This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe, Tooke that rape from the other two, And than they fledd all three; They fledd away by Watling streete, They had no succour but their feete, Yt was the maire pittye. The fielde it was both loste and wonne, The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone, To Morton-on-the-Greene. When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape, He wist that there had bin debate, Whereat the sewe had beene. He bade thayme stand out of her waye, For scho had had a sudden fraye,— ‘I saw never sewe sea keene, Some new thingis shall wee heare, Of her and Myddeltone the freer, Some battel hath ther beene.’ But all that servèd him for nought,— Had they not better succour sought, {133} They wer servèd therfore loe. Then Mistress Rokebye came anon, And for her brought scho meete ful soone, The sewe cam her untoe. Scho gav her meete upon the flower; [Scho made a bed beneath a bower, With moss and broom besprent; The sewe was gentle as mote be, Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e’e, Scho seemèd wele content.] FITTE THE SECONDE. When Freer Myddeltone com home, Hys breders war ful faine ilchone, And thanked God for hys lyfe; He told thayme all unto the ende, How hee had foughten wyth a fiende, And lived thro’ mickle stryfe. ‘Wee gav her battel half a daye, And was faine to flee awaye For saving of oure lyfe; And Peter Dale wolde never blin, But ran as faste as he colde rinn, Till he cam till hys wyfe.’ The Warden sayde, ‘I am ful woe That yow sholde bee torment soe, But wee had wyth yow beene! Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle, Wee wolde hav garred the warlo {134} falle, That wrought yow all thys teene.’ Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, ‘Naye, In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye, When moste misstirre had bin; Ye all can speke safte wordes at home, The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on, An yt bee als I wene, Hee luik’d sea grizely al that nyght.’ The Warden sayde, ‘Yon man wol fyght If ye saye ought but gode, Yon guest {135a} hath grievèd hym sea sore; Holde your tongues, and speake ne more, Hee luiks als hee wer woode.’ The Warden wagèd {135b} on the morne, Two boldest men that ever wer borne, I weyne, or ere shall bee: Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne, Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne, Both by land and sea. Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine, Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine; Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye. Theis men the battel undertoke Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke, And sealed securitye, That they shold boldly bide and fyghte, And scomfit her in maine and myghte, Or therfor sholde they dye. The Warden sealed toe thayme againe, And sayde, ‘If ye in fielde be slaine, This condition make I: