[Lyric] Norfolk sprung thee Lambeth holds thee dead (Henry Howard (Earl of Surrey))

Norfolk sprung thee, Lambeth holds thee dead;
Clere, of the Count of Cleremont, thou hight!
Within the womb of Ormond’s race thou bred
And saw’st thy cousin crowned in thy sight.
Shelton for love, Surrey for lord thou chase;
(Aye, me! whilst life did last, that league was tender)
Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze,
Landrecy burnt, and battered Boulogne render.
At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure,
Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will;
Which causе did thee this pining death procure,
Ere summеrs four times seven, thou coulds’t fulfil.
Ah! Clere! If love had booted care or cost,
Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost.