And cries aloud:—Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast;
As in this glorious and well foughten field,
We keep together in our chivalry!
Upon these words I came, and cheer’d him up:
He smil’d me in the face, raught me his hand,[28]
And with a feeble gripe, says,—Dear, my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.
So did he turn, and over Suffolk’s neck