Perkin Warbeck Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Lord Alfred Douglas

Perkin Warbeck Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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i	A
	-
At Turney in Flanders I was born	B
Fore doomed to splendour and sorrow	C
For I was a king when they cut the corn	B
And they strangle me to morrow	C
	-
ii	A
	-
Oh why was I made so red and white	D
So fair and straight and tall	E
And why were my eyes so blue and bright	D
And my hands so white and small	E
	-
iii	A
	-
And why was my hair like the yellow silk	F
And curled like the hair of a king	G
And my body like the soft new milk	F
That the maids bring from milking	G
	-
iv	-
	-
I was nothing but a weaver's son	H
I was born in a weaver's bed	I
My brothers toiled and my sisters spun	H
And my mother wove for our bread	I
	-
v	-
	-
I was the latest child she had	J
And my mother loved me the best	K
She would laugh for joy and anon be sad	J
That I was not as the rest	K
	-
vi	-
	-
For my brothers and sisters were black as the gate	L
Whereby I shall pass to morrow	C
But I was white and delicate	M
And born to splendour and sorrow	C
	-
vii	-
	-
And my father the weaver died full soon	N
But my mother lived for me	-
And I had silk doublets and satin shoon	N
And was nurtured tenderly	-
	-
viii	-
	-
And the good priests had much joy of me	-
For I had wisdom and wit	O
And there was no tongue or subtlety	-
But I could master it	O
	-
ix	-
	-
And when I was fourteen summers old	P
There came an English knight	D
With purple cloak and spurs of gold	P
And sword of chrysolite	P
	-
x	-
	-
He rode through the town both sad and slow	C
And his hands lay in his lap	Q
He wore a scarf as white as the snow	C
And a snow white rose in his cap	Q
	-
xi	-
	-
And he passed me by in the market place	-
And he reined his horse and stared	P
And I looked him fair and full in the face	-
And he stayed with his head all bared	P
	-
xii	-
	-
And he leaped down quick and bowed his knee	-
And took hold on my hand	P
And he said ' Is it ghost or wraith that I see	-
Or the White Rose of England '	-
	-
xiii	-
	-
And I answered him in the Flemish tongue	R
' My name is Peter Warbeckke	R
From Katharine de Faro I am sprung	R
And my father was John Osbeckke	R
	-
xiv	-
	-
' My father toiled and weaved with his hand	P
And bare neither sword nor shield	P
And the White Rose of fair England	P
Turned red on Bosworth field '	-
	-
xv	-
	-
And he answered ' What matter for anything	R
For God hath given to thee	-
The voice of the king and the face of the king	R
And the king thou shalt surely be '	-
	-
xvi	-
	-
And he wrought on me till the vesper bell	S
And I rode forth out of the town	N
And I might not bid my mother farewell	S
Lest her love should seem more than a crown	N
	-
xvii	-
	-
And the sun went down and the night waxed black	R
And the wind sang wearily	-
And I thought on my mother and would have gone back	R
But he would not suffer me	-
	-
xviii	-
	-
And we rode and we rode was it nine days or three	-
Till we heard the bells that ring	R
For ' my cousin Margaret of Burgundy '	-
And I was indeed a king	R
	-
xix	-
	-
For I had a hundred fighting men '	-
To come at my beck and call	E
And I had silk and fine linen	N
To line my bed withal	E
	-
xx	-
	-
They dressed me all in silken dresses	-
And little I wot did they reck	R
Of the precious scents for my golden tresses	-
And the golden chains for my neck	R
	-
xxi	-
	-
And all the path for ' the rose ' to walk	R
Was strewn with flowers and posies	-
I was the milk white rose of York	R
The rose of all the roses	-
	-
xxii	-
	-
And the Lady Margaret taught me well	E
Till I spake without lisping	R
Of Warwick and Clarence and Isabel	E
And ' my father ' Edward the King	R
	-
xxiii	-
	-
And I sailed to Ireland and to France	-
And I sailed to fair Scotland	P
And had much honour and pleasaunce	-
And Katharine Gordon's hand	P
	-
xxiv	-
	-
And after that what brooks it to say	-
Whither I went or why	-
I was as loath to leave my play	-
And fight as now to die	-
	-
xxv	-
	-
For I was not made for wars and strife	-
And blood and slaughtering	R
I was but a boy that loved his life	-
And I had not the heart of a king	R
	-
xxvi	-
	-
Oh why hath God dealt so hardly with me	-
That such a thing should be done	N
That a boy should be born with a king's body	-
And the heart of a weaver's son	N
	-
xxvii	-
	-
I was well pleased to be at the court	P
Lord of the thing that seems	-
It was merry to be a prince for sport	P
A king in a kingdom of dreams	-
	-
xxviii	-
	-
But ever they said I must strive and fight	P
To wrest away the crown	N
So I came to England in the night	P
And I warred on Exeter town	N
	-
xxix	-
	-
And the King came up with a mighty host	P
And what could I do but fly	-
I had three thousand men at the most	P
And I was most loath to die	-
	-
xxx	-
	-
And they took me and brought me to London town	N
And I stood where all men might see	-
I that had well nigh worn a crown	N
In a shameful pillory	-
	-
xxxi	-
	-
And I cried these words in the English tongue	R
' I am Peter Warbeckke	R
From Katharine de Faro I am sprung	R
And my father was John Osbeckke	R
	-
xxxii	-
	-
' My father toiled and weaved with his hand	P
And bare neither sword nor shield	P
And the White Rose of fair England	P
Turned red on Bosworth field '	-
	-
xxxiii	-
	-
And they gave me my life but they held me fast	P
Within this weary place	-
But I wrought on my guards ere a month was past	P
With my wit and my comely face	-
	-
xxxiv	-
	-
And they were ready to set me free	-
But when it was almost done	N
And I thought I should gain the narrow sea '	-
And look on the face of the sun	N
	-
xxxv	-
	-
The lord of the tower had word of it	P
And alas for my poor hope	T
For this is the end of my face and my wit	P
That to morrow I die by the rope	T
	-
xxxvi	-
	-
And the time draws nigh and the darkness closes	-
And the night is almost done	N
What had I to do with their roses	-
I the poor weaver's son	N
	-
xxxvii	-
hey promised me a bed so rich	U
And a queen to be my bride	P
And I have gotten a narrow ditch	U
And a stake to pierce my side	P
	-
xxxviii	-
	-
They promised me a kingly part	P
And a crown my head to deck	R
And I have gotten the hangman's cart	P
And a hempen cord for my neck	R
	-
xxxix	-
	-
Oh I would that I had never been born	N
To splendour and shame and sorrow	C
For it's ill riding to grim Tiborne	N
Where I must ride to morrow	C
	-
xl	-
	-
I shall dress me all in silk and scarlet	P
And the hangman shall have my ring	R
For though I be hanged like a low born varlet	P
They shall know I was once a king	R
	-
xli	-
	-
And may I not fall faint or sick	R
Till I reach at last to the goal	-
And I pray that the rope may choke me quick	R
And Christ receive my soul	-