is yours: My goods you may command, my life you may: My children too I know with both their lives, Will readily adventure death's worst wrongs, To do such service as true subjects should: But honourable fame, true chastity Nay then Fitzwater tells your Majesty, You do him wrong; and well will let you wit, He will defend his honour to the death. But this firm Island Like the sea will osse, And many goodly buildings go to wrack, Many a widow weep her dying son, And many a mother to her helpless babes Cry out uncomfortably; children peace, Your crying unto me is all in vain, Dead is my husband, your poor father slain. Oh, hie to save her. Richmond ride with him. Do: Lester, and my self will keep the city, Till we are furnished with and able army. Your Nephew, Bruise, shall take and hundred armed men, And post to Hartford Castle with your sister: Sith wrong will wake us, we will keep such watch, As for his life, he shall not hurt us bring. Now does fair fortune offer hope of speed: But howsoever we speed: good cousin Bruise, March with three hundred bows & pikes to Windsor, Spreading a rumour that the day is ours: As ours it shall be, with the help of heaven. Blunt loves our partly far better than the king's: And will, I gage my life, upon the news, Surrender up the Castle to our use. By this means shall you help us to a hold, How ere it chance, set free your Lady mother That lives in prison there, with your young brother. Away, away. God send thee Win sor: us this happy day. Lester, the more our woe, The likelier to be taken by the foe. But if my girl be yielded, I, I: theres no man but shall have his time to die. Why, I say do: while I can, I'll keep my place with you. If it be wit to live, I have no will: And so in this, my will orerules my wit. The glory of the world hath no more stay: But as it comes, it fleets, and fades away. On no condition will I save my life, Except Matilda be returned again, Unblemished, unabused; and then I yield. Never? Oh God! is my Matilda dead? Do not delude me Hubert, gentle son. Oh, how came she there? Hubert, I will. Much is my wrong: yet I submit with these, Begging free leave, to live a private life. I am as glad to go, as you to send: Yet I beseech this favour of your Grace, That I may see Matilda ere I partly. Reserve my honour, and my daughters fame, And no poor subject that your Grace commands, Shall willinger submit, obey, and serve. I will, my Lord, do all that I may do: But give me leave, in this, to doubt of you. You shall perceive I will do what I may. Daughter, all this while tears my speech have stayed. My Lord the King: Lords all draw near I pray: And hear a poor men parting from his child. Matilda, still my unstained honours joy, Fair Ornament of old Fitzwaters coat, Born to rich Fortune's, did not this ill age Bereave thee of thy birthrights heritage Thou seest our Sovereign, Lord of both our lives, A long besieger of thy chastity, Hath scattered all our forces, slain our friends, Razed our Castles, left us never a house Wherein to hide us from his wrathful eye Yet God provides; France is appointed me: And thou findest houseroom in this Nunry. Here if the king should dote, as he hath done, Its sacrilege to tempt a holy Nun: But I have hope he will not: yet my fear So drowns my hope, as I am forced to stay, And leave abruptly, what I more would say. I then Matilda, thou dost lose The former glory of thy chased resolves. These seven years hast thou bid a Martyrs pains, Resisting in thy self lust-growing fire: For being mortal, sure thou hadst desire. And five sad winter's have their full course run, Since thou didst bury noble Huntington. In these years, many months, and many days, Have be consumed, thy virtues to consume: Gifts have be heralds Panders did presume To tempt thy chased ears, with their unchaste tongues. All in effect, working to no effect. For I was still the watchman of thy tower, The keeper of fowl worms, from my fair flower: But now, no more, no more Fitzwater may Defend his poor Lamb, from the Lyons prey: Thy order and thy holy prayers may. To help thee, thou hast privilege by law: Therefore be resolute, and nobly die, Abhor base lust, defend thy chastity. I girl, I know thou shalt be offered wealth (Which is a shrewd enticement in sad want) Great honours to lift up thy low estate, And glorious titles to eternise thee. All these do but gild over ugly shame: Such wealth, my child, foreruns releaselesse needs: Such honour ever proves dishonourate. For titles, none comes near a virtuous name: Oh keep it ever, as thou hast done yet. And though these dark times should forget thy praise, And age will come, that shall eternise it. Bid me farewell, and speak it in a word. O farewell sweet child. My Liege farewell: Lester, Richmond, Hughbert, Chester, and Mowbray: friends and foes farewell. Matilda, see thou keep thy spotless fame, And live eternized; else die soon with shame. Hubert, for this thy honourable deed, I and my house will reverence thy name.