Behynde hym fyve-and-twenty moe
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;
Behynde theyre backes 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,
Lyke easterne princes trick't:

And after them a multitude

Of citizens dydd thronge;

The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes
As hee dydd passe alonge,

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 mynster wyndowe sat
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,

The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe,
And thus hys wordes declare:

"Thou seest me, Edwarde! traytour vile! Expos'd to infamie;

Butt bee assur'd, disloyall manne!

I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.

"Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,
Thou wearest now a crowne;
And hast appoynted mee to dye,
By power nott thyne owne.

"Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie ;

I have been 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 rush'd to hys face,

Hee turn'd 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,
His pretious bloude to spylle.

Syr Charles dydd uppe

the scaffold goe,

As uppe a gilded carre

Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs
Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:

And to the people hee dyd saie,
"Beholde you see me dye,
For servynge loyally mye kynge,
Mye kynge most ryghtfullie.

VOL. V.

N

"As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande,

Ne quiet you wylle knowe:

Your sonnes and husbandes shalle bee slayne, And brookes wythe bloude shall flowe.

"You leave your goode and lawfulle kynge
Whenne ynne adversitye;

Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke,
And for the true cause dye."

Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees,
A pray❜r to Godde dyd 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 partes cutte;

And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,

Uponne a pole was putte.

One parte dyd 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 plac'd 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!