Where now, I pray, is Lady Jane?

Now she is here on Tower Hill,

She walks with grace unto the block,

She stands a queen, not pale nor ill.

Come hither to this place to die!

Yet she persists her innocence,

She asks that death be soon and quick,

And the axeman begs her forgiveness.

The lady kneels before the block,

Her body robed in purest white.

She takes a piece of darkened cloth,

With this she lastly blocks her sight.

Alas! she cannot find the place,

On which she’s now to rest her head,

Her ladies pray now for the maid,

Who soon shall be cold, still, and dead.

Where now, I pray, is Lady Jane?

Her grave is north of Tower Green,

But none know where here body lies,

No marker there has e’er been seen.