Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HONOUR OF THE GARTER, by GEORGE PEELE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE HONOUR OF THE GARTER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: About the time when vesper in the west
Last Line: Stirps rudis urtica est, stirps generosa rosa.
Subject(s): Percy, Henry. 9th Earl Of Northumberland


ABOUT the time when Vesper in the west
Gan set the evening watch, and silent Night,
Richly attended by his twinkling train,
Sent sleep and slumber to possess the world,
And fantasy to hauzen idle heads;
Under the starry canopy of heaven
I laid me down, laden with many cares,
(My bed-fellows almost these twenty years,)
Fast by the stream where Thame and Isis meet,
And day by day roll to salute the sea
For more than common service it perform'd
To Albion's queen, when foemen shipp'd for fight,
To forage England plough'd the ocean up,
And slunk into the channel that divides
The Frenchmen's strand from Britain's fishy towns.
Even at that time, all in a fragrant mead,
In sight of that fair castle, that o'erlooks
The forest one way, and the fertile vale
Water'd with that renownèd river Thames,
Old Windsor Castle, did I take my rest:
When Cynthia, companion of the Night,
With shining brand lightening his ebon car,
Whose axletree was jet enchas'd with stars,
And roof with shining ravens' feathers ceil'd,
Piercing mine eyelids as I lay along,
Awak'd me through. Therewith methought I saw
A royal glimmering light streaming aloft,
As Titan mounted on the Lion's back
Had cloth'd himself in fiery-pointed beams,
To chase the Night, and entertain the Morn;
Yet scarce had chanticleer rung the midnight peal,
Or Phœbe half-way gone her journey through.
Sleeping or waking as alone I lay.
Mine eyes, and ears, and senses all were serv'd
With every object perfect in his kind:
And, lo, a wonder to my senses all!
For through the melting air, perfum'd with sweets,
I might discern a troop of horsemen ride,
Arm'd cap-de-pè, with shield and shivering lance;
As in a plash, or calm transparent brook,
We see the glistering fishes scour along;
A number numberless, appointed well
For tournament, as if the God of War
Had held a justs in honour of his love,
Or all the sons of Saturn and of Ops
Had been in arms against Enceladus
Therewith I heard the clarions and the shalms,
The sackbuts, and a thousand instruments
Of several kinds; and, loudest of them all,
A trump more shrill than Triton's is at sea:
The same Renown, precursor of the train,
Did sound,—for who rings louder than Renown?
He mounted was upon a flying horse,
And cloth'd in falcon's feathers to the ground:
By his escutcheon justly might you guess
He was the herald of eternity,
And pursuivant-at-arms to mighty Jove.
I look'd to see an end of that I saw,
And still methought the train did multiply;
And yielding clouds gave way, and men-at-arms
Succeed as fast, one at another's heels,
As in the vast Mediterranean sea
The rolling waves do one beget another.
Those that perfum'd the air with myrrh and balm,
Dancing and singing sweetly as they went,
Were naked virgins, deck'd with garlands green,
And seem'd the Graces, for with golden chains
They linkèd were, three lovely countenances
About them Cupid, as to me it seem'd,
Lay playing on his parti-colour'd wings;
And sometime on a horse as white as milk
I saw him arm'd and mounted in the throng,
As Love had right to march with men of war.
Weary of looking up, I laid me down,
Willing to rest, as sleepy souls are wont,
When of a sudden such a noise I heard
Of shot of ordnance pealing in mine ears,
As twenty thousand tire had play'd at sea,
Or Ætna split had belch'd her bowels forth,
Or heaven and earth in arms thundering amain
Had bent their great artillery for war,
And weary Atlas had let fall his load,
Enough to wake Endymion from his trance.
Yet was the welkin clear, nor smoke nor dust
Annoy'd mine eyes: I gaz'd, and, as I look'd,
Methought this host of aery armed men
Girt Windsor Castle round. Anon I saw,
Under a canopy of crimson bysse,
Spangled with gold, and set with silver bells
That sweetly chim'd and lull'd me half a-sleep,
A goodly king in robes most richly dight,
The upper like a Roman palliament,
Indeed a chaperon, for such it was;
And looking nearer, lo, upon his leg
An ancient badge of honour I espied,
A garter brightly glistering in mine eye,
A worthy ornament! Then I call'd to mind
What princely Edward, of that name the Third,
King Edward, for his great achievments fam'd,
What he began,—the Order of Saint George,
That at this day is honour'd through the world,
The Order of the Garter so y-clept,
A great effect grown of a slender cause,
Grac'd by a king, and favour'd of his feres,
Fam'd by his followers, worthy kings and queens,
That to this day are sovereigns of the same.
The manner how this matter grew at first
Was thus. The king, disposèd on a time
To revel, after he had shaken France,
(O, had he bravely held it to the last!)
And deck'd his lions with their flower-de-lyce,
Dispos'd to revel,—some say otherwise,—
Found on the ground by fortune, as he went,
A lady's garter, and the queen's, I trow,
Lost in a dance, and took it up himself:
It was a silken ribbon weav'd of blue.
His lords and standers-by, seeing the king
Stoop for this garter, smil'd, as who would say,
"Our office that had been," or somewhat else.
King Edward wistly looking on them all,
With princely hands having that garter seiz'd,
From harmless heart, where honour was engrav'd,
Bespake in French, ('a could the language well,
And rife was French those days with Englishmen;
They went to school to put together towns,
And spell in France with fescues made of pikes,)
"Honi soit qui mal y pense," quoth he.
Wherewith upon advisement, though the cause
Were small, his pleasure and his purpose was
T'advance that garter, and to institute
A noble order sacred to Saint George,
And knights to make, whom he would have be term'd
Knights of the Garter. This beginning had
This honourable order of our time.
Hereon I thought when I beheld the king;
But swifter than my thought, by that I saw,
And words I heard or seem'd to hear at least,
I was instructed in the circumstance,
And found it was King Edward that did march
In robes like those he ware when with his lords
He held Saint George's royal feast on earth.
His eldest son, surnamèd the Black Prince,—
Though black of hue, that surname yet in France
He wan, for terror to the Frenchmen's hearts
His countenance was, his sword an iron scourge,—
He on a coal-black courser mounted was,
And in his hand a battle-axe he hent;
His beaver up; his corselet was of steel
Varnish'd as black as jet; his bases black;
And black from head to foot, yea, horse and hoof,
As black as night. But in a twinck methought
'A chang'd at once his habit and his steed,
And had a garter as his father had,
Right rich and costly, with embroidery
Of pearl and gold: I could on it discern
The poesy whereof I spake of yore;
And well I wot, since this King Edward's days,
Our kings and queens about their royal arms
Have in a garter borne this poesy.
Still as I lay I gaz'd, and guess'd at once
What was this train, and whither it did bend:
I found at last King Edward was the man,
Accompanied with kings and conquerors,
That from the spacious aery House of Fame
Set forward royally to solemnize
Th' installment of some new-created knights.
For, lo, I saw in strange accoutrements,
Like to King Edward's and the Prince of Wales',
Full four-and-twenty knights, nor more nor less,
In robes with precious collars of Saint George;
And garters all they had buckled with gold.
Fame, in a stole of purple set with eyes
And ears and tongues, carried a golden book:
Upon the cover this I saw engrav'd;
Pauci quos æquus amavit
Jupiter, aut ardens evexit ad æthera virtus,
Dis geniti.
Methought this saying could not but import
They should be noble men of golden minds
And great account, favour'd of prince and peers,
Whose names should in that register be writ,
Consecrate to Saint George's chosen knights.
Herewith the golden book gan open fair,
And eathly I might read their names that next
Went to the king: they were no common men,
For to my seeming each one had a page
That bare a fair escutcheon after him,
Whereon his arms were drawn; I have forgot
Their several coats, but well I wot their names.
And first I saw enroll'd within this book
King Edward's name; he was the sovereign.
Their register was Fame. Renown, before
That sounded shrill, was officer-at-arms
And usher to the train; his office-badge
Was a black rod whereof he took his name.
Honour went king-at-arms, next to the knights,
Half-arm'd, like Pallas shap'd for arms and arts,
Rich in habiliments of peace and war:
Ancient and grave he was and sage to see.
Near him went Time, well-pleas'd and well-content
As if he joy'd t'accompany this train,
And in his hand a royal standard bare,
Wherein Saint George was drawn and limu'd in gold.
Under the verge, as title to the book,
Was writ, Knights of the Order of Saint George,
Knights of the Garter. Edward Prince of Wales
Was first, then Henry Duke of Lancaster,
And Nicholas Earl of Warwick made the third.
Captaine de Buch was next, renown'd for arms.
Then the brave Earls of Stafford and Southampton;
To whose successors, for his sake that lives
And now survives in honour of that name,
To whom my thoughts are humble and devote,
Gentle Wriothesley, Southampton's star,
I wish all fortune, that in Cynthia's eye,
Cynthia the glory of the western world,
With all the stars in her fair firmament,
Bright may he rise and shine immortally.
And Mortimer, a gentle trusty lord,
More loyal than that cruel Mortimer
That plotted Edward's death at Killingworth,
Edward the Second, father to this king,
Whose tragic cry even now methinks I hear,
When graceless wretches murder'd him by night.
Then Lisle, and Burwash, Beauchamp, and Mohun,
Grey, Courtney, and the Hollands worthy knights,
Fitz-simon, Wale, and Sir Hugh Wrottesley,
Nele Loryng, Chandos, Sir Miles Stapleton,
Walter Pagannel, Eam, and D'Audley; last
Was the good knight Sir Sanchet D'Abrichecourt.
These names I read, for they were written fair;
And, as it seem'd to me, these were the first
Created of that order by the king:
And man by man they march'd in equipage.
A many more there were than I could note,
And, sooth to say, I think the book was full;
And in the train a number infinite,
True knights of all the orders in the world,
Christians and heathens, that accompanied
This worthy king in his procession.
Cæsar himself was there; I saw him ride,
Triúmphing in his three-and-twenty wounds,
Because they show'd the malice of the world.
Pompey was there, the rival of his fame,
That died a death as base and violent.
Leave I this theme: the mightiest that have liv'd

Have fall'n, and headlong too; in misery
It is some comfort to have company.
Hector of Troy, and kings ere Troy was built,
Or Thrace was Thrace, were there: old Dardanus,
And Ilus, and Assaracus, came along.
For in the House of Fame what famous man,

What prince, but hath his trophy and his place?
There Joshua, David, and great Machabee,
Last anchor-hold and stay of Jacob's race,
Did march; and Macedonian Alexander;
Victorious Charles the Great, the flower of France;
Godfrey of Bullen, whom the Christian kings
Created King of great Jerusalem;
And Arthur, glory of the western world,
And all his knights were in this royal train.
Jason was there, Knight of the Golden Fleece;
Knights of the Tosson, and of Saint Iago,
Knights of the Rhodes, Knights of the Sepulchre,
Were there: the air was pester'd to my thought.
Among them all a worthy man of mark,
A prince of famous memory I saw,
Henry the Eighth, that led a warlike band
Of English earls, and lords, and lusty knights,
That ware the garter sacred to Saint George.
Who was not there? I think the court of Fame
Was naked and unpeopled, in this train
There were so many emperors, lords, and kings,
Knights errant and adventurous. In the book
That on a desk lay open before Fame,—
For in a sumptuous chariot did he ride
Of crystal, set with leaves of glittering gold,
And fair tralucent stones, that over all
It did reflect,—within that glorious book
I saw a name rejoicèd me to see,
Francis of Bedford; I could read it plain,
And glad I was that in that precious book
That name I found, for now, methought, I said,
Here virtue doth outlive th' arrest of death;
For dead is Bedford, virtuous and renown'd
For arms, for honour, and religious love,
And yet alive his name in Fame's records,
That held this garter dear, and ware it well.
Some worthy wight let blazon his deserts:
Only a tale I thought on by the way,
As I observ'd his honourable name.
I heard it was his chance, o'erta'en with sleep,
To take a nap near to a farmer's lodge,
Trusted a little with himself belike:
This agèd earl, in his apparel plain,
Wrapt in his russet cloak, lay down to rest,
His badge of honour buckled to his leg,
Bare and unhid. There came a pilfering swad,
And would have prey'd upon this ornament,
And say'd t' unbuckle it, thinking him a-sleep:
The noble gentleman, feeling what he meant,
"Hold, foolish lad," quoth he, "a better prey;
This garter is not fit for every leg,
And I account it better than my purse."
The varlet ran away; the earl awak'd,
And told his friends, and smiling said withal,
"'A would not, had 'a understood the French
Writ on my garter, dar'd t' have stoln the same."
This tale I thought upon, told me for truth,
The rather for it prais'd the poesy,
Right grave and honourable, that importeth much;
"Ill be to him," it saith, "that evil thinks."
O sacred loyalty, in purest hearts
Thou build'st thy bower! thy weeds of spotless white,
Like those that stood for Rome's great offices,
Make thee renown'd, glorious in innocency.
Why stick I here? The train cast in a ring
About the castle, making melody,
Under the glorious spreading wings of Fame,
I saw a virgin queen, attir'd in white,
Leading with her a sort of goodly knights,
With garters and with collars of Saint George:
"Elizabeth" on a compartiment
Of gold in bysse was writ, and hung askew
Upon her head, under an imperial crown.
She was the sovereign of the knights she led:
Her face, methought, I knew, as if the same,
The same great empress that we here enjoy,
Had climb'd the clouds, and been in person there;
To whom the earth, the sea, and elements
Auspicious are. A many that I knew,
Knighted in my remembrance, I beheld,
And all their names were in that register;
And yet I might perceive some so set down,
That, howsoe'er it hapt I cannot tell,
The carl Oblivion stoln from Lethe's lake,
Or Envy stept from out the deep Avern,
Had raz'd, or blemish'd, or obscur'd at least.
What have those fiends to do in Fame's fair court?
Yet in the House of Fame, and courts of kings,
Envy will bite, or snarl and bark at least,
As dogs against the moon that yelp in vain:
Say "Frustra" to those curs, and shake thy coat.
And all the kings, since that King Edward's days,
Were with their knights and companies in that train.
When all were whist, King Edward thus bespake:
"Hail, Windsor! where I sometimes took delight
To hawk, and hunt, and back the proudest horse,
And where in princely pleasure I repos'd
In my return from France,"—a little sigh
I heard him fetch withal; his reason why
I cannot guess; I think it was for this.
That England had given o'er their traffic there,—
"And twenty times hail, Windsor!" quoth the king,
"Where I have stall'd so many hardy knights,
And tournaments and royal justs perform'd:
Behold, in honour of mine ancient throne,
In honour of fair England, and Saint George,
To whom this Order of the Garter first
I sacred held; in honour of my knights,
Before this day created and install'd,
But specially in honour of those five
That at this day this honour have receiv'd
Under Elizabeth, England's great sovereign,—
Northumberland and Worcester, noble earls,
Borough and Sheffield, lords of lively hope,
And honourable old Knowles fam'd for his sons,
And for his service gracious and renown'd;
Lo, from the House of Fame, with princely trains
Accompanied, and kings, and conquerors,
And knights of proof, loyal and valourous,
I re-salute thee here, and gratulate
To those new knights, created by a queen
Peerless for wisdom and for majesty,
The honour of the Garter: may they long
Wear them as notes of true nobility
And virtue's ornaments! Young Northumberland,
Mounted on Fortune's wheel, by virtue's aim
Become thy badge, as it becometh thee,

That Europe's eyes thy worthiness may see.
And, Worcester, what pure honour hath put on
With chaste and spotless hands, in honour wear;
Answer the noblest of thine ancestry,
In deeds to fame and virtue consecrate.
Borough, brought up in learning and in arms,
Patron of music and of chivalry,
Brandish thy sword in right, and spend thy wits
In commonwealth-affairs: it shall become
Thy forwardness to follow virtue's cause,
And great designs of noble consequence.
And, Sheffield, shape thy course no otherwise
Than loyalty, the load-star of renown,
Directs; that, as thine ancestors have done,
Thine earthly race in honour thou mayst run.
To thee, old man," with kindness quoth the king,
"That reap'st this honour in thy waning age,
See what a trophy Queen Elizabeth
Prepares before thy hearse: long mayst thou live,
And die in fame, that hast well near achiev'd
The noble Norris' honour in thy sons,
Thrice-noble lord, as happy for his few,
As was the King of Troy for many more."
With that he ceas'd, and to the foremost earl,—
For why methought I saw them every man,
Stall'd in their places and their ornaments,—
"Percy," quoth he, "thou and thy lordly peers,
Your names are in this register of Fame,
Written in leaves and characters of gold:
So live, as with a many more you may
Survive and triumph in eternity,
Out of Oblivion's reach or Envy's shot;
And that your names immortally may shine
In these records, not earthly, but divine."
Then shalms and sackbuts sounded in the air,
But shrill'st of all, the trumpet of Renown;
And by and by a loud retraite he rung.
The train retir'd, as swift as stars don shoot,
From whence' they came, and day began to break;
And with the noise and thunder in the sky,
When Fame's great double-doors fell to and shut,
And this triumphant train was vanish'd quite,
The gaudy Morn out of her golden sleep
Awak'd, and little birds uncag'd gan sing
To welcome home the bridegroom of the sea.

EPILOGUS.

Wherewith I rous'd, recounting what I saw:
And then thought I; were it as once it was,
But long ago, when learning was in price,
And poesy with princes gracious,
I would adventure to set down my dream,
In honour of these new-advancèd lords,
Saint George's knights. I was encouragèd,
And did as I have done; which humbly here
I yield, as firstlings of my scholar's crop,
Consecrated purely to your noble name,
To gratulate to you this honour's height,
As little boys with flinging up their caps
Congratulate great kings and conquerors.
Take it in gree, fair lord. Procul hinc turba invidiosa:
Stirps rudis urtica est, stirps generosa rosa.





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