|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
The Bishop of Durham spoke on hie,
That both partyes might heare: ' Be of good cheere, my merrymen all,
They flyen and changen their cheere! '
But as they saidden, see they didden,
They fell on heapes hie; Our Englishmen laid on with their bowes,
As fast as they might drie.
The King of Scotts in a study stood
Amongst his companye; An arrow stoke him thoro' the nose,
And thoro' his armorye.
The King went to a marsh-side
And light beside his steede; He leaned him downe on his swordhilts,
To let his nose bleede.
There follow'd him a yeaman of merry England, His name was John of Coplande :
' Yeeld thee, traytor ! ' saies Coplande then, ' Thy life lies in my hand.'
Liir ' How shold I yeeld me,' sayes the King,
' And thou art noe gentleman ?'— ' Noe, by my troth,' sayes Copland there,
' I am but a poore yeaman.