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Her lovely lord she found
Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.
Her sorrows could not uttered bee :
Would God! that I had dyed for thee.
Twentye ti, es she kissed, And his face did wash
With her trickling teares : Every gaping wound
Tenderlye she pressed, And did wipe it round
With her golden haires.
One sweete word of comfort give :
Thinke in what sad griefe I live.
The prince's life was fled and gone.
And bright day was coming on.
In this great distresse
Weeping, wayling ever, Oft shee cryed, alas !
What will become of mee? To my
I will a servant bee.
In this deepe and deadlye feare:
Ranging the woods did find her there.
What hard happ has brought thee here?
Here lyes slaine my brother deare.
I remaine, Gentle for'ster, shew me, 'Till I can obtaine
A service in my neede? Paines I will not spare :
This kinde favour doe mee, It will ease my care ;
Heaven shall be thy meede.
The for'ster all amazed,
Till his heart was set on fire.
You shall have your hearts desire.
He sett forth this maidens praise.
And fortune crown'd his future dayes.
Thus unknowne he wedde
With a kings faire daughter ;
Ere she told her birth.
Humblye he besought her,
Her rank and princelye worth.
In partye-colours strange to see :
Of woollen cloth still framed hee*.
* This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the
Men thereatt did wonder ;
This strange deede in every place :
In those woods the hart to chase,
The children then they bring,
So their mother will'd it,
Must of force come bye :
Was of crimson velvet :
Seemelye to the eye.
Askt how he durst be so bold
In costly robes of pearl and gold.
Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the following motto:
“ Cloth of Gold, do not despise,
“ Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.” See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 356.
The forrester replying,
To the king these words did say,
Being by birth a princesse gay. The king aroused thus,
More heedfullye beheld them, Till a crimson blush
His remembrance crost. The more I fix my mind
On thy wife and children,
The daughter which I lost.
Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.
While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.
Strait he dubb’d her husband knight;
Thus were their sorrowes put to flight.