My Lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days

And hardly kept our countrymen together,

And yet we hear no tidings from the King.

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman.

The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay.

The bay trees in our country are all withered,

And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;

The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,

And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change;

Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,

The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,

The other to enjoy by rage and war.

These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.

Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,

As well assured Richard their king is dead.

Ah, Richard! With the eyes of heavy mind

I see thy glory like a shooting star

Fall to the base earth from the firmament.

Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,

Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest.

Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes,

And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.