BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE:

OR THE DETHE OF SYR CHARLES BAWDIN.

[This poem is reprinted from the copy printed at London in 1772, with a few corrections from a copy made by Mr. Catcott, from one in Chatterton's hand-writing.

The person here celebrated under the name of syr Charles Bawdin was probably sir Baldewyn Fulford, knt. a zealous Lancastrian, who was executed at Bristol in the latter end of

1461, the first year of Edward the Fourth. He was attainted, with many others, in the general act of attainder, 1 Edw. IV, but he seems to have been executed under a special commission for the trial of treasons, &c. within the town of Bristol. The fragment of the old chronicle, published by Hearne at the end of Sprotti Chronica, p. 289, says only, "(1 Edw. IV.) was takin sir Baldewine Fulford and behedid at Bristow." But the matter is more fully stated in the act which passed in 7 Edw. IV. for the restitution in blood and estate of Thomas Fulford, kut. eldest son of Baldewyn Fulford, late of Fulford, in the county of Devonshire, knt. Rot. Pat. 8 Edw. IV. p. 1, m. 13. The pre7 Advance our waving colours on the walls! Shakspeare, Henry 6, part 1.

amble of this act, after stating the attainder by the act 1 Edw. IV. goes on thus: "And also the said Baldewyn, the said first yere of your noble reign, at Bristowe in the shere of Bristowe, before Henry erle of Essex, William Hastyngs, of Hastyngs, knt. Richard Chock, William Canyng, maire of the said towne of Bristowe, and Thomas Yong, by force of your letters patentes totheym and other directe to here and determine all treesons, &c. doon withyn the said towne of Bristowe before the vth day of September the first yere of your said reign, was atteynt of dyvers tresons by him doon ayenst your highness, &c." If the commission sat soon after the vth of September, as is most probable, king Edwarde might very possibly be at Bristol at the time of sir Baldewyn's execution; for in the interval between his coronation and the parliament which met in November, he made a progress (as the continuator of Stowe informs us, p. 416.) by the South coast in the West, and was (among other places) at Bristol. Indeed there is a circumstance which might lead us to believe, that he was actually a spectator of the execution from the minster window, as described in the poem. In an old accompt of the procurators of St. Ewin's church, which was then the minster, from xx March in the 1 Edward IV. to 1 April in the year next ensuing, is the following article, according to a copy made by Mr. Catcott from the original book.

"Item for washynge the church payven ageyns Kynge Edwarde 4th is comynge. J'

THE feathered songster chaunticleer

Han wounde hys bugle horne, And tolde the earlie villager

The commynge of the morne : Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes Of lyghte eclypse the greie; And herde the raven's crokynge throte Proclayme the fated daic.

iiijd.ob."]

"Thou'rt ryghte," quod hee, "for, by the Godde
That syttes enthron'd on hyghe!
Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine,
To daie shall surelie die."

Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale

Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite;
"Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie
Hee leaves thys mortall state."
Syr Canterlone' thenne bendedd lowe,
Wythe harte brymm fulle of woe;
Hee journey'd to the castle-gate,

And to syr Charles dydd goe.

Butt whenne hee came, hys children twaine,
And eke bys lovynge wyfe,
Wythe brinie teares dydd wett the floore,
For goode syr Charleses lyfe.

It appears by a MSS. (Rich penes me) that Henry V. was taken in disguised apparel at the Abbey of Salley in Yorkshire, by one Cantelow, in 1465. This is a proof that k. Edward IV. had such a person as sir Cantelow much in bis interest and at his command, and affords some additional proof of the authenticity of the poem.

Barrett.

My honest friende, my faulte has beene
To serve Godde and mye prynce;

And thatt I no tyme-server am,

My dethe wylle soone convynce.

· Ynne Londonne citye was I borne,
Of parents of grete note;
My fadre dydd a nobile armes

Emblazon onne hys cote:

"I make ne doubte butt hee ys gone Where soone I hope to goe; Where wee for ever shall bee blest,

From oute the reech of woe:

"Hee tanghte mee justice and the laws
Wyth pitie to unite;

And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe
The wronge cause fromm the ryghte:
'Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande
To feede the hungrie poore,

Ne lette my servants dryve awaie

The hungrie fromme my doore:

"And none can saye, but alle mye lyfe
I have bys wordyes kept;
And summ'd the actyonns of the daie
Eche nyghte before I slept.

I have a spouse, goe aske of her,
Yff I defyl'd her bedde?
I have a kynge, and none can laie
Blacke treason onne my hedde.
"Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve,
Fromme fleshe I dydd refrayne;
Whie should I thenne appear dismay'd
To leave thys worlde of payne?

"Ne! hapless Henrie! I rejoyce,
I shall ne see thye dethe;

Moste willynglie ynne thye just cause
Doe I resign my brethe.

"Oh fickle people! rewyn'd londe!
Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe;
Whyle Richard's sonnes exalt themselves,
Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe.
"Saie, were ye tyr'd of godlie peace,
And godlie Henrie's reigne,
Thatt you dydd choppe your easie daies

Forr those of bloude and peyne?

"Whatte tho' I onne a sledde bee drawne, And mangled by a hynde,

I doe defye the traytor's pow'r,

Hee can ne harm my mynde;
"Whatte tho', uphoisted onne a pole,
Mye lymbes shall rotte ynn ayre,
And ne ryche monument of brasse

Charles Bawdin's name shall bear;

"Yett ynne the holie booke above,
Whyche tyme can 't eate awaie,
There wythe the servants of the Lorde
Mie name shall lyve for aie.

"Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne 1 leave thys mortall lyfe:

Farewell, vayne world, and alle that's deare, Mie sonnes and lovynge wyfe;

"Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes,

As e'er the moneth of Maie;

Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve,
Wyth my dere wyfe to staie."

Quod Canynge, ""Tys a goodlie thynge
To bee prepar'd to die;

And from thys world of peyne and grefe
To Godde ynne Heav'n to flie."

And nowe the bell beganne to tolle,
And claryonnes to sounde;

Syr Charles hee herde the horses feete
A prauncyng onne the grounde.

And just before the officers,

His lovynge wyfe came ynne,
Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe,
Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne.
"Sweet Florence! nowe I praie forbere,
Ynne quiet lett mee die;

Praie Godde, thatt ev'ry Christian soule
Maye looke onne dethe as 1.

"Sweet Florence! why these brinie teeres?
They washe my soule awaie,

And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe,
Wythe thee, sweete dame, to staie.

"Tys butt a journie I shalle goe

Untoe the lande of blysse;
Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love,
Receive thys holie kisse."

Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie,
Tremblynge these wordyes spoke,

"Ah, cruele Edwarde! bloudie kynge!
Mie herte ys welle nyghe broke:

"Ah, sweete syr Charles! why wylt thou goe," Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?

The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thy necke,

Ytte eke shall ende my lyfe."

And nowe the officers came ynne

To brynge syr Charles awaie, Whoe turnedd toe hys lovynge wyfe, And thus to her dydd saie:

"I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe;

Trust thou ynne Godde above,
And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde,
And ynne theyre hertes hym love:
"Teache them to runne the nobile race

Thatt I theyre fader runne:

Florence! shou'd dethe thee take-adieu!
Yee officers lead onne."

Thenne Florence rav'd as anie madde,
And dydd her tresses tere;

"Oh! staie, mye husbande! lorde! and lyfe!"Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare.

"Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loude,
Shee fellen onne the flore;
Syr Charles exerted alle hys myghte,
And march'd fromm oute the dore.

Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne,
Wythe lookes full brave and swete;
Lookes, thatt ensbone ne more concern
Thanne anie ynne the strete.

Before hym went the council-menne,
Yone scarlett robes and golde,
And tassils spanglynge ynne the Sunne,
Muche glorious to beholde:

The freers of seincte Augustyne next
Appeared to the syghte,

Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,
Of godlie monkysh plyghte:

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume
Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt;
Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.

Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came;
Echone the bowe dydd bende,
From rescue of kynge Henrie's friends
Syr Charles forr to defend.

Bolde as a lyon came syr Charles,

Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde,

Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white,
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:

Behynde hym five-and-twenty moe
Of archers stronge and stoute,
Wyth bended bowe echone ynn hande,

Marched yune goodlie route;

Seincte Jameses freers marched next,

Echone hys parte dydd chaunte;
Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrells came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,
Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't;
And theyre attendynge menne echone,
Lyke easterne princes trickt:

And after them, a multitude

Of citizenns dydd thronge;
The wyndowes were all fulle of heddes,
As hee dydd passe alonge.

And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse,
Syr Charles dydd turne and saie,
"O thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne,
Washe mie soule clean thys daie!"

At the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat
The kynge ynne mycle state,

To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge
To hys most welcom fate.

Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe,
Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare,
The brave syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe,
And thus hys wordes declare:
"Thou seest me, Edwarde! traytour vile!
Expos'd to infamie;

Butt be assur'd, disloyall manne!

I'm greater nowe thanne thee.

"Bye foule proceedyages, murdre, bloude,
Thou wearest nowe a crowne;
And hast appoynted mee to dye,
By power nott thyne owne.

"Thou thynkest I shall die to-dai;
I have been dede 'till nowe,

And soon shall lyve to wear a crowne
For ale uponne my browe:

"Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few years,

Shalt rule thys tickle lande,

To lett them knowe nowe wyde the rule
Twixt kynge and tyrant hande:

"Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave!
Shall falle onne thye owne hedde❞—
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge
Departed thenne the sledde.

Kynge Edwarde's soul rush'd to hys face,
Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie,

And to hys broder Gloucester

Hee thus dydd speke and saie:

"To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe
Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,

Beholde the manne! he spake the truthe,
Hee's greater thanne a kynge!"

"Soe lett hym die !" Duke Richarde sayde;
And maye echone oure foes

Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe,
And feede the carryon crowes."

And nowe the horses gentlie drewe

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hyile;
The axe dydd glysterr ynne the Sunne,
Hys pretious bloude to spylle.

Syrr Charles dydd uppe the scaffolde goe,
As uppe a gilded carre

Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs

Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:

And to the people hee dydd sai,
"Beholde you see mee dye,

For servynge loyally mye kynge,
Mye kynge most rightfullie,

"As longe as Edwarde rules thys land,
Ne quiet you wylle knowe;
Youre sonnes and husbandes shall bee slayne,
And brookes wythe bloude shalle flowe.

"You leave youre goode and law fulle kynge,
Whenn ynne adversitye;

Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke,
And for the true cause dye."

Then hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees,
A pray'r to Godde dydd make,
Beseechynge hym unto hymnselie
Hys partynge soule to take.

Thenne, kneelynge downe, hee layd hys hedde
Most seemlie onne the blocke;
Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once

The able heddes-manne stroke;

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,
And rounde the scaffolde twyne;
And tears, euowe to wash 't awaie,
Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne.

The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre
Yunto foure parties cutte;
And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,
Uponne a pole was putte.

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,
One onne the mynster-tower,

And one from off the castle-gate

The crowen dydd devoure;