Ah, ah, ah, ah! I cannot choose but weep for the queen: Nothing but mourning now at the court there is seen. O, O, my heart, my heart; O, my bum will break: Very grief so torments me that scarce I can speak. Who could but weep for the loss of such a lady? That cannot I do, I swear by mine honesty. But, Lord! so the ladies mourn crying, alack! Nothing is worn now but only black; I believe all [the] cloth in Watling Street to make gowns would not serve:[248] If I make a lie, the devil let me starve! All ladies mourn both young and old; There is not one that weareth a point’s worth of gold. There is a sort for fear of the king do pray, That would have him dead, by the mass I dare say. What a king was he that hath used such tyranny? He was akin to Bishop Bonner,[249] I think verily; For both their delights was to shed blood, But never intended to do any good. Cambyses put a judge to death; that was a good deed; But to kill the young child was worse to proceed; To murder his brother, and then his own wife! So help me God and halidom, it is pity of his life, Hear ye? I will lay twenty thousand pound, That the king himself doth die by some wound; He hath shed so much blood, that his will be shed: If it come so to pass, in faith, then he is sped. _Enter the_ KING _without a gown, a sword thrust up into his side bleeding_. KING. Out alas? what shall I do? my life is finished; Wounded I am by sudden chance, my blood is minished: Gog’s heart, what means might I make my life to preserve? Is there nought to be my help? nor is there nought to serve? Out upon the court, and lords that there remain! To help my grief in this my case will none of them take pain? Who but I in such a wise his death’s wound could have got? As I on horse-back up did leap, my sword from scabbard shot, And run me thus into the side, as you right well may see. A marvell’s chance unfortunate, that in this wise should be. I feel myself a-dying now, of life bereft am I: And death hath caught me with his dart, for want of blood I spy. Thus gasping here on ground I lie, for nothing I do care; A just reward for my misdeeds my death doth plain declare. [_Here let him quake and stir._ AMBIDEXTER.