Sore troubled with the gowte, desiring death:
And that I would haue taken poyson fayne,
Which me denyde, to reaue my vitall breath
I tooke a surfet great, which wrought my death.
The Britaynes say, at Yorke my bones doe lye,
The Romaynes say at Rome in Italy:
[But where so ere they be, I nothing recke them I.]
23.
But this I wish, all noble wights to viewe
Howe I by slaughter gate the throne at furst,