The lord Mordaunt to whom this poem is addressed was John fifth baron Mordaunt of Turvey, in the county of Bedford, who was afterwards (in 1628) created earl of Peterborough by king Charles the First. He married Elizabeth, daughter and heir of William baron Howard of Effingham, (son and heir apparent of Charles earl of Nottingham,) by Anne his wife, daughter and heir of John baron St. John of Bletsoe. He was brought up in the Roman Catholic religion, but converted to that of the established church by a disputation at which he was present between a Jesuit and the celebrated Dr. Usher, (afterwards) bishop of Armagh. In 1642 he was general of the ordnance, and colonel of a regiment of foot in the army, raised for the service of the Parliament, commanded by the earl of Essex, and died the same year.
In order to understand the following poem, it will be necessary to remember, that James, in the year 1617, paid a visit to his native country, whither the lord Mordaunt accompanied him; and the ceremony of installing the knights of the garter was consequently deferred from St. George’s day to that of Holyrood.
TO THE LORD MORDANT, UPON HIS RETURNE FROM THE NORTH.
My lord, I doe confesse at the first newes Of your returne towards home, I did refuse To visit you, for feare the northerne winde Had peirc’t into your manners and your minde; For feare you might want memory to forget Some arts of Scotland which might haunt you yet. But when I knew you were, and when I heard You were at Woodstock seene, well sunn’d and air’d, That your contagion in you now was spent, And you were just lord Mordant, as you went, I then resolv’d to come; and did not doubt To be in season, though the bucke were out. Windsor the place; the day was Holy roode; Saint George my muse: for be it understood, For all Saint George more early in the yeare Broke fast and eat a bitt, hee dined here: And though in Aprill in redd inke he shine, Know twas September made him redd with wine. To this good sport rod I, as being allow’d To see the king, and cry him in the crowd; And at all solemne meetings have the grace To thrust, and to be trodde on, by my place.
Where when I came, I saw the church besett With tumults, as if all the Brethren mett To heare some silenc’t teacher of that quarter Inveigh against the order of the garter: And justly might the weake it grieve and wrong, Because the garter prayes in a strange tongue; And doth retaine traditions yet, of Fraunce, In an old _Honi soit qui mal y pense_. Whence learne, you knights that order that have t’ane, That all, besides the buckle, is profane. But there was noe such doctrine now at stake, Noe starv’d precisian from the pulpit spake: And yet the church was full; all sorts of men, Religions, sexes, ages, were there then: Whilst he that keepes the quire together locks Papists and Puritans, the Pope and Knox: Which made some wise-ones feare, that love our nation, This mixture would beget a toleration; Or that religions should united bee, When they stay’d service, these the letany. But noe such hast; this dayes devotion lyes Not in the hearts of men, but in their eyes; They that doe see St. George, heare him aright; For hee loves not to parly, but to fight. Amongst this audience (my lord) stood I, Well edified as any that stood by; And knew how many leggs a knight letts fall, Betwixt the king, the offering, and his stall: Aske mee but of their robes, I shall relate The colour and the fashion, and the state: I saw too the procession without doore, What the poore knightes, and what the prebends wore. All this my neighbors that stood by mee tooke, Who div’d but to the garment, and the looke; But I saw more, and though I have their fate In face and favour, yet I want their pate: Mee thought I then did those first ages know, Which brought forth knightes soo arm’d and looking soe, Who would maintaine their oath, and bind their worde With these two seales, an altar and a sworde. Then saw I George new-sainted, when such preists Wore him not only on, but in their breasts. Oft did I wish that day, with solemne vow, O that my country were in danger now! And twas no treason; who could feare to dye, When he was sure his rescue was so nigh?