Weleful men war ze, i wis,

Bot fer on fold sall ze noght fare, A bare sal now abate zowre blis,

And wirk zow bale on bankes bare. He sall zow hunt als hund dose hare, That in no hole sall ze zow hide; For all zowre speche will he noght spare, Bot bigges him right by zowre side.

Biside zow here the bare bigins

To big his boure in winter-tyde, And all bityme takes he his ines,

With semly sergantes him biside. The word of him walkes ful wide, Jhesu, save him fro mischance!

In bataill dare he wele habide

Sir Philip and sir John of France.

The Franche-men er fers and fell,

And mase grete dray when thai er dight;

Of tham men herd slike tales tell,

With Edward think thai for to fight,

Him for to hald out of his right,

And do him treson with thaire tales; That was thaire purpos, day and night, Bi counsail of the cardinales.

Cardinales, with hattes rede,

War fro Calays wele thre myle, Thai toke thaire counsail in that stede How thai might sir Edward bigile. Thai lended thare bot litill while,

Til Franche-men to grante thaire grace; Sir Philip was funden a file,

He fled, and faght noght in that place.

In that place the bare was blith,

For all was funden that he had soght;
Philip the Valas fled ful swith,

With the batail that he had broght:
For to have Calays had he thoght,
All at his ledeing loud or still,
Bot all thaire wiles war for noght,
Edward wan it at his will.

Lystens now, and ze may lere,

Als men the suth may understand, The knightes that in Calais were

Come to sir Edward sare wepeand,

In kirtell one, and swerd in hand,

And cried, Sir Edward, thine [we] are,

Do now, lord, bi law of land,

Thi will with us for evermare.

The noble burgase and the best
Come unto him to have thaire hire;
The comun puple war ful prest

Rapes to bring obout thaire swire :
Thai said all, Sir Philip oure syre,
And his sun, sir John of France,
Has left us ligand in the mire,

And broght us til this doleful dance.

Oure horses, that war faire and fat,

Er etin up ilkone bidene,

Have we nowther conig ne cat,

That thai ne er etin, and hundes kene,

All er etin up ful clene,

Es nowther levid biche ne whelp, That es wele on oure sembland sene, And thai er fled that suld us help.

A knight that was of grete renowne,
Sir John de Viene was his name,
He was wardaine of the toune,

And had done Ingland mekill schame.
For all thaire boste thai er to blame,
Ful stalworthly thare have thai strevyn,
A bare es cumen to mak tham tame,
Kayes of the toun to him er gifen.

The kaies er zolden him of the zate,

Let him now kepe tham if he kun ; To Calais cum thai all to late,

Sir Philip and Sir John his sun: Al war ful ferd that thare ware fun, Thaire leders may thai barely ban. All on this wise was Calais won;

God save tham that it so gat wan!

VIII.

SIR DAVID HAD OF HIS MEN GRETE LOSS,

WITH SIR EDWARD, AT THE NEVIL-CROSS.

SIR David the Bruse,

Was at distance,

When Edward the Baliolfe

Rade with his lance;

The north end of Ingland

Teched him to daunce,

When he was met on the more

With mekill mischance.

Sir Philip the Valayse

May him noght avance,
The flowres that faire war
Er fallen in Fraunce;

The floures er now fallen
That fers war and fell,

A bare with his bataille

Has done tham to dwell.

Sir David the Bruse

Said he sulde fonde

To ride thurgh all Ingland,