A New Sonnet, conteining the Lamentation of Shores wife, who was sometime Concubine to King Edward the fourth, setting forth her great fall, and withall her most miserable and wretched end
To The tune of, the hunt is vp.
Listen, faire Ladies,
vnto my misery:
That liued late in pompous state,
most delightfully.
And now by Fortune’s faire dissimulation,
Brought to cruell and vncouth plagues,
most spightfully.
Shores wife I am,
So knowne by name:
And at the Flower-de-luce in Cheapside
was my dwelling:
The only daughter of a wealthy merchant man,
Against whose counsel euermore,
I was rebelling.
Young was I loued;
No affection moued
My heart or mind to giue or yeeld
to their consenting.
My Parents thinking richly for to wed me,
Forcing me to that which caused
my repenting.
Then being wedded,
I was quickly tempted,
My beauty caused many Gallants
to salute me.
The King comrnanding, I straight obayed:
For his chiefest iewel then,
he did repute me.
Brave was I trained,
Like a Queene I raigned,
And many poore mens suits
by me was obtained.
In al the Court to none was such resort,
As vnto me, though now in scorn,
I be disdained.
When the King dyed,
My griefe I tryed:
From the Court I was expelled,
with despight.
The Duke of Glosfer being Lord Protector,
Tooke away my goods, against
all law and right.
In a Procession,
For my transgression,
Bare foot he made me go,
for to shame me.
A Crosse before me there was carried plainly,
As a pennance for my former life,
so to tame me.
Then through London,
Being thus vndone,
The Lord Protector published,
a Proclamation:
On paine of death I should not be harbord,
Which furthermore encreast my sorrow
and vexation.
I that had plenty,
And dishes dainty:
Most sumptuously brought to my boord
at my pleasure:
Being full poore, from doore to doore,
I begd my bread with clacke and dish,
at my leasure.
My rich attire,
By fortunes yre,
To rotten rags and nakednesse
they are beaten.
My body soft, which the King embraced oft,
With vermine vile annoyd
and eaten.
On stalls and stones,
Did lye my bones,
That wonted was in beds of downe
to be placed.
And you see my finest pillowes be,
Of stinking straw, with dirt and dung
thus disgraced.
Wherefore, Fair Ladies,
With your sweet babies,
My grieuous fall beare in your mind,
and behold me:
How strange a thing, that the loue of a King
Should come to dye vnder a stall,
as I told yee.
FINIS.
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