That makys our syre to glum;
It is some what wronge,
That his berde is so longe;
He morneth in blacke clothynge.
I pray God saue the kynge! 390
Where euer he go or ryde,
I pray God be his gyde!
Thus wyll I conclude my style,
And fall to rest a whyle,
And so to rest a whyle, &c.