The drummers play a muffled beat
As I climb the scaffold stairs.
A long faced priest awaits me there
to say my final prayers.
Maternal blood has been my curse;
I ‘m Edmund De La Pole.
A Yorkist and Plantagenet
By the emperor bought and sold.
My head will never wear the crown
To which it was entitled.
The headsman whets his cold French steel
And fat Henry is delighted.
I kneel before a block of wood
A heart fit for a throne.
Now and at the hour meet:
For ambition I atone.