Thence brother vnto you I was conuey’d
Then in that place, where London’s prelats dwell,
Whence like two lambes vnto a wolfe betrai’d,
We to the Tower were led: where what befell,
Since it concernes you most, you best can tell:
Be it your turne, our sorrowes to deplore,
For I, alas, for sighes can say no more.
Edward.
If I must tell the horror of that night,
In which by death our soules were set on wing,