C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Farewell of Sir Charles Baldwin to his Wife
By Thomas Chatterton (1752–1770)
A
And claryonnes to sounde;
Syr Charles hee herde the horses’ feete
A-prauncing onne the grounde:
His lovynge wyfe came ynne,
Weepynge unfeignèd teeres of woe,
Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne.
Ynne quiet lett mee die;
Praie Godde, thatt ev’ry Christian soule
May looke onne dethe as I.
Theye washe my soule awaie,
And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe,
Wythe thee, sweete dame, to staie.
Untoe the lande of blysse;
Nowe, as a proofe of husbande’s love,
Receive thys holie kysse.”
Tremblynge these wordyès spoke:—
“Ah, cruele Edwarde! bloudie kynge!
My herte ys welle nyghe broke:
Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?
The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke,
Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe.”
To brynge Syr Charles awaie,
Whoe turnedd toe hys lovynge wyfe,
And thus to her dydd saie:—
Truste thou ynne Godde above,
And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde,
And ynne theyre hertes hym love:
Thatt I theyre fader runne:
Florence! shou’d dethe thee take—adieu!
Yee officers, leade onne.”
And dydd her tresses tere;
“Oh! staie, mye husbande! lorde! and lyfe!”
Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare.
She fellen onne the flore;
Syr Charles exerted alle hys myghte,
And march’d fromme oute the dore.
Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete;
Lookes, thatt enshone ne more concern
Thanne anie ynne the strete.