"Thou thynkest. I shall die 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 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,
Hys pretious bloude to spylle.

Syrr 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 dydd saic,
"Beholde you see mee dye,
"For servynge loyally mye kynge,
"Mye kynge most rightfullie.

"As long as Edwarde rules thys land,

"Ne quiet you wylle knowe;

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

"You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge, "Whenne ynne adversitye:

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

Then 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 scaffold twyne;
And teares, enowe to washe't awaie,
Dydd flowe fromme each maun'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-bylle,

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!

THE END.