Life and death of Fair Rosamond (1815-1820)

THE

Life and Death

OF FAIR

ROSAMOND,

Concubine to King Henry the II.

---

KILMARNOCK :

Printed for the Booksellers.

FAIR ROSAMOND.

WHEN as King Henry rul'd this land,
⁠the second of that name;
Besides the queen he loved dear,
⁠a fair and comely dame.

Most peerless was her beauty found,
⁠her favour and her face;
A sweeter creature in the world
⁠could never prince embrace.

Her crisped locks, like threads of gold,
⁠appeared to each man's sight,
Her comely eyes like orient pearl,
⁠did cast a heavenly light.

The blood within her crystal cheeks
⁠did such a colour drive,
As tho' the lily and the rose
⁠for mastership did strive.

Fair Rosamond, Fair Rosamond,
⁠her name was called so,
To whom dame Eleanor our Queen,
⁠was known a deadly foe.

The King therefore for her defence,
⁠against the furious Queen,
At Woodstock builded such a bower,
⁠The like was never seen.

Most curiously that bower was built,
⁠Of stone and timber strong,
An hundred and fifty doors,
⁠did to this bower belong.

And they so cunningly contriv'd,
⁠with turnings round about,
That none without a clue of thread,
⁠could enter in or out.

Now for his love and lady's sake,
⁠who was both fair and bright,
The keeping of this bower he gave
⁠unto a valiant Knight

But fortune that doth often frown,
⁠where it before did smile,
The King's delight, the lady's joy,
⁠full soon she did beguile.

For why, the King's ungracious son,
⁠whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised wars,
⁠within the realms of France.

But yet before our gracious King,
⁠the English land forsook,
Of Rosamond, his fair lady,
⁠his farewell thus he took.

My Rosamond, my only Rose,
⁠who pleaseth best mine eye,
The fairest flower in all the world
⁠to feed my phantasy.

The flower of my affected heart
⁠whose sweetness doth excel,
My royal Rose, a hundred times.
⁠I bid you now farewell.

For I must leave my fairest Rose,
⁠my sweetest Rose a space,
And cross the ocean into France,
⁠Proud rebels to debase.

But still my Rose, be sure thou shalt
⁠my coming shortly see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
⁠I'll bear my Rose with me.

When Rosamond, the lady bright,
⁠did hear the King say so,
The sorrows of her grieved heart,
⁠her outward looks did show.

And from her clear and chrystal eyes
⁠the tears gush'd out a-pace,
Which like the silver pearly dew
⁠ran down her comely face.

Her lips like to the coral red
⁠did wax both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceiv'd,
⁠her vital spirits fail.

And falling down into a swoon
⁠before King Henry's face,
Full oft within his princely arms
⁠her body did embrace.

And twenty times with wat'ry eyes
⁠he kiss'd her tender cheek,
Until he had reviv'd again
⁠her spirit, mild and meek.

Why grieves my Rose? my sweetest Rose,
⁠the King did often say,
Because, said she, to bloody wars
⁠my lord must pass away.

But since your Grace in foreign parts,
⁠among your foes unkind
⟨Must⟩ go to hazard life and limb,
⁠why must I stay behind?

⟨Nay⟩, rather let me, like a page,
⁠thy sword and target bear,
That on my breast the blow may light,
⁠that would offend my dear.

let me in your royal tent
⁠prepare your bed at night,
And with sweet baths refresh you there,
⁠as you return from fight.

⟨If⟩ I your presence may enjoy,
⁠no toil I will refuse;
But wanting you my life is death,
⁠which doth true love abuse.

Content thyself, my dearest love,
⁠thy rest at home shall be
England's sweet and pleasing court,
⁠for travels fit not thee.

Fair ladies, brook not bloody wars,
⁠sweet peace their pleasure breed,
The nourisher of hearts content,
⁠whose fancy first did feed.

My Rose shall rest in Woodstock bower,
⁠with music's sweet delight,
While I among the piercing pikes
⁠against my foes do fight.

My Rose in robes of pearl and gold,
⁠with diamonds rich and bright,
Shall dance the galliards of my love,
⁠while I my foes do smite.

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust
⁠to be my love's defence,
Be careful of my gallant Rose,
⁠when I am parted hence.

And here withal he fetch'd a sigh,
⁠as tho' his heart would break,
And Rosamond, for very grief,
⁠not one plain word could speak.

And at their parting well they might
⁠in heart be grieved sore,
After that day fair Rosamond
⁠the King did see no more.

For when his Grace passed the seas,
⁠and into France was gone,
Queen Eleanor with envious heart,
⁠to Woodstock came anon.

⟨And⟩ forth she calls the trusty Knight.
⁠who kept this curious bower,
⟨And⟩ with a clue of twisted thread,
⁠came from this famous flower.

⟨But⟩ when that they had wounded him,
⁠the Queen his thread did get,
⟨And⟩ went where lady Rosamond
⁠was like an angel set.

⟨But⟩ when the Queen with stedfast eyes
⁠beheld this lovely face,
⟨She⟩ was amazed in her mind
⁠at such exceeding grace.

⟨Cast⟩ off, said she, these fine wrought robes,
⁠that rich and costly be,
⟨And⟩ drink you up this deadly draught
⁠which I have brought to thee.

⟨But⟩presently upon her knees,
⁠fair Rosamond did fall,
And pardon of the Queen she crav'd,
⁠for her offences all.

⟨Take⟩ pity on my youthful years
⁠fair Rosamond did cry,
⟨And ⟩let me not with poison strong
⁠be forced for to die.

⟨I⟩ will renounce my sinful life,
⁠and in some cloister hide,
⟨Or⟩ else be banish'd if you please,
⁠to range the world so wide.

And sure the fault which I have done,
⁠I was forced thereunto,
Preserve my life, and punish me
⁠as you think fit to do.

And with these words her lily hands
⁠she wrung full often there,
And down along her comely face,
⁠proceeded many a tear.

But nothing could this furious Oueen
⁠herewith appeased he,
The cup of deadly poison strong,
⁠which she held on her knee.

She gave this comely dame to drink,
⁠who took it from her hand,
And from her bended knees arose,
⁠and on her feet did stand.

When casting up her eyes to heaven,
⁠she did for mercy call,
And drinking up the poison strong,
⁠she lost her life withal.

And when that death thro’ ev'ry limb
⁠had done its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes could but confess
⁠she was a glorious sight.

Her body then they did entomb,
⁠when life was fled away,
At Woodstock, near to Oxford town,
⁠as may be seen this day.