"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, 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❞—
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge
Departed thenne the sledde.

Kynge Edwarde's soule rushed to hys face;
Hee turned hys hedde awaie,
And to hys broder Gloucester

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!"

"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

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

Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs

Gayned ynne the bloudie warre.

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Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys 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,

And rounde the scaffolde twyne;
And teares, enow to washe 't awaie,
Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne.

The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre
Ynnto foure parties cutte;
And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,
Uponne a pole was putte.

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,
One onne the mynster-tower,
And one from off the castle-gate

The crowen dydd devoure;

The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate,
A dreery spectacle;

Hys hedde was placed onne the hyghe crosse,
Ynne hyghe-streete most nobile.

Thus was the ende of Bawdin's fate:
Godde prosper longe oure kynge,
And grante hee maye, wyth Bawdin's soule,
Ynne heav'n Godd's mercie synge!

By 1668.

1772.

THE ACCOUNTE OF W. CANYNGES FEAST

Thorowe the halle the belle han sounde;
Byelecoyle doe the Grave beseeme;

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The ealdermenne doe sytte arounde,
And snoffelle oppe the cheorte steeme,
Lyche asses wylde ynne desarte waste
Swotelye the morneynge ayre doe taste.

Syche coyne theie ate; the minstrels plaie,
The dynne of angelles doe theie keepe;
Heie stylle, the guestes ha ne to saie,
Butte nodde yer thankes ande falle aslape.
Thus echone daie bee I to deene,

Gyf Rowley, Iscamm, or Tyb. Gorges be ne seene.

1777.

MYNSTRELLES SONGE

FYRSTE MYNSTRELLE

The boddynge flourettes bloshes atte the lyghte;
The mees be sprenged wyth the yellowe hue;
Ynn daiseyd mantels ys the mountayne dyghte;
The nesh yonge coweslepe bendethe wyth the dewe;
The trees enle fèd, yntoe Heavenne straughte,
Whenn gentle wyndes doe blowe to whestlyng dynne ys
brought.

The evenynge commes, and brynges the dewe alonge;
The roddie welkynne sheeneth to the eyne;
Arounde the alestake Mynstrells synge the songe;
Yonge ivie rounde the doore poste do entwyne;
I laie mee onn the grasse; yette, to mie wylle,
Albeytte alle ys fayre, there lackethe somethynge stylle.

SECONDE MYNSTRELLE

So Adam thoughtenne, whann, ynn Paradyse,

All Heavenn and Erthe dyd hommage to hys mynde;
Ynn Womman alleyne mannès pleasaunce lyes;
As Instrumentes of joie were made the kynde.
Go, take a wyfe untoe thie armes, and see
Wynter and brownie hylles wyll have a charme for thee.

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THYRDE MYNSTRELLE

Whanne Autumpne blake and sonne-brente doe appere, With hys goulde honde guylteynge the falleynge lefe, 20 Bryngeynge oppe Wynterr to folfylle the yere, Beerynge uponne hys backe the ripèd shefe; Whan al the hyls wythe woddie sede ys whyte; Whanne levynne-fyres and lemes do mete from far the

syghte;

Whann the fayre apple, rudde as even skie, Do bende the tree unto the fructyle grounde; When joicie peres, and berries of blacke die, Doe daunce yn ayre, and call the eyne arounde; Thann, bee the even foule or even fayre, Meethynckes mie hartys joie ys steynced wyth somme care. 30

SECONDE MYNSTRELLE

Angelles bee wrogte to bee of neidher kynde;
Angelles alleyne fromme chafe desyre bee free:
Dheere ys a somwhatte evere yn the mynde,
Yatte, wythout wommanne, cannot styllèd bee;

Ne seyncte yn celles, botte, havynge blodde and tere,
Do fynde the spryte to joie on syghte of womanne fayre;

Wommen bee made, notte for hemselves, botte manne,
Bone of hys bone, and chyld of hys desire;
Fromme an ynutyle membere fyrste beganne,
Ywroghte with moche of water, lyttele fyre;
Therefore theie seke the fyre of love, to hete
The milkyness of kynde, and make hemselfes complete.

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Albeytte wythout wommen menne were pheeres
To salvage kynde, and wulde botte lyve to slea,

Botte wommenne efte the spryghte of peace so cheres, 45
Tochelod yn Angel joie heie Angeles bee:

Go, take thee swythyn to thie bedde a wyfe;

Bee bante or blessed hie yn proovynge marryage lyfe.

By 1668.

1777.

O, SYNGE UNTOE MIE ROUNDELAIE

O, synge untoe mie roundelaie!

O, droppe the brynie teare wythe mee!
Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie;
Lycke a reynynge ryver bee:

Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Blacke hys cryne as the wyntere nyghte,
Whyte hys rode as the sommer snowe,
Rodde hys face as the mornynge lyghte;
Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe:
Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Swote hys tyngue as the throstles note,
Quycke ynn daunce as thoughte canne bee,
Defte hys taboure, codgelle stote;

O! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree:

Mie love ys dedde,

Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Alle underre the wyllowe tree.

Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,
In the briered delle belowe;

Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,
To the nyghte-mares as heie goe:

Mie love ys dedde,

Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie;
Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude,
Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,
Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude:
Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys deathe-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

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