# Life and death of fair Rosamond (3)

THE
LIFE AND DEATH
OF
Fair Roſamond,
Concubine to K. Henry the II.
GLASGOW, Printed by J. & M. R O B E R T S O N, Saltmarket, 1800.
The Life and death of 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, appear’d to each man’s ſight. Her comely eyes like orient pearl, did caſt a heavenly light.
The blood within her chryſtal 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 curioſly 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 lady fair, his farewel 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 an hundred times, I bid you now farewel.
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 apace, 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, 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 ſhall offend my dear.
O let me in your royal tent, prepare your bed at night, And with ſweet baths refreſh you there, 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 pleaſing court, for travels ſit 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 cray’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 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.
When 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 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.
Printed by J. & M. Robertſon, Saltmarket, 1800
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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