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1

BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE;

OR, THE DETHE OF SYR CHARLES BAWDIN.

I

The feathered songster Chanticleer
Has wound his bugle horn,
And told the early villager
The coming of the morn:

II

King Edward saw the ruddy streaks
Of light eclipse the gray;
And heard the raven's croaking throat
Proclaim the fated day.

III

“Thou'rt right,” quoth he, “for, by the God
That sits enthroned on high!
Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain,
Today shall surely die.”
2

IV

Then with a jug of nappy ale
His knights did on him wait;
“Go tell the traitor, that today
He leaves this mortal state.”

V

Sir Canterlone then bended low,
With heart brimful of woe;
He journeyed to the castle-gate,
And to Sir Charles did go.

VI

But when he came, his children twain,
And eke his loving wife,
With briny tears did wet the floor,
For good Sir Charles's life.

VII

“O good Sir Charles!” said Canterlone,
“Bad tidings I do bring.”
“Speak boldly, man,” said brave Sir Charles,
“What says thy traitor king?”

VIII

“I grieve to tell, before yon sun
Does from the welkin fly,
He hath upon his honour sworn,
That thou shalt surely die.”

IX

“We all must die,” quoth brave Sir Charles,
“Of that I'm not afeared;
What boots to live a little space?
Thank Jesu, I'm prepared;
3

X

But tell thy king, for mine he's not,
I'd sooner die today
Than live his slave, as many are,
Tho' I should live for aye.”

XI

Then Canterlone he did go out,
To tell the mayör straight
To get all things in readiness
For good Sir Charles's fate.

XII

Then Master Canynge sought the king,
And fell down on his knee;
“I'm come,” quoth he, “unto your grace
To move your clemency.”

XIII

Then quoth the king, “your tale speak out,
You have been much our friend;
Whatever your request may be,
We will to it attend.”

XIV

“My noble liege! all my request
Is for a noble knight,
Who tho' mayhap he has done wrong,
He thought it still was right:

XV

He has a spouse and children twain,
All ruined are for aye;
If that you are resolved to let
Charles Bawdin die today.”
4

XVI

“Speak not of such a traitor vile,”
The king in fury said;
“Before the evening star doth shine,
Bawdin shall lose his head:

XVII

Justice does loudly for him call,
And he shall have his meed:
Speak, Master Canynge! What thing else
At present do you need?”

XVIII

“My noble liege,” good Canynge said,
“Leave justice to our God,
And lay the iron rule aside;
Be thine the olive rod.

XIX

Was God to search our hearts and reins,
The best were sinners great;
Christ's vicar only knows no sin,
In all this mortal state.

XX

Let mercy rule thine infant reign,
'Twill fast thy crown full sure;
From race to race thy family
All sovereigns shall endure:

XXI

But if with blood and slaughter thou
Begin thy infant reign,
Thy crown upon thy children's brows
Will never long remain.”
5

XXII

“Canynge, away! this traitor vile
Has scorned my power and me:
How canst thou then for such a man
Entreat my clemency?”

XXIII

“My noble liege! the truly brave
Will valourous actions prize;
Respect a brave and noble mind
Although in enemies.”

XXIV

“Canynge, away! By God in Heaven
That did me being give,
I will not taste a bit of bread
Whilst this Sir Charles doth live.

XXV

By Mary, and all Saints in Heaven,
This sun shall be his last;”
Then Canynge dropped a briny tear,
And from the presence past.

XXVI

With heart brimful of gnawing grief,
He to Sir Charles did go,
And sat him down upon a stool,
And tears began to flow.

XXVII

“We all must die,” quoth brave Sir Charles;
“What boots it how or when;
Death is the sure, the certain fate
Of all we mortal men.
6

XXVIII

Say why, my friend, thy honest soul
Runs over at thine eye;
Is it for my most welcome doom
That thou dost child-like cry?”

XXIX

Quoth godly Canynge, “I do weep,
That thou so soon must die,
And leave thy sons and helpless wife;
'Tis this that wets mine eye.”

XXX

“Then dry the tears that out thine eye
From godly fountains spring;
Death I despise, and all the power
Of Edward, traitor king.

XXXI

When through the tyrant's welcome means
I shall resign my life,
The God I serve will soon provide
For both my sons and wife.

XXXII

Before I saw the lightsome sun,
This was appointed me;
Shall mortal man repine or grudge
What God ordains to be?

XXXIII

How oft in battle have I stood,
When thousands died around;
When smoking streams of crimson blood
Imbrued the fattened ground:
7

XXXIV

How did I know that every dart,
That cut the airy way,
Might not find passage to my heart,
And close mine eyes for aye?

XXXV

And shall I now, for fear of death,
Look wan and be dismayed?
Nay! from my heart fly childish fear,
Be all the man displayed.

XXXVI

Ah! godlike Henry! God forfend,
And guard thee and thy son,
If 'tis his will; but if 'tis not,
Why then, his will be done.

XXXVII

My honest friend, my fault has been
To serve God and my prince;
And that I no time-server am,
My death will soon convince.

XXXVIII

In London city was I born,
Of parents of great note;
My father did a noble arms
Emblazon on his coat:

XXXIX

I make no doubt but he is gone
Where soon I hope to go;
Where we for ever shall be blest,
From out the reach of woe:
8

XL

He taught me justice and the laws
With pity to unite;
And eke he taught me how to know
The wrong cause from the right:

XLI

He taught me with a prudent hand
To feed the hungry poor,
Nor let my servants drive away
The hungry from my door:

XLII

And none can say but all my life
I have his wordès kept;
And summed the actions of the day
Each night before I slept.

XLIII

I have a spouse, go ask of her,
If I defiled her bed?
I have a king, and none can lay
Black treason on my head.

XLIV

In Lent, and on the holy eve,
From flesh I did refrain;
Why should I then appear dismayed
To leave this world of pain?

XLV

No! hapless Henry! I rejoice,
I shall not see thy death;
Most willingly in thy just cause
Do I resign my breath.
9

XLVI

Oh, fickle people! ruined land!
Thou wilt know peace no moe;
While Richard's sons exalt themselves,
Thy brooks with blood will flow.

XLVII

Say, were ye tired of godly peace,
And godly Henry's reign,
That you did chop your easy days
For those of blood and pain?

XLVIII

What tho' I on a sledge be drawn,
And mangled by a hind,
I do defy the traitor's power,
He can not harm my mind;

XLIX

What tho', uphoisted on a pole,
My limbs shall rot in air,
And no rich monument of brass
Charles Bawdin's name shall bear;

L

Yet in the holy book above,
Which time can't eat away,
There with the servants of the Lord
My name shall live for aye.

LI

Then welcome death! for life eterne
I leave this mortal life:
Farewell, vain world, and all that's dear,
My sons and loving wife!
10

LII

Now death as welcome to me comes,
As e'er the month of May;
Nor would I even wish to live,
With my dear wife to stay.”

LIII

Quoth Canynge, “'Tis a goodly thing
To be prepared to die;
And from this world of pain and grief
To God in Heaven to fly.”

LIV

And now the bell began to toll,
And clarions to sound;
Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet
A-prancing on the ground:

LV

And just before the officers
His loving wife came in,
Weeping unfeigned tears of woe,
With loud and dismal din.

LVI

“Sweet Florence! now I pray forbear,
In quiet let me die;
Pray God that every Christian soul
May look on death as I.

LVII

Sweet Florence! why these briny tears?
They wash my soul away,
And almost make me wish for life,
With thee, sweet dame, to stay.
11

LVIII

'Tis but a journey I shall go
Unto the land of bliss;
Now, as a proof of husband's love,
Receive this holy kiss.”

LIX

Then Florence, faltering in her say,
Trembling these wordès spoke,
“Ah, cruel Edward! bloody king!
My heart is well nigh broke:

LX

Ah, sweet Sir Charles! why wilt thou go,
Without thy loving wife?
The cruel axe that cuts thy neck,
It eke shall end my life.”

LXI

And now the officers came in
To bring Sir Charles away,
Who turnèd to his loving wife,
And thus to her did say:

LXII

“I go to life, and not to death;
Trust thou in God above,
And teach thy sons to fear the Lord,
And in their hearts him love:

LXIII

Teach them to run the noble race
That I their father run;
Florence! should death thee take—adieu!
Ye officers, lead on.”
12

LXIV

Then Florence raved as any mad,
And did her tresses tear;
“Oh! stay, my husband! lord! and life!”—
Sir Charles then dropped a tear.

LXV

Till, tired out with raving loud,
She fell upon the floor;
Sir Charles exerted all his might,
And marched from out the door.

LXVI

Upon a sledge he mounted then,
With looks full brave and sweet;
Looks, that displayed no more concern
Than any in the street.

LXVII

Before him went the council-men,
In scarlet robes and gold,
And tassels spangling in the sun,
Much glorious to behold:

LXVIII

The Friars of Saint Augustine next
Appearèd to the sight,
All clad in homely russet weeds
Of godly monkish plight:
13

LXIX

In different parts a godly psalm
Most sweetly they did chant;
Behind their backs six minstrels came,
Who tuned the strung bataunt.

LXX

Then five-and-twenty archers came;
Each one the bow did bend,
From rescue of King Henry's friends
Sir Charles for to defend.

LXXI

Bold as a lion came Sir Charles,
Drawn on a cloth-laid sledde,
By two black steeds in trappings white,
With plumes upon their head:

LXXII

Behind him five-and-twenty more
Of archers strong and stout,
With bended bow each one in hand,
Marchèd in goodly rout:

LXXIII

Saint James's Friars marchèd next,
Each one his part did chant;
Behind their backs six minstrels came,
Who tuned the strung bataunt:
14

LXXIV

Then came the mayor and aldermen,
In cloth of scarlet deck't;
And their attending men each one,
Like Eastern princes trick't:

LXXV

And after them a multitude
Of citizens did throng;
The windows were all full of heads,
As he did pass along.

LXXVI

And when he came to the high cross,
Sir Charles did turn and say,
“O Thou, that savest man from sin,
Wash my soul clean this day!”

LXXVII

At the great minster window sat
The king in mickle state,
To see Charles Bawdin go along
To his most welcome fate.

LXXVIII

Soon as the sledge drew nigh enough,
That Edward he might hear,
The brave Sir Charles he did stand up,
And thus his words declare:

LXXIX

“Thou seest me, Edward! traitor vile!
Exposed to infamy;
But be assured, disloyal man!
I'm greater now than thee.
15

LXXX

By foul proceedings, murder, blood,
Thou wearest now a crown;
And hast appointed me to die,
By power not thine own.

LXXXI

Thou thinkest I shall die today;
I have been dead till now,
And soon shall live to wear a crown
For aye upon my brow;

LXXXII

Whilst thou, perhaps, for some few years,
Shalt rule this fickle land,
To let them know how wide the rule
'Twixt king and tyrant hand:

LXXXIII

Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave!
Shall fall on thy own head—”
From out of hearing of the king
Departed then the sledde.

LXXXIV

King Edward's soul rushed to his face,
He turned his head away,
And to his brother Gloucester
He thus did speak and say:

LXXXV

“To him that so-much-dreaded death
No ghastly terrors bring,
Behold the man! he spake the truth,
He's greater than a king!”
16

LXXXVI

“So let him die!” Duke Richard said;
“And may each one our foes
Bend down their necks to bloody axe,
And feed the carrion crows.”

LXXXVII

And now the horses gently drew
Sir Charles up the high hill;
The axe did glister in the sun,
His precious blood to spill.

LXXXVIII

Sir Charles did up the scaffold go,
As up a gilded car
Of victory by valourous chiefs
Gained in the bloody war:

LXXXIX

And to the people he did say,
“Behold, you see me die
For serving loyally my king,
My king most rightfully.

XC

As long as Edward rules this land,
No quiet you will know;
Your sons and husbands shall be slain,
And brooks with blood shall flow.

XCI

You leave your good and lawful king
When in adversity;
Like me, unto the true cause stick;
And for the true cause die.”
17

XCII

Then he, with priests, upon his knees,
A prayer to God did make,
Beseeching him unto himself
His parting soul to take.

XCIII

Then, kneeling down, he laid his head
Most seemly on the block;
Which from his body fair at once
The able headsman struck;

XCIV

And out the blood began to flow,
And round the scaffold twine;
And tears, enough to wash't away,
Did flow from each man's eyne.

XCV

The bloody axe his body fair
Into four parties cut;
And every part, and eke his head,
Upon a pole was put.

XCVI

One part did rot on Kynwulph hill,
One on the minster tower,
And one from off the castle gate
The crowèn did devour;

XCVII

The other on Saint Paul's good gate,
A dreary spectacle;
His head was placed on the high cross,
In High-street most noble.
18

XCVIII

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate:
God prosper long our king,
And grant he may, with Bawdin's soul,
In heaven God's mercy sing!
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