as pale as lead, Her faxe that shoan as the gold wire She tair it of besides her head, And in a swoon down can she swye, She spake not of a certain space! The Lord had never so great pitty As when he saw her in that case, And in his arms he can her embrace; He was full sorry then for her sake. The tears fell from her eyes apace, But at the last these words she spake, She said, to Christ my soul I betake, For my body in Tem'ms drow'nd shall be! For I know my sorrow will never slake, And my bones upon the sands shall lye! The fishes shall feed upon me their fill; This is a dolefulle destinye! And you may remedy this and you will, Therefore the bone of my death I give to thee! And ever she wept as she were woode, The Earle on her had so great pitty, That her tender heart turned his mood. He said, stand up now, Lady Bessye, As you think best I will agree Now I see the matter you do not faine, I have thought in this matter as much as yee: But it is hard to trust women, For many a man is brought into great woe, Through telling to women his privity: I trust you will not serve me so For all the gold in Christantie. No, father, he is my mortall foe, On him fain wrooken woud I bee! He hath put away my brethren two, And I know he would do so by me; But my trust is in the Trinity, Through your help we shall bale to him bring, And such a day on him to see That he and his full sore shall rue! O Lady Bessye, the Lord can say, Betwixt us both forecast we must How we shall letters to Richmond convey, No man to write I dare well trust; For if he list to be unjust And us betray to King Richard, Then you and I are both lost; Therefore of the scribe I am afraid. You shall not need none such to call, Good father Stanley, hearken to me What my father, King Edward, that king royal, Did for my sister, my Lady Wells, and me: He sent for a scrivener to lusty London, He was the best in that citty; He taught us both to write and read full soon, If it please you, full soon you shall see: Lauded be God, I had such speed, That I can write as well as he, And also indite and full well read, And that (Lord) soon shall you see, Both English and alsoe French, And also Spanish, if you had need. The earle said, You are a proper wench, Almighty Jesus be your speed, And give us grace to proceed out, That we may letters soon convey In secrett wise and out of doubt To Richmond, that lyeth beyond the sea. We must depart, lady, the earle said then; Wherefore keep this matter secretly, And this same night, betwixt nine and ten, In your chamber I think to be. Look that you make all things ready, Your maids shall not our councell hear, For I will bring no man with me But Humphrey Brereton, my true esquire. He took his leave of that lady fair, And to her chamber she went full tight, And for all things she did prepare, Both pen and ink, and paper white. The lord unto his study went, Forecasting with all his might To bring to pass all his intent; He took no rest till it was night. And when the stars shone fair and bright, He him disguised in strange mannere, He went unknown of any wyght, No more with him but his esquire. And when he came her chamber near, Full privily there can he stand, To cause the lady to appeare He made a signe with his right hand; And when the lady there him wist, She was as glad as she might be. Char-coals in chimneys there were cast, Candles on sticks standing full high; She opened the wickett and let him in, And said, welcome, lord and knight soe free! A rich chair was set for him, And another for that fair lady. They ate the spice and drank the wine, He had all things at his intent; They rested them as for a time, And to their study then they went. Then that lady so fair and free, With rudd as red as rose in May, She kneeled down upon her knee, And to the lord thus can she say: Good father Stanley, I you pray, Now here is no more but you and I; Let me know what you will say, For pen and paper I have ready. He saith, commend me to my son George Strange, In Latham Castle there he doth lye, When I parted with him his heart did change, From Latham to Manchester he road me by. Upon Salford Bridge I turned my horse againe, My son George by the hand I hent; I held so hard forsooth certaine, That his formast finger out of the joint went: I hurt him sore, he did complain, These words to him then I did say: Son, on my blessing, turne home againe, This shall be a token another day. Bid him come like a merchant of Farnfield, Of Coopland, or of Kendall, wheather that it be, And seven with him, and no more else, For to bear him company. Bid him lay away watch and ward, And take no heed to mynstrel's glee; Bid him sit at the lower end of the board, When he is amongst his meany, His back to the door, his face to the wall, That comers and goers shall not him see; Bid him lodge in no common hall, But keep him unknowne right secretly. Commend me to my brother Sir William so dear, In the Holt Castle there dwelleth hee; Since the last time that we together were, In the forest of Delameere both fair and free, And seven harts upon one hearde, Were brought to the buck sett to him and me; But a forester came to me with a whoore bearde, And said, good sir, awhile rest ye, I have found you a hart in Darnall Park, Such a one I never saw with my eye. I did him crave, he said I shoud him have; He was brought to the broad heath truely; At him I let my grayhound then slipp, And followed after while I might dree. He left me lyeing in an ould moss pit, A loud laughter then laughed hee; He said, Rise up, and draw out your cousin; The deer is dead, come you and see. Bid him come as a marchant of Carnarvon, Or else of Bew-morris whether it be; And in his company seven Welshmen, And come to London and speak to me; I have a great mind to speak with him, I think it long since I him see. Commend me to Sir John Savage, that knight, Lady, he is my sister's sone, Since upon a friday at night Before my bedside he kneeled downe: He desired me as I was uncle dear, Many a time full tenderly, That I would lowly King Richard require If I might get him any fee. I came before my soveraigne Lord, And kneeled down upon my knee, So soon to me he did accord, I thanked him full courteously, A gatt him an hundred pounds in Kent To him and his heirs perpetually, Also a manor of a duchy rent, Two hundred pounds he may spend thereby, And high sheriff of Worcestershire, And also the park of Tewksbury. He hath it all at his desire, Therewith dayley he may make merry. Bid him come as a merchant man Of West Chester, that fair city, And seven yeomen to wait him on, Bid him come to London and speak with me. Commend me to good Gilbert Talbott, A gentle esquire forsooth is he; Once on a Fryday, full well I woot King Richard called him traitour high: But Gilbert to his fawchon prest, A bold esquire forsooth is he; Their durst no sarjant him arreast, He is called so perlous of his body. In the Tower Street I meet him then Going to Westminster to take sanctuarie; I light beside my horse I was upon, The purse from my belt I gave him truely; I bad him ride down into the North-West, Perchance a knight in England I might him see: Wherefore pray him at my request To come to London to speak with me. Then said the royall Lord so just, Now you have written, and sealed have I, There is no messenger that we may trust, To bring these writeings into the West Countrey. Because our matter it is so high, Least any man wou'd us descry. Humphrey Brereton, then said Bessye, Hath been true to my father and me; He shall take the writeings in hand, And bring them into the West Countrey: I trust him best of all this land On this message to go for me. Go to thy bed, Father, and sleep full soon, And I shall wake for you and me, By tomorrow at the riseing of the sune, Humphrey Brereton shall be with thee. She brings the Lord to his bed so trimly dight All that night where he should lye, And Bessy waked all that night, There came no sleep within her eye: In the morning when the day can spring, Up riseth young Bessye, And maketh hast in her dressing; To Humphrey Brereton gone is she: But when she came to Humphrey's bower bright, With a small voice called she, Humphrey answered that lady bright, Saith, Who calleth on me so early? I am King Edward's daughter right, The Countesse clear, young Bessy, In all hast with mean and might Thou must come speak with the Earle of Darby. Humphrey cast upon him a gowne, And a pair of slippers upon his feet; Alas! said Humphrey, I may not ride, My horse is tired as you may see; Since I came from London city, Neither night nor day, I tell you plain, There came no sleep within my eye; On my business I thought certaine. Lay thee down, Humphrey, he said, and sleep, I will give space of hours three: A fresh horse I thee beehyte, Shall bring thee through the West Countrey. Humphrey slept not hours two, But on his journey well thought hee; A fresh horse was brought him tooe, To bring him through the West Countrey. Then Humphrey Brereton with mickle might, Hard at Latham knocketh hee; Who is it, said the porter, this time of the night, That so hastily calleth on mee? The porter then in that state, That time of the night riseth hee, And forthwith opened me the gate, And received both my horse and me. Then said Humphrey Brereton, truely With the Lord Strange speak would I faine, From his father the Earle of Darby. Then was I welcome that time certaine; A torch burned that same tide, And other lights that he might see; And brought him to the bedd side Where as the Lord Strange lie. The lord mused in that tide, Said, Humphrey Brereton, what mak'st thou here? How fareth my father, that noble lord, In all England that hath no peer? Humphrey took him
