280
Bolde as a lyon came Syr CHARLES,
Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde,
Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white,
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:
Behynde hym fyve-and-twentye moe 285
Of archers stronge and stoute,
Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande,
Marched ynne goodlie route:
Seincte JAMESES Freers marched next,
Echone hys parte dydd chaunt; 290
Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:
Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,
Ynne clothe of
scarlett
deck't;
And theyre attendyng menne echone, 295
Lyke Easterne princes trickt:
And after them, a multitude
Of citizenns dydd thronge;
The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes,
As hee dydd passe alonge.
Thomas Chatterton - Rowley Poems
235
My herte ys welle nyghe broke:
"Ah, sweete Syr CHARLES!
why wylt thou goe,
Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?
The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke,
Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe.
" 240
And nowe the officers came ynne
To brynge Syr CHARLES awaie,
Whoe turnedd toe his lovynge wyfe,
And thus toe her dydd saie:
"I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; 245
Truste thou ynne Godde above,
And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde,
And ynne theyre hertes hym love:
"Teache them to runne the nobile race
Thatt I theyre fader runne: 250
FLORENCE!
shou'd dethe thee take--adieu!
Yee officers, leade onne.
"
Thenne FLORENCE rav'd as anie madde,
And dydd her tresses tere;
"Oh!
staie, mye husbande!
lorde!
and lyfe!
"-- 255
Syr CHARLES thenne dropt a teare.
'Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loud,
Shee fellen onne the flore;
Syr CHARLES exerted alle hys myghte,
And march'd fromm oute the dore.
260
Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne,
Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete;
Lookes, thatt enshone ne moe concern
Thanne anie ynne the strete.
Before hym went the council-menne, 265
Ynne scarlett robes and golde,
And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne,
Muche glorious to beholde:
The Freers of Seincte AUGUSTYNE next
Appeared to the syghte, 270
Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,
Of godlie monkysh plyghte:
Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume
Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt;
Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, 275
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.
Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came;
Echone the bowe dydd bende,
From rescue of kynge HENRIES friends
Syr CHARLES forr to defend.
280
Bolde as a lyon came Syr CHARLES,
Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde,
Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white,
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:
Behynde hym fyve-and-twentye moe 285
Of archers stronge and stoute,
Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande,
Marched ynne goodlie route:
Seincte JAMESES Freers marched next,
Echone hys parte dydd chaunt; 290
Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:
Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,
Ynne clothe of
scarlett
deck't;
And theyre attendyng menne echone, 295
Lyke Easterne princes trickt:
And after them, a multitude
Of citizenns dydd thronge;
The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes,
As hee dydd passe alonge.
300
And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse,
Syr CHARLES dydd turne and saie,
"O Thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne,
Washe mye soule clean thys daie!
"
Att the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat 305
The kynge ynne myckle state,
To see CHARLES BAWDIN goe alonge
To hys most welcom fate.
Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe,
Thatt EDWARDE hee myghte heare, 310
The brave Syr CHARLES hee dydd stande uppe,
And thus hys wordes declare:
"Thou seest mee, EDWARDE!
traytour vile!
Expos'd to infamie;
Butt bee assur'd, disloyall manne!
315
I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.
"Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,
Thou wearest nowe a crowne;
And hast appoynted mee to dye,
By power nott thyne owne.
320
"Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie;
I have beene dede 'till nowe,
And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne
For aie uponne my browe:
"Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few yeares, 325
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"-- 330
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge
Departed thenne the sledde.
Kynge EDWARDE'S soule rush'd to hys face,
Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie,
And to hys broder GLOUCESTER 335
Hee thus dydd speke and saie:
"To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe
Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,
Beholde the manne!
hee spake the truthe,
Hee's greater thanne a kynge!
" 340
"Soe lett hym die!
" Duke RICHARD sayde;
"And maye echone oure foes
Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe,
And feede the carryon crowes.
"
And nowe the horses gentlie drewe 345
Syr CHARLES uppe the hyghe hylle;
The axe dydd glysterr ynne the sunne,
Hys pretious bloude to spylle.
Syrr CHARLES dydd uppe the scaffold goe,
As uppe a gilded carre 350
Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs
Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:
And to the people hee dydd saie,
"Beholde you see mee dye,
For servynge loyally mye kynge, 355
Mye kynge most rightfullie.
