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"

And nowe the bell beganne to tolle,
And claryonnes to sounde;
Syr CHARLES hee herde the horses feete 215
A prauncyng onne the grounde:

And just before the officers,
His lovynge wyfe came ynne,
Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe,
Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne. 220

"Sweet FLORENCE! nowe I praie forbere,
Ynne quiet lett mee die;
Praie Godde, thatt ev'ry Christian soule
Maye looke onne dethe as I.

"Sweet FLORENCE! why these brinie teeres? 225
Theye washe my soule awaie,
And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe,
Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie.

"'Tys butt a journie I shalle goe
Untoe the lande of blysse; 230
Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love,
Receive thys holie kysse. "

Thenne FLORENCE, fault'ring ynne her saie,
Tremblynge these wordyes spoke,
"Ah, cruele EDWARDE! bloudie kynge! 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.