"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr CHARLES; 105
"Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne;
Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate
Of all wee mortall menne.
"Saye why, my friend, thie honest soul
Runns overr att thyne eye; 110
Is ytte for my most welcome doome
Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye?"
Quod godlie CANYNGE, "I doe weepe,
Thatt thou so soone must dye,
And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; 115
'Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye."
"Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye
From godlie fountaines sprynge;
Dethe I despise, and alle the power
Of EDWARDE, traytor kynge. 120
"Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means
I shall resigne my lyfe,
The Godde I serve wylle soone provyde
For bothe mye sonnes and wyfe.
"Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, 125
Thys was appointed mee;
Shall mortal manne repyne or grudge
Whatt Godde ordeynes to bee?
"Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode,
Whan thousands dy'd arounde; 130
Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode
Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde:
"How dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte,
Thatt cutte the airie waie,
Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, 135
And close myne eyes for aie?
"And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe,
Looke wanne and bee dysmayde?
Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere,
Bee alle the manne display'd. 140
"Ah, goddelyke HENRIE! Godde forefende,
And guarde thee and thye sonne,
Yff 'tis hys wylle; but yff 'tis nott,
Why thenne hys wylle bee donne.