'What though, uphoisted on a pole, My limbs shall rot in air, And no rich monument of brass Charles Bawdin's name shall bear; 'Yet in the holy book above, Which time can't eat away, There with the servants of the Lord My name shall live for aye. 'Then welcome death, for life eterne I leave this mortal life: Farewell, vain world, and all that's dear, My sons and loving wife! 'Now death as welcome to me comes As e'er the month of May; Now would I even wish to live, With my dear wife to stay. Saith Canynge 'Tis a goodly thing To be prepared to die; And from this world of pain and grief To God in heaven to fly.' And now the bell began to toll, And clarions to sound; Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet A-prancing on the ground. And just before the officers, His loving wife came in, Weeping unfeigned tears of woe With loud and dismal din. 'Sweet Florence, now I pray forbear, In quiet let me die; Pray God that every Christian soul May look on death as I. 'Sweet Florence, why these briny tears? They wash my soul away, And almost make me wish for life, With thee, sweet dame, to stay. ''Tis but a journey I shall go Unto the land of bliss; Now, as a proof of husband's love Receive this holy kiss.' Then Florence, faltering in her say, Trembling these wordis spoke: 'Ah, cruel Edward! bloody king! My heart is well-nigh broke. 'Ah, sweet Sir Charles, why wilt thou go Without thy loving wife? The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,' It eke shall end my life.' And now the officers came in To bring Sir Charles away, Who turned to his loving wife, And thus to her did say: 'I go to life, and not to death; Trust thou in God above, And teach thy sons to fear the Lord, And in their hearts Him love. 'Teach them to run the noble 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 tassels 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 godly monkish plight: In different parts a godly 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.