[]
RICHARD PLANTAGENET a [...]ndary Tale Now firſt Published.
(By Mr. HULL.)
[figure]
— [...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
Ho [...]
DEDICATION.
[i]THE following Legend having been read to a ſmall Circle of ſelect Friends, one Lady, with great Eager⯑neſs of Manner, aſked the Editor, to whom he intended to dedicate it? He replied, with Truth, that he had not yet determined. "To whom," added ſhe, ‘can you ſo properly addreſs it, as to Him, whoſe Image cleaves to us during the Recital; Him, to whom we owe a livelier Idea of RICHARD the Third, than either Hiſtorian or Painter ever gave; Him, whoſe Judge ment and Powers of Execution keep Pace with the fine Imagination of that Poet, whom He delighteth to Honour?’ Theſe were nearly her exact Words, and the Editor pleads them in Excuſe for the Liberty he now takes of dedicating this Poem, With great Reſpect and Eſteem, TO DAVID GARRICK, Eſq.
PREFATORY ADDRESS.
[iii]THE following Poem fell into the Editor's Hands by a peculiar Means, which he is not at preſent permitted to reveal. He hopes the Singularity of the Story, and the moral Ten⯑dency, which ſo obviouſly and ſtrongly in⯑culcates THE DUTY OF A PATIENT SUBMIS⯑SION TO THE DESTINATIONS OF PROVIDENCE, IN ALL VICISSITUDES AND AFFLICTIONS OF LIFE, will juſtify his giving it to the World. He judged it too curious to be ut⯑terly loſt; and his Deſire to preſerve it, [iv] induced him to collect, and ſcatter in Notes throughout the Work, ſuch curious Particulars as (in his Judgment) prove the actual Exiſtence of ſuch a Perſon as RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and the chief Event of his Life to have been inconteſtibly certain.
RICHARD PLANTAGENET; A LEGENDARY TALE.
[1]I.
"THE Work is done, the Structure is complete—
"Long may this Produce of my humble Toil
"Un-injur'd ſtand, and Echo long repeat,
"Round the dear Walls, Benevolence and MOYLE!" *
II.
So RICHARD ſpake, as he ſurvey'd
The Dwelling he had rais'd;
And, in the Fullneſs of his Heart,
His gen'rous Patron prais'd.
[2]III.
Him MOYLE o'erheard, whoſe wand'ring Step
Chance guided had that Way;
The Workman's Mien he ey'd intent,
Then earneſt thus did ſay:
IV.
"My Mind, I ſee, miſgave me not,
"My Doubtings now are clear,
"Thou oughteſt not, in poor Attire,
"Have dwelt a Menial here.
V.
"To Drudgery, and ſervile Toil,
"Thou couldſt not be decreed
"By Birth and Blood, but thereto wrought
"By hard o'er-ruling Need.
VI.
"Is it not ſo? That crimſon Glow,
"That fluſhes o'er thy Cheek,
"And down-caſt Eye, true Anſwer give,
"And thy Tongue need not ſpeak.
[3]VII.
"Oft have I mark'd thee, when unſeen
"Thou thought'ſt thyſelf by all,
"What Time the Workman from his Taſk
"The Ev'ning Bell did call;
VIII.
"Haſt thou not ſhunn'd thy untaught Mates,
"And to ſome ſecret Nook,
"With drooping Gait, and muſing Eye,
"Thy lonely Step betook?
IX.
"There hath not thy Attention dwelt
"Upon the letter'd Page,
"Loſt, as it ſeem'd to all beſide,
"Like ſome ſequeſter'd Sage?
X.
"And wouldſt thou not, with eager Haſte,
"The precious Volume hide,
"If ſudden ſome Intruder's Eye
"Thy Muſings hath deſcried?
[4]XI.
"Oft have I deem'd thou couldſt explore
"The Greek and Roman Page,
"And oft have yearn'd to view the Theme,
"That did thy Hours engage.
XII.
"But Sorrow, greedy, grudging, coy,
"Eſteems of mighty Price
"It's treaſur'd Cares, and to the World
"The ſcantieſt Share denies;
XIII.
"All as the Miſer's heaped Hoards,
"To him alone confin'd,
"They ſerve, at once, to ſoothe and pain
"The wretched Owner's Mind.
XIV.
"Me had capricious Fortune doom'd
"Thine equal in Degree,
"Long, long e're now, I had deſir'd
"To know thine Hiſtory;
[5]XV.
"But who their worldly Honors wear
"With Meekneſs chaſte and due,
"Decline to aſk, leſt the Requeſt
"Should bear Commandment's Hue.
XVI.
"Yet now thy Tongue hath ſpoke aloud
"Thy grateful Piety,
"No longer be thy Story kept
"In painful Secrecy.
XVII.
"Give me to know thy Dawn of Life;
"Unfold, with ſimple Truth,
"Not to thy Maſter, but thy Friend,
"The Promiſe of thy Youth.
XVIII.
"Now, late in Life, 'tis Time, I ween,
"To give thy Labours o'er;
"Thy well-worn Implements lay by,
"And drudge and toil no more.
[6]XIX.
"Here ſhalt thou find a quiet Reſt,
"For all thy Days to come,
"And every Comfort, that may ſerve
"T'endear thy humble Home.
XX.
"Haſt thou a Wiſh, a Hope to frame,
"Beyond this neat Abode?
"Is there a Good, a higher Bliſs,
"By me may be beſtow'd?
XXI.
"Is there within thine aged Breaſt
" "The ſmalleſt aching Void?
Give me to know thy Longings all,
"And ſee them all ſupply'd.
XXII.
"All I entreat, in Lieu, is this,
"Unfold, with ſimple Truth,
"Not to thy Maſter, but thy Friend,
"The Promiſe of thy Youth."
[7]XXIII.
So gen'rous MOYLE intent beſpake
The long-enduring Man, ‡
Who rais'd, at length, his drooping Head,
And, ſighing, thus began.
RICHARD PLANTAGENET reciteth his TALE.
[8]I.
HARD Taſk to any, but thyſelf, to tell
The Story of my Birth and treach'rous Fate,
Or paint the Tumults in my Breaſt that ſwell,
At Recollection of my infant State!
II.
Oft have I labour'd to forget my Birth,
And check'd Remembrance, when, in cruel Wiſe,
From Time's Abyſs ſhe would the Tale draw forth,
And place my former ſelf before my Eyes.
III.
Yet I complain not, tho' I feel anew,
All as I ſpeak, fell Fortune's bitter Spite,
Who once ſet Affluence, Grandeur, in my View,
Then churliſh ſnatch'd them from my cheated Sight,
[9]IV.
And yet it may be—is—nay, muſt be beſt,
Whate'er Heav'n's righteous Laws for Man ordain;
Weak Man! who lets one Sigh invade his Breaſt,
For earthly Grandeur, fugitive as vain!
V.
Perchance Contentment had not been my Mate,
If in exalted Life my Feet had trod,
Or my Hands borne, in tranſitory State,
The Victor's Truncheon, or the Ruler's Rod.
VI.
My Courſe, perchance, had been one dazzling Glare
Of ſplendid Pride, and I in vain had ſought
The quiet Comforts of this humble Sphere,
Reſt undiſturb'd, and Reaſon's tranquil Thought.
VII.
But whither roam I? O! forgive, my kind,
My honour'd Lord, this undeſign'd Delay,
Forgive, while in my new-awaken'd Mind
A Thouſand vague Ideas fondly play.
[10]VIII.
Enough!—they're flown—and now my Tongue prepares,
Thou Source of every Good by me poſſeſt,
To pour a Tale into thy wond'ring Ears,
Full * three-ſcore Years cloſe-lock'd within my Breaſt.
IX.
Of thoſe Care-woven, long-protracted Years,
Some ſixteen Summers paſs'd obſcurely on,
A Stranger to the World, its Hopes, and Fears,
My Name, Birth, Fortunes, to myſelf unknown.
X.
Plac'd in a rural, ſoft, ſerene Retreat,
With a deep-learn'd Divine I held Abode,
Who ſought, by pious Laws and Conduct meet,
The Way to Immortality and God.
[11]XI.
By him inſtructed, I attain'd the ſweet,
The precious Bleſſings that from Learning flow,
He fann'd in my young Breaſt the genial Heat,
That bids th' expanding Mind with Ardor glow.
XII.
He taught me with delighted Eye to trace
The comely Beauties of the Mantuan Page,
Enraptur'd mix with Tully's poliſh'd Grace,
Or catch the Flame of Homer's martial Rage.
XIII.
Nor ſtopt he there, Preceptor excellent,
Nor deem'd that Wiſdom lay in Books alone,
But would explain what moral Virtue meant,
And bid us make our Neighbour's Woes our own.
XIV.
Heaven's genuine Pity gliſt'ning in his Eyes,
The Sweets of Charity he would inſtill,
And teach what Bleſſedneſs of Comfort lies
In univerſal Mercy and Good-will.
[12]XV.
So taught this pious Man, ſo thought, ſo did,
Squaring his Actions to his Tenets true;
His Counſel or Relief to none deny'd,
A general Good, like Heav'n's all-chearing Dew!
XVI.
Thus guided, thus inform'd, thus Practice-drawn,
In guileleſs Peace my Spring of Life was ſpent,
My Leiſure-hours I ſported o'er the Lawn,
Nor knew what reſtleſs Care or Sorrow meant.
XVII.
A courteous Stranger, ever and anon,
My kind Inſtructor's due Reward ſupply'd;
But ſtill my Name, my Birth, alike unknown,
Wrapt in the Gloom of Secrecy lay hid.
XVIII.
One Autumn-Morn (the Time I well recall)
That Stranger drew me from my ſoft Retreat,
And led my Footſteps to a lofty Hall,
Where State and Splendor ſeem'd to hold their Seat.
[13]XIX.
Thro' a long Range of ſpacious gilded Rooms
Dubious I paſs'd, admiring as I went,
On the rich-woven Labours of the Looms,
The ſculptur'd Arch, or painted Roof intent.
XX.
My Guide, at length, withdrew; wrapt in Suſpenſe
And Fear I ſtood, yet knew not what I fear'd;
When ſtraight to my appall'd, aſtounded Senſe
A Man of noble Port and Mien appear'd.
XXI.
His Form commanded, and his Viſage aw'd,
My Spirit ſunk as he advanced nigh,
With ſtately Step along the Floor he trod,
Fix'd on my Face his penetrating Eye.
XXII.
The dancing Plumage o'er his Front wav'd high,
Thick-ſtudded Ribs of Gold adorn'd his Veſt,
In ſplendid Folds his purple Robe did ply,
And royal Emblems glitter'd on his Breaſt.
[14]XXIII.
I ſought to bend me, but my Limbs refus'd
Their wonted Office, motionleſs and chill;
Yet ſomewhat, as the Figure I perus'd,
A dubious Joy did in my Mind inſtill.
XXIV.
While thus I cow'r'd beneath his piercing Eye,
He ſaw, and ſtrove to mitigate my Fear,
Soft'ning the Frown of harſh Auſterity
In his bold Brow, which Nature grafted there.
XXV.
With Speeches kind he cheer'd my ſinking Heart,
Queſtion'd me much, and ſtroak'd my drooping Head;
Yet his whole Mind he ſeem'd not to impart,
His Looks implied more than his Speeches ſaid.
XXVI.
A broider'd Purſe, which weighty ſeem'd with Gold,
He gave me then, and kindly preſs'd my Hand;
And thus awhile did ſtay me in his Hold,
And on my Face did meditating ſtand.
[15]XXVII.
His Soul work'd hugely, and his Boſom ſwell'd,
As though ſome mighty Thing he yearn'd to ſay,
But (with indignant Pride the Thought repell'd)
He ſtarted, frown'd, and ſnatch'd himſelf away.
XXVIII.
My Guide return'd, and re-conducted me
Tow'rd the Abode of my Preceptor kind;
A Man he ſeem'd of Carriage mild and free,
To whom I thought I might unload my Mind.
XXIX.
Without Reſerve I told him all that paſs'd,
Striving, by mine, his Confidence to gain;
Then my Enquiries frank before him caſt,
Hoping ſome Knowledge of myſelf t'attain.
XXX.
I aſk'd what wond'rous Cauſe, yet undiſcry'd,
Urg'd him his Time and Zeal for me t'employ;
And why that Man of Dignity and Pride
Had deign'd his Notice to a Stranger-Boy.
[16]XXXI.
Confus'd, yet undiſpleas'd, my Guide appear'd,
Nought he divulg'd (tho' much he ſeem'd to know)
Save this, which he with earneſt Look aver'd,
"No Obligation, Youth, to me you owe;
XXXII.
"I do but what my Place and Duty bid,
"With me no Kindred-Drops of Blood you ſhare,
"Yet (hard to tell!) your Birth muſt ſtill be hid;
"Enquire no farther—Honour bids, forbear."
XXXIII.
Thus he reprov'd, yet did it with a Look,
As tho' he pitied my Senſations keen;
Patient I bow'd me to his mild Rebuke,
And pledg'd Obedience, with ſubmiſſive Mien.
XXXIV.
He left me at my Tutor's ſoft Abode,
And parting bleſs'd me by the holy Croſs;
My Heart wax'd ſad, as he re-trac'd the Road,
And ſeem'd to have ſuſtain'd ſome mighty Loſs.
[17]XXXV.
But ſoon tumultuous Thoughts began give Way,
Lull'd by the Voice of my Preceptor ſage;
Unquiet Boſoms he could well allay,
His Looks could ſoften, and his Words aſſuage.
XXXVI.
Unruly Care from him was far remov'd,
Grief's wildeſt Murmurs at his Breath would ceaſe;
O! in his blameleſs Life how well he prov'd
The Houſe of Goodneſs is the Houſe of Peace!
XXXVII.
Here I again enjoy'd my ſweet Repoſe,
And taught my Heart, with pious Wiſdom fill'd,
No more with anxious Throb to ſeek diſcloſe
What ſtubborn Fate had doom'd to lie conceal'd.
XXXVIII.
But long theſe fond Deluſions did not laſt,
Some ſterner Pow'r my riſing Life controul'd,
My viſionary Hopes too ſwiftly paſt,
And left my Proſpects dreary, dark, and cold.
[18]XXXIX.
When rugged March o'er-rules the growing Year,
Have we not ſeen the Morn, with treach'rous Ray
Shine out awhile, then inſtant diſappear,
And leave to Damp and Gloom the future Day?
XL.
So dawn'd my Fate, and ſo deceiv'd my Heart,
Nor wean'd me from my Hopes, but cruel tore;
In one unlook'd-for Moment, bade me part
From all my Comforts, to return no more.
XLI.
My Guide once more arriv'd, tho', as of late,
Of ſoft Deportment he appear'd not now,
But wild Impatience flutter'd in his Gait,
And Care and Thought ſeem'd buſy on his Brow.
XLII.
"Riſe, Youth," he ſaid, "and mount this rapid Steed"—
I argued not; his Bidding ſtrait was done;
Proud-creſted was the Beaſt, of warlike Breed,
Arm'd, at all Points, with rich Capariſon.
[19]XLIII.
We commun'd not—ſuch Heat was in our Speed,
Scantly would it allow me Pow'r of Thought,
Till Eve, deep-painted with a burning Red,
To * Boſworth Field our panting Courſers brought.
XLIV.
Who hath not heard of Boſworth's fatal Plain,
Where baſe Advent'rers did in Compact join
'Gainſt Chiefs of Proweſs high, and noble Strain,
And low'r'd the Creſt of YORK's imperial Line?
XLV.
Now verging on that memorable Ground,
Our Courſe we ſtay'd—yet we alighted not;
Fill'd with Aſtoniſhment I gaz'd around,
While in my glowing Breaſt my Heart grew hot.
XLVI.
Thick-ſtation'd Tents, extended wide and far,
To th' utmoſt Stretch of Sight could I behold,
And Banners flutt'ring in the whiſtling Air,
And Archers trimly dight, and Prancers bold.
[20]XLVII.
The ſinking Sun, with richly-burniſh'd Glow,
Now to his weſtern Chamber made Retire,
While pointed Spears, quick-ſhifting to and fro,
Seem'd all as ſpiral Flames of hotteſt Fire.
XLVIII.
Promiſcuous Voices fill'd the floating Gale,
The Welkin echoed with the Steed's proud Neigh:
The Bands oft turn'd, and ey'd the Weſtern Vale,
Watching the Cloſure of departing Day.
XLIX.
Light vaniſh'd now apace, and Twilight grey
With Speed unuſual mantled all the Ground,
The Chieftains to their Tents had ta'en their Way,
And Centinels thick-poſted watch'd around.
L.
As ſable Night advanced more and more,
The mingled Voices leſſen'd by Degrees,
Sounding at length, as, round ſome craggy Shore,
Decreaſing Murmurs of the ebbing Seas.
[21]LI.
Now tow'rd the Tents awhile we journey'd on
With wary Pace, then lighted on the Ground,
Be-friended by the Stars, that ſhimm'ring ſhone,
And Fires, that caſt a trembling Gleam around.
LII.
With haſty Foot we preſs'd the dewy Sod,
Fit Anſwer making to each ſtation'd Guard;
When full before us, as we onward trod,
A martial Form our further Progreſs barr'd.
LIII.
He ſeem'd as tho' he there did liſt'ning ſtand,
His Face deep-muffled in his folded Cloak;
Now threw it wide, ſnatch'd quick my dubious Hand,
And to a neighb'ring Tent his Speed betook.
LIV.
With glowing Crimſon the Pavilion ſhone,
Reflected by the lofty Taper's Ray,
The poliſh'd Armour, bright and deft to don,
Beſide the royal Couch in order lay.
[22]LV.
The Crown imperial glitter'd in mine Eye,
With various Gems magnificently grac'd,
Nigh which, as meant to guard its dignity,
A weighty Curtelax unſheath'd was plac'd.
LVI.
The Chief unbonnetted, and drew me nigh,
Wrapt in a deepen'd Gloom his Face appear'd,
Like the dark Low'rings of the clouded Sky,
Ere the big-burſting Tempeſt's Voice is heard.
LVII.
Revenge, Impatience, all that mads the Soul,
All that Deſpair and Frenzy's Flame inſpires,
Shewn by the Tapers, in his Eyes did roll,
Hot Meteors they amid the leſſer Fires.
LVIII.
Tho' each dark Line I could not truly ſcan,
Yet thro' the Veil of his diſtemper'd Mien
Broke forth a Likeneſs of that lofty Man,
Whom, whilom, at the Palace I had ſeen.
[23]LIX.
To quell his Feelings huge he ſternly try'd,
Strong Combat holding with his fighting Soul,
Creſting himſelf with more than earthly Pride,
As tho' from Pow'r ſupreme he ſcorn'd Controul.
LX.
At length (in Part ſubdu'd his troubled Breaſt)
On my impatient Ear theſe Accents broke,
(I pale and trembling as th' attentive Prieſt,
Who waits th' Inſpirings of his myſtic Oak!)
LXI.
Wonder no more why thou art hither brought,
The Secret of thy Birth ſhall now be ſhewn;
With glorious Ardour be thy Boſom fraught,
For know, thou art imperial RICHARD's † Son.
LXII.
Thy Father I, who fold thee in my Arms,
Thou royal Iſſue of PLANTAGENET! *
[24] Soon as my Pow'r hath quell'd theſe loud Alarms,
Thou ſhalt be known, be honour'd, and be great.
LXIII.
Riſe from the Ground, and dry thy flowing Tears,
To Nature's Dues be other Hours aſſign'd!
Beſet with Foes, Solicitude, and Cares,
Far other Thoughts muſt now poſſeſs the Mind.
LXIV.
To-morrow, * Boy, I combat for my Crown,
To ſhield from Soil my Dignity and Fame:
Preſumptuous RICHMOND ‡ ſeeks to win Renown,
And on my Ruin raiſe his upſtart Name:
[25]LXV.
He leads yon ſhallow renegado Band,
Strangers to War and hazardous Emprize,
And 'gainſt the mighty Chieftains of the Land,
Vain and unſkill'd, a deſp'rate Conflict tries.
LXVI.
Yet ſince Aſſurance is not giv'n to Man,
Nor can ev'n Kings command th' Event of War,
Since peeviſh Chance can foil the ſubtleſt Plan
Of human Skill, and hurl our Schemes in Air,
LXVII.
To-morrow's Sun beholds me Conqueror,
Or ſees me low among the Slaughter'd lie;
RICHARD ſhall never grace a Victor's Car,
But glorious win the Field, or glorious die.
LXVIII.
But thou, my Son, heed and obey my Word;
Seek not to mingle in the wild Affray:
Far from the winged Shaft and gleaming Sword,
Patient await the Iſſue of the Day.
[26]LXIX.
North * of our Camp there ſtands a riſing Mound,
(Thy Guide awaits to lead thee on the Way,)
Thence ſhalt thou rule the Proſpect wide around,
And view each Chance, each Movement of the Fray.
LXX.
If righteous Fate to me the Conqueſt yield,
Then ſhall thy noble Birth to all be known;
Then boldly ſeek the Centre of the Field,
And 'midſt my laurell'd Bands my Son I'll own:
LXXI.
But if blind Chance, that ſeld' determines right,
Rob me at once of Empire and Renown,
Be ſure thy Father's Eyes are clos'd in Night,
Life were Diſgrace when Chance had reft my Crown.
[27]LXXII.
No Means are left thee then, but inſtant Flight,
In dark Concealment muſt thou veil thy Head;
On RICHARD's Friends their felleſt Rage and Spite
His Foes will wreak, and fear ev'n RICHARD dead.
LXXIII.
Begone, my Son! This one Embrace! Away!
Some ſhort Reflections claims this awful Night:
Ere from the Eaſt peep forth the glimm'ring Day,
My Knights attend to arm me for the Fight.
LXXIV.
Once more I knelt, he claſp'd my lifted Hands,
Bleſs'd me, and ſeem'd to check a ſtruggling Tear;
Then led me forth to follow his Commands,
O'erwhelm'd with tend'reſt Grief, Suſpenſe, and Fear.
LXXV.
What Need of more? Who knows not the Event
Of that dread Day, that * deſp'rate-foughten Field,
[28] Where, with his wond'rous Deeds and Proweſs ſpent,
By Numbers over-pow'r'd, my Sire was kill'd?
LXXVI.
A Son no more, what Courſe was left to tread,
To whom apply, or whither ſhould I wend?
Back to my Tutor's Roof, by Inſtinct led,
My Orphan-Footſteps did I penſive bend.
LXXVII.
O'er-ruling Fate againſt my Wiſhes wrought;
That pious Man, ſnatch'd from this frail Abode,
Had found the Bleſſing he ſo long had ſought,
The Way to Immortality and God.
LXXVIII.
With flowing Eyes I left the ſacred Door,
And with relying Heart to Heav'n did bend;
To God my Supplication did I pour,
To God, the Mourner's beſt and ſureſt Friend,
[29]LXXIX.
That He would guide me to ſome ſafe Retreat,
Where daily Toil my daily Bread might earn,
Where pious Peace might ſoothe Ambition's Heat,
And my taught Heart ſublimer Ardor learn.
LXXX.
He heard me—All I aſk'd in thee was lent,
Thou lib'ral Proxy of my gracious God!
Thou paid'ſt my Induſtry with rich Content,
And giv'ſt my weary Age this ſoft Abode. *
[30]LXXXI.
The Work is done, the Structure is compleat—
Long may the Produce of my humble Toil
Un-injur'd ſtand! and Echo long repeat,
Round the dear Walls, Benevolence and MOYLE!
FINIS.
Notes
*
Sir THOMAS MOYLE, Poſſeſſor of Eaſtwell-Place, in the County of Kent, in the Year 1546, gave RICHARD PLANTAGENET (who for many Years had been his chief Bricklayer) a Piece of Ground, and Permiſſion to build himſelf a Houſe thereon. The Poem opens, juſt when RICHARD is ſuppoſed to have finiſhed this Taſk. Eaſtwell-Place hath ſince been in the Poſſeſſion of the Earls of Winchelſea.
‡
The Time of RICHARD's Service, at Eaſtwell-Place, was near Sixty Years.
*
At the Time of this Relation, RICHARD is ſuppoſed to be nigh Fourſcore Years of Age; but he did not become acquainted with his own Story, till he was near Twenty: probably, in his ſixteenth or ſeventeenth Year.
*
Boſworth, in Leiceſterſhire.
†
RICHARD the Third.
*
It may not, perhaps, be unacceptable to ſome of our Readers, if we ſubjoin the Etymology of this Name, which has been borne by ſeveral of our Engliſh Kings. GEORGE BUCK, Eſq. Compiler of the Life of RICHARD the Third, in KENNET's Hiſtory of England, ſays, it rather ſhould be called, PLANTAGENEST, being derived from the two Words, Planta Geneſta or Geniſta, that is, the Plant, Broom. It was firſt given to FULKE, Earl of Anjou, who lived an hundred Years before the Norman Conqueſt. He, having been guilty of ſome enormous Crimes, was en⯑joined, by Way of Penance, to go to the Holy Land, and ſubmit to a ſevere Caſtigation. He readily acquieſced, dreſſed himſelf in lowly Attire, and, as a Mark of Humility, wore a Piece of Broom in his Cap, of which Virtue this Plant is a Symbol, in the Hyeroglypick Language; and VIRGIL ſeems to confirm it, by calling it humilis Geniſta, the humble Broom. This Expiation finiſhed, FULKE, in Remembrance of it, adopted the Title of Plantageneſt, and lived many Years in Honour and Happineſs. His Deſcendants accordingly inherited the Name, and many ſucceſſive Nobles of the Line of Anjou not only did the ſame, but even diſtinguiſhed themſelves by wearing a Sprig of Broom in their Bonnets.
*
This deciſive Battle, which terminated the Contentions between the Houſes of Lancaſter and York, was fought on Monday, Auguſt 22d, 1485. This Interview, conſequently, was on the preceding Sabbath-Night.
‡
HENRY, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King HENRY VII.
*
The Encampment and Action were three Miles diſtant from the Town of Boſworth, and the Place obtained the Name of Boſworth Field, from that memorable Battle. CAMDEN, in his Account of Leiceſterſhire, ſays, ‘The exact Place is frequently more and more diſcovered by Pieces of Armour, Weapons, and other warlike Accoutrements, digged up; and eſpecially a great many Arrow-Heads were found there, of a long, large, and big Proportion, far greater than any now in Uſe.’
*
The whole Continuance of this Action is ſaid to have been but two Hours, during which, the King's perſonal Bravery was aſtoniſhingly great.
*
RICHARD PLANTAGENET died in December, 1550 (the fourth Year of EDWARD the Sixth's Reign) aged, 81. Conſequently he enjoyed his lit⯑tle comfortable Retreat barely four Years.
The following is ſtill to be found in the old Regiſter of the Pariſh of Eaſtwell.
"RICHARD PLANTAGENET was buryed the 22d Daye of December, 1550."
This laſt Piece of Intelligence was tranſmitted to the Editor by a very ſenſible and worthy Clergyman now living, who kindly went from Wye to Eaſtwell, to collect as many Circumſtances as he could, to confirm the Authenticity of this ſingular Story. To the Tranſcript of the Regiſter he ſubjoined as follows:
It is obſervable that in the old Regiſter there is prefixed to the Name of every Perſon of noble Blood ſuch a Mark as this,
[figure]
. At the Name of RICHARD PLANTAGENET there is the ſame Mark, (and it is the Firſt that is ſo diſtinguiſhed) only with this Difference, that there is a Line run acroſs it, thus
[figure]
.
There is ſtill remaining in Eaſtwell-Park the Ruin of a Building, which, they ſay, was his Houſe; and a Well near it, which, to this Day, is called PLANTAGENET's Well.
There is alſo a Tomb in the Wall of Eaſtwell-Church, under which he is ſaid to be buried, but it appears to me of much older Date.
The Editor of this Poem holds it incumbent on him to return his moſt grateful Thanks to the Gentleman who ſent him theſe curious Particulars, for the Trouble he took, and the Politeneſs of his Letter; the whole of which he ſhould be proud to make publick, together with the Name, could he preſume ſuch a Liberty to be warrantable.
The Editor conjectures the Line, which is mentioned to run acroſs the Mark of Nobility, to be what is ſtiled in Heraldry, the Bar of Baſtardy.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 4128 Richard Plantagenet a legendary tale now first published by Mr Hull. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D4F3-9