RICHARD PLANTAGENET reciteth his TALE

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!

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.

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,

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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;

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!)

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.

What Need of more? Who knows not the Event Of that dread Day, that desp'rate-foughten Field, Where, with his wond'rous Deeds and Prowess spent, By Numbers over-pow'r'd, my Sire was kill'd?

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.

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.

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,

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.

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.

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!