A Writer's Wonderland [PDF] - University of Portsmouth

The Prince and I fought for our lives in the
Treacherous, marshlands of Wales and
fought well.
My husband died after only five months.
There were many times when I wished it
Upon me, I prayed to God to kill me
So that I could be at peace, but I know
That he was only building my strength for
What I was to bear later in my life,
So I would be a strong Queen of England.
I was promised to his brother and then
Cast aside before the almighty God.
I spent years at the mercy of two men
Who squabbled for money, squabbled for
greed.
Such a sin and such anguish for my fate –
To be passed from place to place, to have no
Money given to me by even my
Father, King of Spain. Such shame to behold
Upon his daughter, and such illness came
Over me because of it. I pawned my
Most precious belongings just to afford
My servants, my ladies, my food, my home!
When it was decided our marriage
Was never to be, I found hope again.
Our God took King Henry VII’s life
And his son upheld his promise to me.
He came to me when in my apartments
And bid my ladies to leave. He bent close
And asked, ‘Will you be my wife and my
Queen?’
His foreign tongue, most beautiful to hear,
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I gladly accepted and we married.
I stand before my silver looking glass
On this most wondrous Midsummer’s Day,
About to be crowned the Queen of England.
I wear a graceful gown of white satin,
And my hair is left loose, long down my
back.
I am most Godly to behold today.
I was a wife of his brother, but now
I am the wife of King Henry VIII.
III
‘Do you grant to be held and observed the
Just laws and customs that the community
Of your realm shall determine, and will
you,
So far as in you lies, defend and strengthen
Them to the honour of God?’ A voice so
Thick and powerful, it echoes as though
God speaks directly through him, directly
To me as I sit on my throne, high up
On a platform, holding my husband’s hand,
My King’s hand. I respond with confidence.
‘I grant and promise them.’ And that I do.
My golden crown fits nicely on my head,
The ring slips gently upon my finger,
The sceptre is strong, grasped in my right
hand -
The hand of the Queen Consorts of England.
God shines warmly over us as we walk
The streets together under canopies
Held by barons to Westminster Abbey.