❧ The purgation of the right honourable lord Wentworth, concerning the crime laid to his charge, made the. x. of januarie. Anno. M. D. L. viii.  

ALas where is the man,  
that liveth and doth not rue:  
To see how falsely I am charged,  
with things that be untrue.   

My service true is known,  
how ready I have been:  
Both with my body and my goods,  
to serve the King and Queen:   

And yet some have devised,  
to charge me with untruth:  
which evermore hath been my shield,  
even from my very youth.   

Alas to what intent,  
all eyes may easily see:  
That their devise and practice is,  
to make an end of me.   

Alas they seek my life,  
and not for my deserts:  
But by consent of wicked men,  
which have ungodly hearts.   

Such have conspired my death,  
as now even so before:  
That I may say woe worth the time,  
that ever they were borne.   

Alas there is no man,  
more innocent than I.  
And yet the wicked seek my life,  
and know no just cause why.   

For there is not a man,  
that liveth and hath breath:  
Can justly say for my untruth,  
that I am worthy death.   

Though they say what they please,  
as they can well devise:  
Yet all their travel in this thing,  
is known to be but lies.   

Alas what hearts have they,  
that cannot live content:  
Till they have spoiled the life of him,  
that is an innocent.   

As touching the said crime.  
or any part therein:  
I do protest for very thought,  
that I am void of sin.   

But this will not suffice,  
to mitigate their ire:  
Nor nothing else that can be said,  
will pease their long desire.   

Yet shall my truth appear,  
which they would fain conceal:  
And my obedience to the crown,  
and to the common weal.   

Though truth be now subject,  
unto a froward will:  
Yet shall it evermore appear,  
I never meant no ill.   

Either unto my Prince,  
to whom I am most bound:  
Nor yet unto the common weal,  
but it must needs be found.   

Wherefore I say alas,  
bewailing my estate:  
A noble pere, a subject true,  
rewarded thus with hate.   

And thus I make an end,  
with words that be unfaind:  
Though I am now a prisoner,  
my truth cannot be stained.   

God keep our noble Queen,  
God prosper her intent:  
God shorten all her enemies days,  
or grant them to repent.   

This is the wished day,  
to see her in this place:  
God grant us true obedience.  
unto her noble grace.   
Finis  quod john Markant.  

¶ Imprinted at London by Owen Rogers, dwelling in Smithfield. Anno. M. D. L. ix. the. xxviii. of April.