DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN.
AND when the king wist that they were
In hale battle, comand sae near,
His battle gart he weel array.
He rade upon a little palfrey,
Lawcht and joly arrayand
His battle, with an ax in hand.
And on his bassinet he bare
An hat of tyre aboon ay where;
And, thereupon, into takin,
Ane high crown, that he was king.
And when Gloster and Hereford were
With their battle approachand near,
Before them all there came ridand,
With helm on heid and spear in hand,
Sir Henry the Boon, the worthy,
That was a wicht knicht, and a hardy,
And to the Earl of Hereford cousin ;
Armed in arms gude and fine;
Came on a steed a bowshot near,
Before all other that there were:
And knew the king, for that he saw
Him sae range his men on raw,
And by the crown that was set
Also upon his bassinet.
And towards him he went in hy.
And the king sae apertly
Saw him come, forouth all his fears,
In hy till him the horse he steers.
And when Sir Henry saw the king
Come on, foroutin abasing,
Till him he rode in great hy.
He thought that he should weel lichtly
Win him, and have him at his will,
Sin' he him horsit saw sae ill.
Sprent they samen intill a lyng;
Sir Henry missed the noble king;
And he that in his stirrups stude,
With the ax, that was hard and gude,
With sae great main, raucht him a dint,
That nouther hat nor helm micht stint
The heavy dush, that he him gave,
That near the head till the harns clave.
The hand-ax shaft frushit in tway;
And he down to the yird gan gae
All flatlings, for him failit micht.
This was the first straik of the ficht,
That was performit douchtily.
And when the king's men sae stoutly
Saw him, richt at the first meeting,
Forouten doubt or abasing,
Have slain a knicht sae at a straik,
Sic hard' ment thereat gan they tak,
That they come on richt hardily.
When Englishmen saw them sae stoutly
Come on, they had great abasing;
And specially for that the king
Sae smartly that gude knicht has slain,
That they withdrew them everilk ane,
And durst not ane abide to ficht:
Sae dreid they for the king's micht.
When that the king repairit was,
That gart his men all leave the chase,
The lordis of his company
Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly,
That he him put in aventure,
To meet sae stith a knicht and stour,
In sic point as he then was seen.
For they said weel, it micht have been
Cause of their tynsal everilk ane.
The king answer has made them nane,
But mainit his hand-ax shaft sae
Was with the straik broken in tway.
strength, reached
neither, might
not put about stroke
encouragement
THIS accomplished prince of the house of Stuart was born in 1394. Scotland was at the time in a state of complete anarchy; and to save James from the hands of his uncle Albany, he was, while only eleven years of age, sent privately in a vessel to France. The vessel was seized by the English, and, to the disgrace of Henry IV. of Engiand, the young prince was kept for eighteen years a prisoner in England; Henry, however, treated him well, and James became learned in all the accomplishments of the English Court. Chaucer he studied closely; and he soothed his confinement by writing poetry. His principal poems are "The King's Quhair" (book), and "Christis Kirk on the Grene." There are few finer strains than those he composed on Lady Jane Beaufort, on seeing her from his window at Windsor. James was released in 1423, and married Lady Jane. On his return to Scotland he set himself vigorously to repress the disorders there; but a conspiracy of the lawless nobility having been formed against him, he was assassinated at Perth
JAMES I., A PRISONER IN WINDSOR, SEES
LADY JOAN BEAUFORT.
BEWAILING in my chamber, thus alone,
Despaired of all joy and remedy,
For-tired of my thought, and wo-begone,
And to the window gan I walk in hy
To see the world and folk that went forbye,
As, for the time, though I of mirthis food
Might have no more, to look it did me good.
Now was there made, fast by the Towris wall,
A garden fair; and in the corners set
Ane arbour green, with wandis long and small
Railed about, and so with trees set
Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet,
That lyf was none walking there forbye.
That might within scarce any wight espy,
So thick the boughis and the leavis green
Beshaded all the alleys that there were,
And mids of every arbour might be seen
The sharpe greene sweete juniper,
Growing so fair with branches here and there,
That as it seemed to a lyf without,
The boughis spread the arbour all about.
And on the smalle greene twistis sat
The little sweete nightingale, and sung
So loud and clear, the hymnis consecrat
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among,
That all the gardens and the wallis rung
Right of their song.
-Cast I down mine eyes again
Where as I saw, walking under the Tower,
Full secretly, new comen hear to plain,
The fairest and the freshest young flower
That ever I saw, methought, before that hour,
For which sudden abate, anon astart,
The blood of all my body to my heart.
And though I stood abasit tho a lite,
No wonder was; for why? my wittis all
Were so o'ercome with pleasance and delight,
Only through letting of my eyen fall,
That suddenly my heart became her thrall,
For ever of free will-for of menace
There was no token in her sweete face.
And in my head I drew right hastily,
And eftesoons I leant it out again,
And saw her walk that very womanly
With no wight mo', but only women twain.
Then gan I study in myself, and sayn :
Ah, sweet! are ye a worldly creature,
Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature?
'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess,
And comin are to loose me out of band?
Or are ye very Nature the goddess,
That have depainted with your heavenly hand,
This garden full of flowers as they stand?
What shall I think, alas! what reverence
Shall I mister unto your excellence?
'If ye a goddess be, and that
To do me pain, I may it not astart:
If ye be warldly wight, that doth me sike
Why list God make you so, my dearest heart,
To do a seely prisoner this smart,
That loves you all, and wot of nought but wo?
And therefore mercy, sweet! sin' it is so.'
Of her array the form if I shall write,
Towards her golden hair and rich attire,
In fretwise couchit with pearlis white
And great balas leaming as the fire,
With mony ane emeraut and fair sapphire;
And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue,
Of plumis parted red, and white, and blue.
Full of quaking spangis bright as gold.
Forged of shape like to the amorets,
So new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold
The plumis eke like to the flower jonets;
And other of shape, like to the flower jonets;
And above all this, there was, well I wot,
Beauty enough to make a world to dote.
About her neck, white as the fire amail,
A goodly chain of small orfevory,
Whereby there hung a ruby, without fail,
Like to ane heart shapen verily,
That as a spark of lowe so wantonly
Seemed burning upon her white throat,
Now if there was good party, God it wot.
And when she walked had, a little thraw,
Under the sweete greene boughis bent,
Her fair fresh face, as white as any snaw,
She turned has, and furth her wayis went ;
But tho began mine aches and torment,
To see her part and follow I na might;
Methought the day was turned into night.
CHRIST'S KIRK OF THE GREEN.
WAS never in Scotland heard nor seen
Sic dancing nor deray,
Nouther at Falkland on the Green,
Nor Peebliss at the Play,
As was of wooers, as I ween,
At Christ's Kirk on ane day :
There came our Kittys, washen clean,
In their new kirtles of gray,
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.
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