The Ballad which Anne Askew Made and Sang When She Was in Newgate
Like as the armed knight
Appointed to the field,
With this world will I fight
And Faith shall be my shield.
Faith is that weapon strong
Which will not fail at need.
My foes, therefore, among
Therewith will I proceed.
As it is had in strength
And force of Christes way
It will prevail at length
Though all the devils say nay.
Faith in the fathers old
Obtained rightwisness
Which make me very bold
To fear no world’s distress.
I now rejoice in heart
And Hope bid me do so
For Christ will take my part
And ease me of my woe.
Thou saist, lord, who so knock,
To them wilt thou attend.
Undo, therefore, the lock
And thy strong power send.
More enmyes now I have
Than hairs upon my head.
Let them not me deprave
But fight thou in my stead.
On thee my care I cast.
For all their cruel spight
I set not by their haste
For thou art my delight.
I am not she that list
My anchor to let fall
For every drizzling mist
My ship substancial.
Not oft use I to wright
In prose nor yet in rime,
Yet will I shew one sight
That I saw in my time.
I saw a rial throne
Where Justice should have sit
But in her stead was one
Of moody cruel wit.
Absorpt was rightwisness
As of the raging flood;
Sathan in his excess
Suct up the guiltless blood.
Then thought I, Jesus lord,
When thou shalt judge us all
Hard is it to record
On these men what will fall.
Yet lord, I thee desire
For that they do to me
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquity.
• Notes: rightwisness – righteousness; list (v) – will, wish;
rial – royal; moody – wrathful; hire – wages.
The relation between a poem and its writer’s biography to has often been debated on this blog, as it was last week. This week’s poem, while far from artless, is unambiguously a personal avowal, drawn from the poet’s well-documented religious beliefs and immediate circumstances. It was probably composed during 1545.
The title, whether or not originally Askew’s own, declares the context of its “making” and, from what we know of the poet’s character, it seems more than likely that she sang these words defiantly to her custodians and fellow prisoners in Newgate Prison.
Lincolnshire-born, well educated, she was an ardent Protestant, forced by her father into a Catholic marriage originally arranged for her sister, who had died before the wedding could take place. Her biographers tell us she was effective, as a young girl, in theological argument with the neighbouring clerics: later, as an abandoned wife, she went out bravely “gospelling”.
Askew’s Ballad adheres to a tight ABAB rhyme scheme and three-beat line. Note that a few words need a two-syllable pronunciation, eg “armed” in that splendid opening image. The narrative’s dominant organising device is the Pauline trio of spiritual virtues, “Faith, Hope and Charity.”
War provides figurative content in the stanzas centred on Faith. The latter is both shield and “weapon strong”. The warrior-poet seems to cut a “Joan of Arc” figure as she goes into battle. Her enemy, “this world”, implies political and religious enemies and also – perhaps – the moral enemy, “worldliness”.
The skip of the extra syllable and internal rhyme in the line, “Though all the devils say nay”, creates a brief disturbance, a little dance of evil playfulness. Then there’s a return to sturdy regularity in the next stanza, evoking the “fathers old” and the courage they give the speaker – betrayed, as she must have felt, by her actual father. A less heroic voice begins to infiltrate the verses concerning Hope. In five and six, the request for Christ’s intervention suggests need as well as trust, although the soundscape continues to evoke solidity: “knock”, “lock”, “strong power”. Stanza seven is especially moving, exposing personal, physical vulnerability in the claim: “More enmyes now I have / Than hairs upon my head.” Perhaps this brilliant analogy is less hyperbolic than might first be assumed?
The metaphor is soon to become nautical. It’s possible that “set” in line three, stanza eight, contains an allusion to the setting of sails, or the adjustment of ships’ instruments. The wonderfully atmospheric phrase “drizzling mist” evokes the sheer, persistent misery of persecution.
One of Askew’s passionate theological arguments was against the doctrine of transubstantiation, and the intensity of her feeling seems to inform the visionary stanzas 11 and 12. She begins with a disclaimer: “Not oft use I to wright / In prose nor yet in rime, / Yet will I shew one sight / That I saw in my time.” It’s a flourish often found in the poems of early women writers, and its effect is often, conversely, to highlight the literary skill employed.
The vision is briefly described but its ugliness registers: Justice’s place on the royal throne has been usurped by a blood-sucking Satan. Politics and religion are riskily intertwined in the allegory. These stanzas form the climax of the poem, although an “aside” within the “faith, hope and charity” structure. The final stanzas concerning forgiveness (charity) seem rather gestural, without the vivid figures found elsewhere.
Anne Askew combines the distinction of being among the first published English women poets with less happy “claims to fame”: she is thought to have been the first Englishwoman to ask for a divorce, and the only woman prisoner recorded as being subjected to torture in the Tower of London. More benevolent times would have enabled her to make a stronger mark as a poet. The biography is painful reading, and associations with current religious fundamentalism are disturbing. To admire the poem and enjoy its skills, written under the shadow of Askew’s approaching martyrdom, can be difficult. But it’s a poem, and deserves its status as a poem. Its power does not ultimately depend on its being true.
Much anthologised, the Ballad has proven its durability to the present day. Claire Askew, a young poet who is a descendant of Anne, celebrates her ancestor’s courage and vision here.
