No More Learning

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"Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines,
The best were synners grete;
CHRIST'S vycarr only knowes ne synne, 75
Ynne alle thys mortall state. "

"Lett mercie rule thyne infante reigne,
'Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure;
From race to race thy familie
Alle sov'reigns shall endure. " 80

"But yff wythe bloode and slaughter thou
Beginne thy infante reigne,
Thy crowne uponne thy childrennes brows
Wylle never long remayne. "

"CANYNGE, awaie! thys traytour vile 85
Has scorn'd my power and mee;
Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne
Intreate my clemencye? "

"My nobile leige! the trulie brave
Wylle val'rous actions prize, 90
Respect a brave and nobile mynde,
Altho' ynne enemies. "

"CANYNGE, awaie! By Godde ynne Heav'n
Thatt dydd mee beinge gyve,
I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade 95
Whilst thys Syr CHARLES dothe lyve. "

"By MARIE, and alle Seinctes ynne Heav'n,
Thys sunne shall be hys laste. "
Thenne CANYNGE dropt a brinie teare,
And from the presence paste. 100

Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief,
Hee to Syr CHARLES dydd goe,
And satt hymm downe uponne a stoole,
And teares beganne to flowe.

"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr CHARLES; 105
"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
Runns overr att thyne eye; 110
Is ytte for my most welcome doome
Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye? "

Quod godlie CANYNGE, "I doe weepe,
Thatt thou so soone must dye,
And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; 115
'Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye.
"

"Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye
From godlie fountaines sprynge;
Dethe I despise, and alle the power
Of EDWARDE, traytor kynge. 120

"Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means
I shall resigne my lyfe,
The Godde I serve wylle soone provyde
For bothe mye sonnes and wyfe.

"Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, 125
Thys was appointed mee;
Shall mortal manne repyne or grudge
Whatt Godde ordeynes to bee?

"Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode,
Whan thousands dy'd arounde; 130
Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode
Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde:

"How dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte,
Thatt cutte the airie waie,
Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, 135
And close myne eyes for aie?

"And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe,
Looke wanne and bee dysmayde?
Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere,
Bee alle the manne display'd. 140

"Ah, goddelyke HENRIE! Godde forefende,
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 145
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; 150
My fadre dydd a nobile armes
Emblazon onne hys cote:

"I make ne doubte butt hee ys gone
Where soone I hope to goe;
Where wee for ever shall bee blest, 155
From oute the reech of woe:

"Hee taughte mee justice and the laws
Wyth pitie to unite;
And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe
The wronge cause fromm the ryghte: 160

"Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande
To feede the hungrie poore,
Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie
The hungrie fromme my doore:

"And none can saye, butt alle mye lyfe 165
I have hys wordyes kept;
And summ'd the actyonns of the daie
Eche nyghte before I slept.

"I have a spouse, goe aske of her,
Yff I defyl'd her bedde? 170
I have a kynge, and none can laie
Blacke treason onne my hedde.

"Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve,
Fromm fleshe I dydd refrayne;
Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd 175
To leave thys worlde of payne?

"Ne! hapless HENRIE!