“And so will I," said my lord of Carlisle,
"In this fair morning gay;"

"And so will I," said my lord Fluwilliams,
"For Mary, that mild may.' "1

Our English archers bent their bows

Shortly and anon,

They shot over the Scottish host

And scantly touched a man.

"Hold down your hands," said the bishop of Durham, "My archers good and true."

The second shoot that they shot

Full sore the Scots it rue.

The bishop of Durham spoke on high
That both parties might hear,

"Be of good cheer, my merry men all,
The Scots fly and change their cheer!"

But as they said, so they did,

They fell on heaps high;

Our Englishmen laid on with their bows
As fast as they might dree.

The King of Scots in a study stood

Amongst his companye,

An arrow struck him through the nose
And through his armorye.

The King went to a marsh side

And light beside his steed,

He leaned him down on his sword-hilt

To let his nose bleed.

There followed him a yeoman of merry England,

His name was John of Copland:

'Yield thee, traitor!" says Copland then,

1 [Maid.]

"Thy life lies in my hand."

2 [Alighted.]

"How should I yield me?" says the King,
"And thou art no gentleman."
"No, by my troth," says Copland there,
"I am but a poor yeoman;

What art thou better than I, Sir King?
Tell me if that thou can!

What art thou better than I, Sir King,
Now we be but man to man?"

The King smote angrily at Copland then
Angrily in that stound;

And then Copland was a bold yeoman
And bore the King to the ground.

He set the King upon a palfrey,
Himself upon a steed,

He took him by the bridle rein,

Towards London he can him lead.

And when to London that he came

The King from France was new come home,

And there unto the King of Scots

He said these words anon.

"How like you my shepherds and my millers, My priests with shaven crowns?"

"By my faith, they are the sorest fighting men That ever I met on the ground;

There never was a yeoman in merry England
But he was worth a Scottish knight!"

"Ay, by my troth," said King Edward, and laughed, "For you fought all against the right."

But now the Prince of merry England,
Worthily under his shield,

Hath taken the King of France

At Poictiers in the field.

The Prince did present his father with that food,1

The lovely King of France,

And forward of his journey he is gone:

God send us all good chance!

"You are welcome, brothers!" said the King of Scots to the King of France,

"For I am come hither too soon;

Christ luve that I had taken my way

Unto the court of Rome !"

Thus ends the battle of fair Durham

In one morning of May.

The battle of Cressy and the battle of Poictiers,

All within one month's day.

Then was wealth and welfare in merry England,

Solaces, game and glee,

And every man loved other well,

And the King loved good yeomanry.

But God that made the grass to grow,
And leaves on greenwood tree,
Now save and keep our noble King

And maintain good yeomanry!

1 [Percy interprets this "food" as feod, or feodary, a tributary; Halliwell, followed by Furnivall, cites old usage of "fode" to signify a person,-man, woman, girl, or boy.

2 [Would to Christ.]

JOHN A SIDE.

P

ETER A WHIFEILD1 he hath slain;
And John a Side, he is ta'en,

And John is bound both hand and foot
And to the Newcastle he is gane.

But tidings came to the Sybil o' the Side,
By the water side as she ran ;

She took her kirtle by the hem,

And fast she ran to Maugerton.

The lord was set down at his meat;

When these tidings she did him tell
Never a morsel might he eat.

But lords they wrung their fingers white,
Ladies did pull themselves by the hair,

Crying, "Alas and weladay!

For John o the Side we shall never see more!

But we'll go sell our droves of kine,

And after them our oxen sell,

And after them our troops of sheep,

But we will loose him out of the Newcastell."

But then bespake him Hobby Noble,

And spoke these words wondrous high,

Says, "Give me five men to myself,

And I'll fetch John o the Side to thee."

1 [Whitfield, likely.]

We will ride like no men of war;

But like poor badgers' we will be."

They stuffed up all their bags with straw
And their steeds barefoot must be ;
"Come on my brethren," says Hobby Noble,
"Come on your ways and go with me."

And when they came to Culerton ford,

The water was up, they could it not go;
And then they were ware of a good old man,
How his boy and he were at the plow.

"But stand you still," says Hobby Noble,
"Stand you still here at this shore,
And I will ride to yonder old man

And see where the gate3 it lies o'er.

But Christ you save, father," quoth he,
"Christ both you save and see!

Where is the way over this ford?

For Christ's sake tell it me!"

4 [Possibly roundabout and jocose for a horse of tree, i. e., a boat. In Sir Thomas Malory (1470) "ship of tree" is common.]