Who but I in such a wise his death’s wound could have got?
As I on horse-back up did leap, my sword from scabbard shot,
And run me thus into the side, as you right well may see.
A marvell’s chance unfortunate, that in this wise should be.
I feel myself a-dying now, of life bereft am I:
And death hath caught me with his dart, for want of blood I spy.
Thus gasping here on ground I lie, for nothing I do care;
A just reward for my misdeeds my death doth plain declare.
[Here let him quake and stir.
Ambidexter.