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Elizabeth Tudor With A Portrait Of Richard III
Plantagenet, you were validly royal.
My grandfather was small nobility,
a man whose ego was an unlanced boil.
The War of Roses, that catastrophe,
he used well as the hero of its peace.
Someone killed you in base ignominy.
My grandfather proudly put forth the claim
that he had done so, and deserved this crown
that I now wear. His script men drug your name
through accusations of the foulest shame.
He married my grandmother (and your niece)
not for love, but, rather, to help ensure
his shaky occupation of the throne---
where, many thought, he ought not to be seated
("an upstart like him," was often repeated).
As for your murdered nephews, all the blame
has been heaped on you. My grandfather feared
(as you need not have) their threat to his power---
had they emerged from those rooms in the Tower.
But, quite conveniently, they disappeared.
I have a problem, very much the same:
it threatens my reign and must be put down---
Mary of Scotland, much too popular
in parts of my realm. She is a millstone
about my neck. A swift severance of hers
is needed, and my whole council concurs.
She lives in house arrest (such a long stay)
where you were born: Castle Fotheringhay.
But, Richard, will I face a retribution
on earth; or my soul damned for such pollution?
Starward
[jlc]
