Then presently upon her knees
Sweet Rosamund did fell;
And pardon of the queen she craved
For her offences all.
'Take pity on my youthful years,'
Fair Rosamund did cry;
'And let me not with poison strong
Enforced be to die.'
And with these words, her lily hands
She wrung full often there;
And down along her lovely face
Did trickle many a tear.
But nothing could this furious queen
Therewith appeased be;
The cup of deadly poison strong,
As she knelt on her knee,
She gave this comely dame to drink,
Who took it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand;
And casting up her eyes to heaven
She did for mercy call;
And drinking up the poison strong,
Her life she lost withal.
And when that death through every limb
Had showed its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plain confess
She was a glorious wight.
Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away,
At Godstowe, near to Oxford town,
As may be seen this day.
T. Delone