a stone with this inscription, 'Tumba Rosamundæ.' Her bones were closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn lether. When it was opened a very swete smell came owt of it." I See Hearne's discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us, were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foundations of a very large building, which were believed to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth. To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had two sons by Rosamond, from a computation of whose ages, a modern historian has endeavoured to invalidate the received story. These were William Longue-espé (or Long-sword) Earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey Bishop of Lincolne. Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is said to have been twenty years old at the time of his election to that see in 1173. Hence the writer concludes, that King Henry fell in love with Rosamond in 1149, when in King Stephen's reign he came over to be knighted by the King of Scots; he also thinks it probable that Henry's commerce with this lady "broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor [in 1152] and that the young lady, by a natural effect of grief and resentment at the defection of her lover, entered on that occasion into the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died probably before the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173.' [Carte's Hist. vol. i. p. 652.] But let it be observed, that Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over to be knighted; that he staid but eight months in this island, and was almost all the time with the King of Scots; that he did not return back to England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor; and that no writer drops the least hint of Rosamond's having been abroad with her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen should venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's court. If all these circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent and improbable than that of the old ballad; which is also countenanced by most of our old historians. Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently of Henry's commerce with Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from an ancient manuscript in the Cotton Library; wherein it is thus registered of Geoffrey Plantagenet: "Natus est 5° Henry II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25° Henry II. [1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28° Henry II. [1182.]" Vid. Chron. de Kirkstall (Domitian xii.) Drake's Hist. of York, p. 422. The Ballad of "Fair Rosamond " appears to have been first published in "Strange Histories or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone." Lond. 1612, 4to. It is now printed (with conjectural emendations) from four ancient copies in black-letter; two of them in the Pepys Library. WHEN as King Henry rulde this land, The second of that name, Besides the queene, he dearly lovde 1 This would have passed for miraculous, if it had happened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his being a saint. 9 Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I. II 149 B Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, A sweeter creature in this worlde Her crisped lockes like threads of golde Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles, The blood within her crystal cheekes As though the lillye and the rose Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, To whom our queene, dame Ellinor, The king therefore, for her defence, Most curiously that bower was built An hundered and fifty doors And they so cunninglye contriv'd And for his love and ladyes sake, But fortune, that doth often frowne For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, Against his father raised warres Within the realme of France. But yet before our comelye king His farewelle thus he tooke: "My Rosamonde, my only Rose, The flower of mine affected heart, For I must leave my fairest flower, And cross the seas to famous France, But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt And in my heart, when hence I am, And from her cleare and crystall eyes Her lippes, erst like the corall redde, And falling down all in a swoone And twentye times, with watery eyes, Untill he had revivde againe Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose? Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres But since your grace on forrayne coastes Nay rather, let me, like a page, Or lett mee, in your royal tent, And with sweete baths refresh your grace, So I your presence may enjoye But wanting you, my life is death; In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle; Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres; My Rose shall safely here abide, With musicke passe the daye; Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde, Gay galliards here my love shall dance, And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste Be carefull of my gallant Rose And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, As though his heart would breake: And Rosamonde, for very griefe, Not one plaine word could speake. And at their parting well they mighte For when his grace had past the seas, And forth she calls this trustye knighte, Who with his clue of twined thread, And when that they had wounded him, But when the queene with stedfast eye She was amazed in her minde At her exceeding grace. Cast off from thee those robes, she said, That riche and costlye bee; And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, Then presentlye upon her knees And pardon of the queene she crav'd "Take pitty on my youthfull yeares," I will renounce my sinfull life, And in some cloyster bide; Or else be banisht, if you please, |