In hert he was unhale,

He come thare moste for mede.

King Edward, frely fode,

In Fraunce he will noght blin To mak his famen wode,

That er wonand tharein.

God, that rest on rode,

For sake of Adams syn, Strenkith him main and mode, His reght in France to win,

And have!

God grante him graces gode,

And fro all sins us save! Amen.

VI.

HOW EDWARD AT HOGGES UNTO LAND WAN

AND RADE THURGH FRANCE OR EVER HE BLAN

MEN may rede in romance right

Ful

Of a grete clerk that Merlin hight;
many bokes er of him wreten,
Als thir clerkes wele may witten;
And zit, in many prevé nokes,
May men find of Merlin bokes.
Merlin said thus, with his mowth,
Out of the north into the sowth
Suld cum a bare over the se,
That suld mak many man to fle;
And in the se, he said ful right,
Suld he schew ful mekill might;
And in France he suld bigin

To mak tham wrath that er tharein;
Untill the se his taile reche sale
All folk of France to mekill bale.

Thus have i mater for to make,
For a nobill prince sake:
Help me god, my wit es thin!

Now LAURENCE MINOT will bigin.

A BORE es broght on bankes bare,
With ful batail bifor his brest,

For John of France will he noght spare,
In Normondy to tak his rest,
With princes that er proper and prest:
Alweldand god, of mightes maste,

He be his beld, for he mai best,
Fader and sun and haly gaste!

Haly gaste, thou gif him grace,

That he in gude time may bigin, And send to him both might and space, His heritage wele for to win; And sone assoyl him of his sin, Hende god, that heried hell!

For France now es he entred in,

And thare he dightes him for to dwell.

He dwelled thare, the suth to tell,
Opon the coste of Normondy;
At Hogges fand he famen fell,
That war all ful of felony:

To him thai makked grete maistri,

And proved to ger the bare abyde; Thurgh might of god and mild Mari,

The bare abated all thaire pride.

Mekill pride was thare in prese,
Both on pencell and on plate,
When the bare rade, withouten rese,
Unto Cane the graythest gate;
Thare fand he folk bifor the zate

Thretty thowsand stif on stede:
Sir John of France come al to late,
The bare has gert thaire sides blede.

He gert blede if thai war bolde,

For thare was slayne and wounded sore Thretty thowsand, trewly tolde,

Of pitaile was thare mekill more; Knightes war thar wele two score,

That war new dubbed to that dance,

Helm and hevyd thai have forlore:
Than misliked John of France.

More misliking was thare then,

For fals treson alway thai wroght; Bot, fro thai met with Inglis-men,

All thaire bargan dere thai boght. Inglis-men with site tham soght,

And hastily quit tham thaire hire; And, at the last, forgat thai noght,

The toun of Cane thai sett on fire.

That fire ful many folk gan fere,

When thai se brandes o ferrum flye;

This have thai wonen of the were,

The fals folk of Normundy.

I sai zow lely how thai lye,
Dongen doun all in a daunce;
Thaire frendes may ful faire forthi
Pleyn tham untill John of France.

Franche-men put tham to pine,

At Cressy, when thai brak the brig; That saw Edward with both his ine, Than likid him no langer to lig. Ilk Inglis-man no others rig, Over that water er thai went ;

To batail er thai baldly big,

With brade ax, and with bowes bent.

With bent bowes thai war ful bolde,
For to fell of the Frankisch-men;
Thai gert tham lig with cares colde,
Ful sari was sir Philip then.

He saw the toun o ferrum bren,

And folk for ferd war fast fleand;

The teres he lete ful rathly ren

Out of his eghen, i understand.