To my true king I offered free from stain 
Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain. 
For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away. 
And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. 
For him I languished in a foreign clime, 
Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime; 
Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees, 
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; 
Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, 
Each morning started from the dream to weep; 
Till God who saw me tried too sorely, gave 
The resting place I asked, an early grave. 
Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, 
From that proud country which was once mine own, 
By those white cliffs I never more must see, 
By that dear language which I spake like thee, 
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear 
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.