To penance me for ever in exile;

Thither in haste, they posted me apace,
And doubting 'scape, they pined me in a pyle,
Close by myself; in care alas the while.
There felt I first poor prisoner's hungry fare,
Much want, things skant, and stone walls, hard and bare.

The chaunge was straunge from silke and cloth of gold
To rugged fryze, my carcass for to cloath;
From prince's fare, and dainties hot and cold,
To rotten fish, and meats that one would loath:
The diet and dressing were much alike boath:
Bedding and lodging were all alike fine,
Such down it was as served well for swyne.

[Footnote 1: From manuscript note on the art of poetry.]

[Footnote 2: Biog. Brit. p. 1922.]

[Footnote 3: Willis notitia Parliam. vol 2. p. 295.]

[Footnote 4: Patten's Journal of the Scotch expedition, p. 13.]

[Footnote 5: Stow's Annal. p. 608.]

[Footnote 6: Lond. 40.]

[Footnote 7: Athen. Oxon. vol. I. col. 146.]