Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
Bristowe Tragedy; or, The Death of Sir Charles BawdinThomas Chatterton (17521770)
Had wound his bugle horn,
And told the early villager
The coming of the morn.
Of light eclipse the grey;
And heard the raven’s croaking throat
Proclaim the fated day.
That sits enthroned on high!
Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain,
To-day shall surely die.”
His knights did on him wait.
“Go tell the traitor, that to-day
He leaves this mortal state.”
With heart brimful of woe;
He journeyed to the castle-gate,
And to Sir Charles did go.
And eke his loving wife,
With briny tears did wet the floor,
For good Sir Charles’s life.
“Bad tidings do I bring.”
“Speak boldly, man,” said brave Sir Charles,
“What says thy traitor king?”
Does from the welkin fly,
He hath upon his honor sworn,
That thou shalt surely die.”
“Of that I’m not affeared;
What boots to live a little space?
Thank Jesu, I’m prepared;
I’d sooner die to-day
Than live his slave, as many are,
Though I should live for aye.”
To tell the mayor straight
To get all things in readiness
For good Sir Charles’s fate.
And fell down on his knee:
“I’m come,” quoth he, “unto your grace
To move your clemency.”
You have been much our friend;
Whatever your request may be,
We will to it attend.”
Is for a noble knight,
Who, though mayhap he has done wrong,
He thought it still was right:
All ruined are for aye,
If that you are resolved to let
Charles Bawdin die to-day.”
The king in fury said;
“Before the evening star doth shine,
Bawdin shall loose his head;
And he shall have his meed;
Speak, Master Canning! What thing else
At present do you need?”
“Leave justice to our God,
And lay the iron rule aside;
Be thine the olive rod.
The best were sinners great;
Christ’s vicar only knows no sin,
In all this mortal state.
’Twill fast thy crown full sure;
From race to race thy family
All sovereigns shall endure:
Begin thy infant reign,
Thy crown upon thy children’s brows
Will never long remain.”
Has scorned my power and me;
How canst thou then for such a man
Intreat my clemency?”
Will val’rous actions prize,
Respect a brave and noble mind,
Although in enemies.”
That did my being give,
I will not taste a bit of bread
Whilst this Sir Charles doth live.
This sun shall be his last;”
Then Canning dropped a briny tear,
And from the presence passed.
He to Sir Charles did go,
And sat him down upon a stool,
And teares began to flow.
“What boots it how or when;
Death is the sure, the certain fate
Of all we mortal men.
Runs over at thine eye;
Is it for my most welcome doom
That thou dost child-like cry?”
That thou so soon must die,
And leave thy sons and helpless wife;
’Tis this that wets mine eye.”
From godly fountains spring;
Death I despise, and all the power
Of Edward, traitor king.
I shall resign my life,
The God I serve will soon provide
For both my sons and wife.
This was appointed me;
Shall mortal man repine or grudge
What God ordains to be?
When thousands died around;
When smoking streams of crimson blood
Imbrued the fattened ground:
That cut the airy way,
Might not find passage to my heart,
And close mine eyes for aye?
Look wan and be dismayed?
No! from my heart fly childish fear,
Be all the man displayed.
And guard thee and thy son,
If ’tis His will; but if ’tis not,
Why then His will be done.
To serve God and my prince;
And that I no time-server am,
My death will soon convince.
Of parents of great note;
My father did a noble arms
Emblazon on his coat:
Where soon I hope to go;
Where we forever shall be blest,
From out the reach of woe:
With pity to unite;
And eke he taught me how to know
The wrong cause from the right:
To feed the hungry poor,
Nor let my servant drive away
The hungry from my door:
I have his wordys kept;
And summed the actions of the day
Each night before I slept.
If I defiled her bed?
I have a king, and none can lay
Black treason on my head.
From flesh I did refrain;
Why should I then appear dismayed
To leave this world of pain?
I shall not see thy death;
Most willingly in thy just cause
Do I resign my breath.
Thou wilt ken peace nae moe;
While Richard’s sons exalt themselves,
Thy brooks with blood will flow.
And godly Henry’s reign,
That you did chop your easy days
For those of blood and pain?
And mangled by a hind?
I do defy the traitor’s power,
He can not harm my mind;
My limbs shall rot in air,
And no rich monument of brass
Charles Bawdin’s name shall bear;
Which time can’t eat away,
There with the servants of the Lord
My name shall live for aye.
I leave this mortal life:
Farewell, vain world, and all that’s dear,
My sons and loving wife!
As e’er the month of May;
Nor would I even wish to live,
With my dear wife to stay.”
To be prepared to die;
And from this world of pain and grief
To God in Heaven to fly.”
And clarions to sound;
Sir Charles he heard the horses’ feet
A prancing on the ground:
His loving wife came in,
Weeping unfeignèd tears of woe,
With loud and dismal din.
In quiet let me die;
Pray God that every Christian soul
May look on death as I.
They wash my soul away,
And almost make me wish for life,
With thee, sweet dame, to stay.
Unto the land of bliss;
Now, as a proof of husband’s love,
Receive this holy kiss.”
Trembling these wordys spoke,
“Ah, cruel Edward! bloody king!
My heart is well nigh broke:
Without thy loving wife!
The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,
It eke shall end my life.”
To bring Sir Charles away,
Who turned to his loving wife,
And thus to her did say:
Trust thou in God above,
And teach thy sons to fear the Lord,
And in their hearts Him love:
That I their father run:
Florence! should death thee take,—adieu!
Ye officers, lead on.”
And did her tresses tear;
“Oh! stay, my husband! lord! and life!”—
Sir Charles then dropped a tear.
She fellen on the floor;
Sir Charles exerted all his might,
And marched from out the door.
With looks full brave and sweet;
Looks that enshone ne more concern
Than any in the street.
In scarlet robes and gold,
And tassels spangling in the sun,
Much glorious to behold:
Appearèd to the sight,
All clad in homely russet weeds,
Of godly monkish plight:
Most sweetly did they chant;
Behind their backs six minstrels came,
Who tuned the strung bataunt.
Each one the bow did bend,
From rescue of King Henry’s friends
Sir Charles for to defend.
Drawn on a cloth-laid sled,
By two black steeds in trappings white,
With plumes upon their head:
Of archers strong and stout,
With bended bow each one in hand,
Marchèd in goodly rout:
Each one his part did chant;
Behind their backs six minstrels came,
Who tuned the strung bataunt:
In cloth of scarlet decked;
And their attending-men each one,
Like Eastern princes trickt.
Of citizens did throng:
The windows were all full of heads,
As he did pass along.
Sir Charles did turn and say,
“O Thou, that savest man from sin,
Wash my soul clean this day!”
The king in mickle state,
To see Charles Bawdin go along
To his most welcome fate.
That Edward he might hear,
The brave Sir Charles he did stand up,
And thus his words declare:
Exposed to infamy;
But be assured, disloyal man!
I’m greater now than thee.
Thou wearest now a crown;
And hast appointed me to die,
By power not thine own.
I have been dead till now,
And soon shall live to wear a crown
For aye upon my brow;
Shall rule this fickle land,
To let them know how wide the rule
’Twixt king and tyrant hand:
Shall fall on thy own head”—
From out of hearing of the king
Departed then the sled.
He turned his head away,
And to his brother Gloucester
He thus did speak and say:
No ghastly terrors bring;
Behold the man! he spake the truth,
He’s greater than a king!”
“And may each one our foes
Bend down their necks to bloody axe,
And feed the carrion crows.”
Sir Charles up the high hill;
The axe did glister in the sun,
His precious blood to spill.
As up a gilded car
Of victory, by val’rous chiefs
Gained in the bloody war:
“Behold you see me die,
For serving loyally my king,
My king most rightfully.
No quiet will you know;
Your sons and husbands shall be slain,
And brooks with blood shall flow.
When in adversity;
Like me, unto the true cause stick,
And for the true cause die.”
A prayer to God did make,
Beseeching Him unto Himself
His parting soul to take.
Most seemly on the block;
Which from his body fair at once
The able headsman stroke;
And round the scaffold twine;
And tears, enough to wash’t away,
Did flow from each man’s eyne.
Into four partés cut;
And every part and eke his head,
Upon a pole was put.
One on the minster tower,
And one from off the castle-gate
The crowen did devour;
A dreary spectacle;
His head was placed on the high cross,
In high-street most nobel.
God prosper long our king,
And grant he may, with Bawdin’s soul,
In heaven God’s mercy sing!