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OF SIR SIMON FRASER. |
275 |
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Mon that loveth falsnesse, and nule never blynne, Sore may him drede the lyf that he is ynne,
It'll understonde: •
Selde wes he glad That never nes a-sad
Of nythe ant of onde.
That y sugge by this Scottes that bueth nou to-drawe, The hevedes o Londone-brugge, whose' eon y-knawe; 10 He wenden han buen kynges, ant seiden so in sawe; Betere hem were han y-be barouns, ant libbe in Godes lawe
Wyth love. Whose hateth soth ant ryht, Lutel he douteth Godes myht, is
The heye kyng above.
To warny alle the gentilmen that bueth in Scotlonde, The Waleis wes to-drawe, seththe he wes an-honge, Al quic biheveded, ys bowels ybrend, The heved to'Londone-brugge wes send, 3>
To abyde. After Simond Frysel, That wes traytour ant fykell, Ant y-cud ful wyde.
Sire Edward oure kyng, that ful ys of piete, 25
The Waleis quarters sende to is oune eontre", On four-half to honge, huere myrour to be, Theropon to thcnehe, that monie myhten se, Ant drede. Why nolden he be war m
Of the bataile of Donbar,
Hou evele hem con spede ? |
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