O knightly ordere, clothed in robes with gartere! The queen’s grace and thy mother clothed in the same; The nobles of thie realme riche in araye, aftere, Lords, knights, and ladyes, unto thy greate fame: Now shall all embassadors know thie noble name, By thy feaste royal; nowe joyeous mayest thou be, To see thie king so florishinge in dignety. Here this day St. George, patron of this place, Honored with the gartere cheefe of chevalrye; Chaplenes synging processyon, keeping the same, With archbushopes and bushopes beseene nobly; Much people presente to see the King Henrye: Wherefore now, St. George, all we pray to thee To keepe our soveraine in his dignetye. [273] _Verses presented to King Henry the Seventh, &c._] Ashmole, who first printed these lines from “_MS. penes Arth. Com. Anglesey, fol._ 169,” thinks that they were probably by Skelton: see _Order of the Garter_, p. 594. [274] _more_] The rhyme requires “mo.” [275] _lesse_] The rhyme requires “leste.” THE EPITAFFE OF THE MOSTE NOBLE AND VALYAUNT JASPAR LATE DUKE OF BEDDEFORDE.[276] [Sidenote: Color Ficcio.] Bydynge al alone, with sorowe sore encombred, In a frosty fornone, faste by Seuernes syde, The wordil beholdynge, wherat moch I wondred To se the see and sonne to kepe both tyme and tyde, The ayre ouer my hede so wonderfully to glyde, And howe Saturne by circumference borne is aboute; Whiche thynges to beholde, clerely me notyfyde, One verray God to be therin to haue no dowte. And as my fantasy flamyd in that occupacyon, Fruteles, deuoyde of all maner gladnes, Of one was I ware into greate desolacyon, To the erthe prostrate, rauyuge for madnes; By menys so immoderate encreased was his sadnes, That by me can not be compyled His dedly sorowe and dolorous dystres, Lyfe in hym by deth so ny was exiled. Hym better to beholde, so ferre oute of frame, Nerre I nyghed, farsyd with fragyllyte; Wherwith Smert I perceyued he called was by name, Which ouer haukes and houndes had auctoryte; Though the roume vnmete were for his pouer degre, Yet fortune so hym farthered to his lorde; Wherfore him to lye in soch perplexite, What it myghte mene I gan to mysylfe recorde. I shogged him, I shaked him, I ofte aboute him went, And al to knowe why so care his carayn hyued; His temples I rubbyd, and by the nose him hente; Al as in vayne was, he coude nat be reuyued; He waltered, he wende, and with himsilfe stryued, Such countenaunce contynuyng; but or I parte the place, Vp his hede he caste; whan his woful goste aryued, Those wordes saynge with righte a pytous face: [Sidenote: Metricus primus. Color repeticio.] O sorowe, sorowe beyonde al sorowes sure! All sorowes sure surmountynge, lo! Lo, which payne no pure may endure, Endure may none such dedely wo! Wo, alas, ye inwrapped, for he is go! Go is he, whose valyaunce to recounte, To recounte, all other it dyd surmounte.