The kynge ynn furie sayde; "Before the evening starre doth sheene, 105 "Wee alle must die," quod brave Syr Bawdin shall loose hys hedde: Charles; "Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne; Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate Of all wee mortall menne. "Saye why, my friend, thie honest soul Is ytte for my most welcome doome Quod godlie Canynge, "I doe weepe, 120 125 130 "Howe dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte, That cutte the airie waie, 135 Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, And close myne eyes for aie? 140 145 150 "And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe, "Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe! 66 "Ah!" goddelyke Henrie! Godde for- 185 Saie, were ye tyr'd of godlie peace, fende,2 And guarde thee and thye sonne, Yff 'tis hys wylle; but yff 'tis nott, Why thenne hys wylle bee donne. "My honest friende, my faulte has beene To serve Godde and mye prynce; And thatt I no tyme-server am, My dethe wylle soone convynce. "Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, Of parents of grete note; My fadre dydd a nobile armes 190 And godlie Henrie's reigne, Thatt you dyd choppe2 you easie daies For those of bloude and peyne? "Whatte tho' I onne a sledde bee drawne, And mangled by a hynde," I doe defye the traytor's pow'r, Hee can ne harm my mynde; 175 Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd 220 To leave thys worlde of payne? "Teache them to runne the nobile race 250 Thatt I theyre fader runne; Thenne came the maior and eldermenne, Florence! shou'd dethe thee take-adieu! 295 And theyre attendyng menne echone, Yee officers leade onne.' Lyke Easterne princes trickt.5 And after them a multitude Of citizenns dydd thronge; The wyndowes were all fulle of heddes, And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse, synne, Washe mye soule clean thys daie!" 305 Att the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat The kynge ynne myckle" state, 310 To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande 355 For servynge loyally mye kynge, I have beene dede 'till nowe, And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne 365 Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys For aie uponne my browe: 325"Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few 330 yeares, Shalt rule thys fickle lande, To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule 'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande: "Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave! Shall falle onne thye owne hedde❞— Fromme out of hearyng of the kynge Departed thenne the sledde. 370 knees, A pray 'r to Godde dydd make, Beseechynge hym unto hymselfe Hys partynge soule to take. Thenne, kneelynge downe, hee layd hys hedde Most seemlie onne the blocke; Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once The able heddes-manne stroke: And oute the bloude beganne to flowe, Kynge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face, 375 And teares, enowe to wash 't awaie, Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie, 335 And to hys broder Gloucester1 340 Hee thus dydd speke and saie: "To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe No ghastlie terrors brynge, Beholde the manne! hee spake the truthe, Hee's greater thanne a kynge!" 380 Dydd flow fromme each mann's eyne. The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre And ey 'rye parte, and eke hys hedde, One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulphhylle, One onne the mynster-tower, And one from off the castle-gate The crowen1 dydd devoure; |
