I shall you tell how it befell,
Twelve daggers were in him att once.
When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,
For him her faire cheeks shee did weete,
And made a vowe for a yeare and a day
The king and shee wold not come in one sheete.
Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,
And made their vow all vehementlye;
For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,
The king himselfe, how he shall dye.[1]
With gun-powder they strewed his roome,
And layd greene rushes in his way:
For the traitors thought that very night
This worthye king for to betray.
To bedd the king he made him bowne;
To take his rest was his desire;
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,
But his chamber was on a blasing fire.
Up he lope, and the window brake,
And hee had thirtye foote to fall;
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
Underneath his castle wall.
"Who have wee here?" Lord Bodwell sayd:
"Now answer me, that I may know."
"King Henry the Eighth my uncle was;
For his sweete sake some pitty show."
"Who have we here?" Lord Bodwell sayd,
"Now answer me when I doe speake."
"Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
Some pitty on me I pray thee take."
"Ile pitty thee as much," he sayd,
"And as much favor show to thee,
As thou didst to the queenes chamberlains,
That day thou deemedst him to die."
Through halls and towers the king they ledd,
Through towers and castles that were nye,
Through an arbor into an orchard,
There on a peare-tree hanged him hye.
When the governor of Scotland heard
How that the worthye king was slaine;
He persued the queen so bitterlye,
That in Scotland shee dare not remaine.
But she is fledd into merry England,
And here her residence hath taine;