make no doubt but he is gone
Where soon I hope to go,
Where we for ever shall be blest,
From out the reach of woe.

'He taught me justice and the laws
With pity to unite;
And eke he taught me how to know
The wrong cause from the right:

'He taught me with a prudent hand
To feed the hungry poor,
Nor let my servants drive away
The hungry from my door:

'And none can say but all my life
I have his wordis kept;
And summed the actions of the day
Each night before I slept.

'I have a spouse, go ask of her
If I defiled her bed?
I have a king, and none can lay
Black treason on my head.

'In Lent, and on the holy eve,
From flesh I did refrain;
Why should I then appear dismayed
To leave this world of pain?

'No, hapless Henry, I rejoice
I shall not see thy death;
Most willingly in thy just cause
Do I resign my breath.

'Oh, fickle people! ruined land!
Thou wilt ken peace no moe;
While Richard's sons exalt themselves,
Thy brooks with blood will flow.

'Say, were ye tired of godly peace,
And godly Henry's reign,
That you did chop your easy days
For those of blood and pain?

'What though I on a sledge be drawn,
And mangled by a hind,
I do defy the traitor's power;
He cannot harm my mind:

'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
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