The life and death of Fair Rosamond, concubine to King Henry II/The life and death of Fair Rosamond, concubine to King Henry II

Fair Rosamond.

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When as King Henry rul’d this land
⁠The second of that name;
Besides the queen he lov’d 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 though the lily and the rose,
⁠For mastership did strive.
Fiar 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 the 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 our out.
Now for his love, and lady's sake,
⁠Who was both fair and bright:
The keeping of the bower he gave,
⁠Unto a valiant knight.
But fortune that doth often frown,
⁠Where it before did smile,
The kings delight, the lady's joy,
⁠Full soon she did beguile.
For why the kings 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 lady fair,
⁠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 afflicted heart,
⁠Why sweetness doth excel;
My royal Rose an hundred times,
⁠I bid you now farewell.
For I must leave my fairest rose,
⁠My sweetest rose apace,
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 it so grieved her,
⁠Her outward looks did show.
And from her clear and crystal eyes,
⁠The tears gushed out apace,
Which like the silver pearl dew,
⁠Ran down her comely face,
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 watery eyes,
⁠He kissed her tender cheek,
Until she had revived 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
⁠Amongst 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 should offend my dear.
O let me in your royal tent,
⁠Prepare your bed at night,
And with sweet baths refresh your heart
⁠As you return from fight.
So 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,
In England’s sweet and pleasant 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 fetched a sigh,
⁠As though his heart should 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 ne’er see more,
For when his grace pass’d 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,
⁠Come from this famous flower.
But when they had wounded him,
⁠The queen his thread did get,
And went were Lady Rosamond,
⁠Was like a lady set.
But when the queen with stedfast eyes,
⁠Beheld her 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 cried
⁠For her offences all
Take pity on my youthful years
⁠Fair Rosamond did say
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 banished 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 rung full often there,
And down along her comely face,
⁠Proceeded many a tear.
But nothing could this furious queen,
⁠Herewith appeased be,
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;
Then casting up her eyes to heav'n,
⁠She did for mercy call,
And drinking up the poison strong,
⁠She lost her life withal.
And when that death through every 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?