In hollow vault, through which the channell past From forth the towne beneath my chamber flore, Dead carcasses and loathed things they cast, Whose grieuous stinch did grieue my senses more Then all the griefe that I endur’d before: And forc’d me search the walles for open place, To some without to waile my woefull case. 140. Vpon a time I through a crannie spi’d Men hewing timber on the greene fast by, To whom with drearie deadly voice I cri’d, “O who will helpe me wretch, that heere do lie In torment worse then death, yet cannot die? If any there do mourne man’s wretched case, Helpe me, ah help me from this loathed place.” 141. The poore men’s hearts are pierc’d with point of woe, And trembling horror doth their hearts appall For ruth of wronged king cast downe so low, Vnable t’helpe me, vnto God they call, That he may yeeld reliefe to wofull thrall: Who giuing eare to mine and their request, At length in death doth giue my sorrowes rest. 142. Mischiefe from those that guiltie of offence Did wish my death in letters sent doth bring A darke enigma bearing double sense, Which is vnpointed left a doubtfull thing, Either to kill or not to kill the king, As in such tearmes “king _Edward’s_ blood to spill Refuse ye not to feare I count it ill.” 143. The bloodie villaines construing the same Vnto that sense, for which it then was sent, Watch for the night, whose cloudie cloake of shame With darknesse should conceale their damn’d intent, Day did abhor the thing 'bout which they went, And fled away, grim night on th’earth did frowne, And I in carefull bed had laid me downe. 144. Where for musitian that with sweetest breath, Had wont to lull my watchfull sense asleepe: The ghastly owle, the fatall bird of death, That on my chamber walles her inne did keepe In my poore trembling heart impressed deepe The feare of death with her too deadly note, Which oft she shriked through her balefull throte. 145. The murmuring noise of the rude waters rore Which not far thence into the seas do fall, Where Seuerne’s billowes do beat vpon the shore, And bellowing winds which iustling gainst the wall Like death’s shrill whistlers at the cranies call, Through darknesse and deepe silence of the night, Our troubled heart with horror doth affright. 146.