Part 19 (1/2)
”Ah, G.o.ddelyke HENRIE! G.o.dde 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 G.o.dde 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 n.o.bile armes Emblazon onne hys cote:
”I make ne doubte b.u.t.t 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, b.u.t.t 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! I rejoyce, I shalle ne see thye dethe; Moste w.i.l.l.ynglie ynne thye just cause Doe I resign my brethe. 180
”Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe!
Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe; Whyle RICHARD'S sonnes exalt themselves, Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe.
”Saie, were ye tyr'd of G.o.dlie peace, 185 And G.o.dlie HENRIE'S reigne, Thatt you dydd choppe youre easie daies For those of bloude and peyne?
”Whatte tho' I onne a sledde bee drawne, And mangled by a hynde, 190 I doe defye the traytor's pow'r, Hee can ne harm my mynde;
”Whatte tho', uphoisted onne a pole, Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre, And ne ryche monument of bra.s.se 195 CHARLES BAWDIN'S name shall bear;
”Yett ynne the holie booke above, Whyche tyme can't eate awaie, There wythe the sarvants of the Lorde Mye name shall lyve for aie. 200
”Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne I leave thys mortall lyfe: Farewell, vayne worlde, and alle that's deare, Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe!
”Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes, 205 As e'er the moneth of Maie; Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve, Wyth my dere wyfe to staie.”
Quod CANYNGE, ”'Tys a goodlie thynge To bee prepar'd to die; 210 And from thys world of peyne and grefe To G.o.dde ynne Heav'n to flie.”
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 G.o.dde, 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 b.u.t.t 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