I do pronounce before you all,
This treach'rous Lord that's here,
A Traytor to our Noble King;
As Time fhall fhew it clear.
The Duke of Hereford hearing that,
In Mind was grieved much;
And did return this Answer flat,
Which did Duke Norfolk touch:
The Term of Traytor, truthless Duke,
In Scorn and great Difdain,
With flat Defiance to thy Face,
I do return again :
And therefore, if it please your Grace
To grant me Leave (quoth he)
To combat with my deadly Foe,
That here accuseth me;
I do not doubt but plainly prove,
That, like a perjur'd Knight,
He hath moft falfly fought my Shame,
Against all Truth and Right.
The King did grant this juft Request,
And did therewith agree,
At Coventry, in August next,
This Combat fought should be.
The Dukes on fundry Steeds full ftout,
In Coats of Steel moft bright,
With Spears in Refts, did enter Lifts,
This Combat fierce to fight.
The King then caft his Wardens down,
Commanding them to stay;
And with his Lords he Counsel took,
To stint that mortal Fray.
At length unto thefe Noble Dukes
The King of Heralds came,
And unto them, with lofty Speech,
This Sentence did proclaim:
Sir Henry Bolingbroke, this Day,
The Duke of Hereford, here,
And Thomas Mowbray, Norfolk Duke,
Valiantly did appear;
And having, in honourable Sort,
Repaired to this Place;
Our Noble King, for special Cause,
Hath alter'd thus the Cafe:
Firft, Henry Duke of Hereford,
E're Fifteen Days be past,
Shall part the Realm on Pain of Death,
While Ten Years Space doth last.
And Thomas Duke of Norfolk, now,
That hath begun this Strife,
And thereof no good Proof can bring ;
I fay, for Term of Life,
By Judgment of our Sovereign Lord,
Which now in Place doth stand,
For evermore I banish thee
Out of thy Native Land.
Charging thee, on Pain of Death,
When Fifteen Days are past,
Thou never tread on English Ground,
So long as Life doth laft.
Thus they were fworn before the King,
E're they did farther pass,
The one fhould never come in Place
Where as the other was.
Then both the Dukes, with heavy Hearts,
Were parted presently,
Their uncouth Streams of froward Chance
In Foreign Lands to try.
The Duke of Norfolk coming then
Where he could Shipping take,
The bitter Tears fell down his Cheeks,
And thus his Moan did make :
Now let me figh and fob my Fill,
E're I from hence depart,
That inward Pangs with Speed may burst
My fore afflicted Heart.
Oh curfed Man! whofe loathed Life
Is held fo much in Scorn;
Whofe Company is clean defpis'd,
And left as one forlorn!
Now take thy Leave, and last Adieu,
Of this thy Country dear;
Which never more thou must behold,
Nor yet approach it near.
Now happy should I count my felf,
If Death my Heart had torn;
That I might have my Bones entomb'd,
Where I was bred and born:
Or that by Neptune's wrathful Rage,
I might be forc'd to dye;
Whilst that sweet England's pleasant Banks
Did ftand before mine Eye :
How sweet a Scent hath English Ground
Within my Senses now?
How fair unto my outward Sight
Seems ev'ry Branch and Bough?
The Fields and Flow'rs, the Streets and Stones, Seem fuch unto my Mind,
That in all other Countries, fure,
The like I ne're shall find.
O that the Sun, with fhining Face,
Would stay his Steeds by Strength;
That this fame Day might stretched be
To Twenty Years in Length !
And that the true-performing Tide
Her hafty Course would stay;
That Eolus would never yield
To bear me hence away.
That by the Fountain of my Eyes
The Fields might water'd be;
That I might grave my grievous Plaint
Upon each springing Tree.
But Time, I fee, with Eagle's Wings
So fwift doth fly away;
And dusky Clouds begin to dim
The Brightness of the Day:
The fatal Hour draweth on,
The Winds and Tides agree;
And now, sweet England, over-Sea,
I must depart from thee.
The Mariners have hoisted Sail,
And call to catch me in;
And now, in woful Heart, I feel
My Torments to begin.
Wherefore, Farewel for evermore,
Sweet England, unto thee;
And farewel, all my Friends, which I
Again fhall never fee.
O England, here I kifs the Ground.
Upon my bended Knee!
Whereby to fhew to all the World
How dearly I love thee.
This being faid, away he went
As Fortune did him guide;
And at the length, thro' Grief of Heart,
In Venice there he dy'd.
The Noble Duke, in doleful Sort,
Did lead his Life in France;
And, at the laft, the mighty Lord
Did him full high advance.
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