Sir William Stanley

The man was old, his hair was grey—
And I have heard the old man say,
'Keep thou from royal courts away;'
In proof thereof, he wont to tell
The Stanley’s fatal chronicle.


King Henry sat amid his court, and of the nobles there
Not one with William Stanley for favour could compare;
He was the royal chamberlain, and on his bended knee
Within King Henry’s silver cup the red wine poured he.

There came a knight in presence there, he named my master’s name,
As he stood betting golden coin upon the royal game.
And on Sir Robert Clifford’s word, they took his sword away,
And William Stanley to the Tower was prisoner sent that day.

God only knows the hearts of men, but ’twas a wondrous thing
My noble master should conspire against the crowned king;
For well I know on Bosworth Field it was his red right hand
That placed upon Earl Richmond’s brow King Richard’s royal band.

But ancient service is forgot; and he, the Wiseman, said,
Think thou no evil of the king upon thy lonely bed;
And therefore little will I name of what I then heard told,
That my good lord’s worst treasons were his broad lands and his gold.

I saw him on the scaffold stand, the axe was gleaming bright,
But I will say he faced its shine as best became a knight;
He prayed a prayer—he knelt him down—there smote a sullen sound,
I saw my master’s severed head upon the dark red ground.

No nobles bore the noble’s pall, there was no funeral bell,
But I stood weeping by the grave of him I loved so well.
I know not of the right or wrong, but this much let me say,
Would God my master had been kept from kings and courts away!