“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 brasse 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 Godde 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 Godde, 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 butt 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

  And nowe the officers came ynne
    To brynge Syr CHARLES awaie,
  Whoe turnedd toe his lovynge wyfe,
    And thus toe her dydd saie: 

  “I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; 245
    Truste thou ynne Godde above,
  And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde,
    And ynne theyre hertes hym love: