'O good Sir Charles,' said Canterlone,
'Bad tidings I do bring.'
'Speak boldly, man,' said brave Sir Charles,
'What says the traitor-king?'
'I grieve to tell: before yon sun
Does from the welkin fly,
He hath upon his honour sworn,
That thou shalt surely die.'
'We all must die,' said brave Sir Charles;
'Of that I'm not afraid;
What boots to live a little space?
Thank Jesus, I'm prepared.
'But tell thy king, for mine he's not,
I'd sooner die to-day,
Than live his slave, as many are,
Though I should live for aye.'
Then Canterlone he did go out,
To tell the mayor straight
To get all things in readiness
For good Sir Charles's fate.
Then Mr. Canynge sought the king,
And fell down on his knee;
'I'm come,' quoth he, 'unto your grace,
To move your clemency.'
'Then,' quoth the king, 'your tale speak out,
You have been much our friend:
Whatever your request may be,
We will to it attend.'
'My noble liege, all my request
Is for a noble knight,
Who, though mayhap he has done wrong,
He thought it still was right.
'He has a spouse and children twain;
All ruined are for aye,
If that you are resolved to let
Charles Bawdin die to-day.'
'Speak not of such a traitor vile,'
The king in fury said;
'Before the evening-star doth shine,
Bawdin shall lose his head: