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The King therefor, for her defence

Against the furious queen,
At Woodstock builded such a bower,

The like was never seen.


Most curiously that bower was built,

Of stone and timber strong,
One hundered and fifty doors

Did to this bower belong:
And they so cunningly contriv'd,

With turnings round about,
That none, but with a clew of thread,

Could enter in or out.


And, for his love and ladys fake,

That was so fair and bright,
The keeping of this bower he gave

Unto a valiant knight.
But Fortune, that doth often frown

Where she before did smile,
The kings delight, the ladys joy,

Full foon fhe did beguile.

For why, the kings ungracious fon,

Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised wars,

Within the realm of France.


But yet before our comely king

The English land forsook, O Rosamond, his lady fair,

His farewell thus he took :

My Rofamond, my only Rose,

Tnat pleaseft beft mine eye,
The faireit flower in all the world

To feed myfantasy :
The flower of my affected heart,

Whose sweetness doth excell:
My royal Rose, a thousand times

I bid thee now farewell.

For I must leave


fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,

Proud rebels to abase.
But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt

My coming shortly foe,
And in my heart, when hence I am,

I'll bear my Rose with me.

When Rosamond, that lady bright,

Did hear the king fay so, The forrow of her grieved heart

Her outward looks did show ;


And from her clear and crystal eyes

Tears gushed out apace,
Which, like the silver-pearled dew,

Ran down her comely face.

Her lips, erst like the coral red,

Did wax both wan and pale,
And, for the sorrow she conceiv'd,

Her vital spirits did fail ;
And falling down all in a swoon,

Before king Henry's face,
Full oft he in his princely arms

Her body did embrace :

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And twenty times, with watery eyes,

He kiss'd her tender cheek,
Until he had reviv'd again

Her senses mild and meek.
Why grieves my Rose, my fweetest Rose ?

The king did often fay.
Because, quoth she, to bloody wars

My lord must pass away.

But since your grace, on foreign coasts,

Among your foes unkind,
Must go to hazard life and limb,

Why Mould I stay behind ?


Nay, rather, let me, like a page,

Your sword and target bear ;
That on my brcast the blows may light,

That should offend you there.

Or Ict me, in your royal tent,

Prepare your bed at night,
And with swect baths refresh your grace,

At your return from fight.
So I your presence may cnjoy,

No toil I will refuse ;
But waring you, my life is death ;

Which doth true love abuse.

Content thyself, my deareft love ;

Thy rest at home shall be ;
In Englands sweet and pleasant foil ;

For travel fits not thce.
Fair ladies brook not bloody wars ;

Sweet peace their pleasures breed ;
The nourisher of hearts coneint,

Which fancy fuit did fccd.

My Rose shall rest in Woodstock bower,

With mufics sweet delight; Whilft I, among the piercing pikes,

Against my focs do fight.

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My Rose in robes of pearl and gold,

With diamonds richly dight,
Shall dance the galliards of my love,

While I my foes do smite.


you, sir Thomas, whom I trust To be


loves defence,
Be careful of my gallant Rose

When I am parted hence.
And therewithall he fetch'd a figh,

As though 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 fore ;
After that day fair Rosamond

The king did see no more.
For when his grace had pass’d the seas,

And into France was gone,
Queen Eleanor, with envious heart,

To Woodstock came anon,

And forth she calls this trusty knight,

Who kept this curious bower ;
Who, with his clew of twined thread,

Came from this famous flower.

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