“Thou’rt ryght,” quod hee, “for, by the Godde
    That syttes enthron’d on hyghe! 10
  CHARLES BAWDIN, and hys fellowes twaine,
    To-daie shall surelie die.”

  Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale
    Hys Knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite;
  “Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie 15
    Hee leaves thys mortall state.”

  Syr CANTERLOUE thenne bendedd lowe,
    Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe;
  Hee journey’d to the castle-gate,
    And to Syr CHARLES dydd goe. 20

  Butt whenne hee came, hys children twaine,
    And eke hys lovynge wyfe,
  Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore,
    For goode Syr CHARLESES lyfe.

  “O goode Syr CHARLES!” sayd CANTERLOUE, 25
    “Badde tydyngs I doe brynge.” 
  “Speke boldlie, manne,” sayd brave Syr CHARLES,
    “Whatte says thie traytor kynge?”

  “I greeve to telle, before yonne sonne
    Does fromme the welkinn flye, 30
  Hee hath uponne hys honour sworne,
    Thatt thou shalt surelie die.”

  “Wee all must die,” quod brave Syr CHARLES;
    “Of thatte I’m not affearde;
  Whatte bootes to lyve a little space? 35
    Thanke JESU, I’m prepar’d.”

  “Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee’s not,
    I’de sooner die to-daie
  Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are,
    Tho’ I shoulde lyve for aie.” 40

  Thenne CANTERLOUE hee dydd goe out,
    To telle the maior straite
  To gett all thynges ynne reddyness
    For goode Syr CHARLESES fate.

  Thenne Maisterr CANYNGE saughte the kynge, 45
    And felle down onne hys knee;
  “I’m come,” quod hee, “unto your grace
    To move your clemencye.”

  Thenne quod the kynge, “Youre tale speke out,
    You have been much oure friende; 50
  Whatever youre request may bee,
    Wee wylle to ytte attende.”

  “My nobile leige! alle my request
    Ys for a nobile knyghte,
  Who, tho’ may hap hee has donne wronge, 55
    He thoghte ytte stylle was ryghte.”

  “Hee has a spouse and children twaine,
    Alle rewyn’d are for aie;
  Yff thatt you are resolv’d to lett
    CHARLES BAWDIN die to-daie.” 60

  “Speke nott of such a traytour vile,”
    The kynge ynne furie sayde;
  “Before the evening starre doth sheene,
    BAWDIN shall loose hys hedde.”

  “Justice does loudlie for hym calle, 65
    And hee shalle have hys meede: 
  Speke, Maister CANYNGE!  Whatte thynge else
    Att present doe you neede?”