'I go to life, and not to death; Trust thou in G.o.d above, And teach thy sons to fear the Lord, And in their hearts Him love.

'Teach them to run the n.o.ble race That I their father run.

Florence, should death thee take--adieu!

Ye officers, lead on.'

Then Florence raved as any mad, And did her tresses tear; 'O stay, my husband, lord, and life!'-- Sir Charles then dropped a tear.

Till tired out with raving loud, She fell upon the floor; Sir Charles exerted all his might, And marched from out the door.

Upon a sledge he mounted then, With looks full brave and sweet; Looks that enshone no more concern Than any in the street.

Before him went the council-men, In scarlet robes and gold, And ta.s.sels spangling in the sun, Much glorious to behold:

The friars of Saint Augustine next Appeared to the sight, All clad in homely russet weeds, Of G.o.dly monkish plight:

In different parts a G.o.dly psalm Most sweetly they did chant; Behind their back six minstrels came, Who tuned the strange bataunt.

Then five-and-twenty archers came; Each one the bow did bend, From rescue of King Henry's friends Sir Charles for to defend.

Bold as a lion came Sir Charles, Drawn on a cloth-laid sledde, By two black steeds in trappings white, With plumes upon their head.

Behind him five-and-twenty more Of archers strong and stout, With bended bow each one in hand, Marched in goodly rout.

Saint James's friars marched next, Each one his part did chant; Behind their backs six minstrels came, Who tuned the strange bataunt.

Then came the mayor and aldermen, In cloth of scarlet decked; And their attending men each one, Like eastern princes tricked.

And after them a mult.i.tude Of citizens did throng; The windows were all full of heads, As he did pa.s.s along.

And when he came to the high cross, Sir Charles did turn and say: 'O Thou that savest man from sin, Wash my soul clean this day.'

At the great minster window sat The king in mickle state, To see Charles Bawdin go along To his most welcome fate.

Soon as the sledde drew nigh enough, That Edward he might hear, The brave Sir Charles he did stand up, And thus his words declare:

'Thou seest me, Edward! traitor vile!

Exposed to infamy; But be a.s.sured, disloyal man, I'm greater now than thee.

'By foul proceedings, murder, blood, Thou wearest now a crown; And hast appointed me to die By power not thine own.

'Thou thinkest I shall die to-day; I have been dead till now, And soon shall live to wear a crown For aye upon my brow;

'Whilst thou, perhaps, for some few years, Shalt rule this fickle land, To let them know how wide the rule 'Twixt king and tyrant hand.

'Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave!

Shall fall on thy own head'-- From out of hearing of the king Departed then the sledde.

King Edward's soul rushed to his face, He turned his head away, And to his brother Gloucester He thus did speak and say:

'To him that so-much-dreaded death No ghastly terrors bring; Behold the man! he spake the truth; He's greater than a king!'

'So let him die!' Duke Richard said; 'And may each one our foes Bend down their necks to b.l.o.o.d.y axe, And feed the carrion crows.'

And now the horses gently drew Sir Charles up the high hill; The axe did glister in the sun, His precious blood to spill.

Sir Charles did up the scaffold go, As up a gilded car Of victory, by valorous chiefs Gained in the b.l.o.o.d.y war.

And to the people he did say: 'Behold you see me die, For serving loyally my king, My king most rightfully.

'As long as Edward rules this land, No quiet you will know; Your sons and husbands shall be slain, And brooks with blood shall flow.

'You leave your good and lawful king When in adversity; Like me, unto the true cause stick, And for the true cause die.'

Then he, with priests, upon his knees, A prayer to G.o.d did make, Beseeching Him unto Himself His parting soul to take.

Then, kneeling down, he laid his head Most seemly on the block; Which from his body fair at once The able headsman stroke:

And out the blood began to flow, And round the scaffold twine; And tears, enough to wash't away, Did flow from each man's eyne.

The b.l.o.o.d.y axe his body fair Into four partis cut; And every part, and eke his head, Upon a pole was put.

One part did rot on Kinwulph-hill, One on the minster-tower, And one from off the castle-gate The crowen did devour.

The other on Saint Paul's good gate, A dreary spectacle; His head was placed on the high cross, In high street most n.o.ble.

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate: G.o.d prosper long our king, And grant he may, with Bawdin's soul, In heaven G.o.d's mercy sing!

MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA

Oh, sing unto my roundelay; Oh, drop the briny tear with me; Dance no more at holiday, Like a running river be; My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.

Black his hair as the winter night, White his neck as summer snow, Ruddy his face as the morning light, Cold he lies in the grave below: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.

Sweet his tongue as throstle's note, Quick in dance as thought was he; Deft his tabor, cudgel stout; Oh! he lies by the willow-tree.

My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing, In the briered dell below; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing, To the nightmares as they go.

My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.

See! the white moon shines on high; Whiter is my true-love's shroud; Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evening cloud.

My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.

Here, upon my true-love's grave, Shall the garish flowers be laid, Nor one holy saint to save All the sorrows of a maid.

My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.