only knows no sin,
In all this mortal state.

Let mercy rule thine infant reign,
'Twill fix thy crown full sure;
From race to race thy family
All sovereigns shall endure.

But if with blood and slaughter thou
Begin thy infant reign,
Thy crown upon thy children's brows
Will never long remain.'

'Canynge, away! this traitor vile
Has scorned my power and me;
How canst thou, then, for such a man
Entreat my clemency?'

'My noble liege, the truly brave
Will valorous actions prize:
Respect a brave and noble mind,
Although in enemies.'

'Canynge, away! By God in heaven
That did me being give,
I will not taste a bit of bread
Whilst this Sir Charles doth live!

'By Mary, and all saints in heaven,
This sun shall be his last!'
Then Canynge dropped a briny tear,
And from the presence passed.

With heart brimful of gnawing grief,
He to Sir Charles did go,
And sat him down upon a stool,
And tears began to flow.

We all must die,' said brave Sir Charles;
'What boots it how or when?
Death is the sure, the certain fate,
Of all we mortal men.

'Say why, my friend, thy honest soul
Runs over at thine eye;
Is it for my most welcome doom
That thou dost child-like cry?'

Saith godly Canynge: 'I do weep,
That thou so soon must die,
And leave thy sons and helpless wife
'Tis this that wets mine eye.'

'Then dry the tears that out thine eye
From godly fountains spring;
Death I despise, and all the power
Of Edward, traitor-king.

'When through the tyrant's welcome means
I shall resign my life,
The God I serve will soon provide
For both my sons and wife.

'Before I saw the lightsome sun,
This was appointed me;
Shall mortal man repine or grudge
What God ordains to be?

'How oft in battle have I stood,
When thousands died around;
When smoking streams of crimson blood
Imbrued the fattened ground?

'How did I know that every dart
That cut the airy way,
Might not find passage to my heart,
And close mine eyes for aye?

'And shall I now, for fear of death,
Look wan and be dismayed?
No! from my heart fly childish fear;
Be all the man displayed.

'Ah, godlike Henry, God forefend,
And guard thee and thy son,
If 'tis his will; but if 'tis not,
Why, then his will be done.

'My honest friend, my fault has been
To serve God and my prince;
And that I no time-server am,
My death will soon convince.

'In London city was I born,
Of parents of great note;
My father did a noble arms
Emblazon on his coat:

'I