Good people of this Christian land,
Here before you now I stand
And come me hither I, to die,
For by the law condemned am I,
And not a word in protest muttered,
Let not a ‘treachery’ be uttered,
These lands demand my soul depart,
By pain of death and muted heart.

For at thy King’s pleasure, ‘tis true,
I soon, to take my leave of you,
I pass not blame, nor beg for life,
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