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: "Teache them to runne the nobile race Thatt I theyre fader runne: 250 FLORENCE! shou'd dethe thee take--adieu! Yee officers, leade onne." Thenne FLORENCE rav'd as anie madde, And dydd her tresses tere; "Oh! staie, mye husbande! lorde! and lyfe!"-- 255 Syr CHARLES thenne dropt a teare. 'Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loud, Shee fellen onne the flore; Syr CHARLES exerted alle hys myghte, And march'd fromm oute the dore. 260 Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne, Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete; Lookes, thatt enshone ne moe concern Thanne anie ynne the strete. Before hym went the council-menne, 265 Ynne scarlett robes and golde, And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne, Muche glorious to beholde: The Freers of Seincte AUGUSTYNE next Appeared to the syghte, 270 Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes, Of godlie monkysh plyghte: Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, 275 Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.