Then cometh oone and seyth, “be mery; Ye shall haue a storme or a pery.” “Holde thow thy pese! thow canst no whery Thow medlyst wondyr sore.” Thys mene whyle the pylgryms ly, And haue theyr bowlys fast theym by, And cry aftyr hote maluesy, “Thow helpe for to restore.” And som wold haue a saltyd tost, Ffor they myght ete neyther sode ne rost; A man myght sone pay for theyr cost, As for oo day or twayne. Som layde theyr bookys on theyr kne, And rad so long they myght nat se; “Allas! myne hede wolle cleue on thre!” Thus seyth another certayne. Then commeth owre owner lyke a lorde, And speketh many a Royall worde, And dresseth hym to the hygh borde, To see alle thyng be welle. Anone he calleth a carpentere, And byddyth hym bryng with hym hys gere, To make the cabans here and there, With many a febylle celle. A sak of strawe were there ryght good, Ffor som must lyg theym in theyr hood; I had as lefe be in the wood, Without mete or drynk; For when that we shall go to bedde, The pumpe was nygh oure beddes hede, A man were as good to be dede As smell therof the stynk! _SIR ANDREW BARTON._ As itt beffell in m[i]dsumer-time, When burds singe sweetlye on every tree, Our noble king, King Henery the Eighth, Over the river of Thames past hee. Hee was no sooner over the river, Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre, But eighty merchants of London cittye Came kneeling before King Henery there. ‘O yee are welcome, rich merchants, [Good saylers, welcome unto me!’] They swore by the rood the were saylers good, But rich merchants they cold not bee. ‘To Ffrance nor Fflanders dare we nott passe, Nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare, And all for a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas, And robb[s] us of our merchants-ware.’ King Henery was stout, and he turned him about, And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might, ‘I thought he had not been in the world throughout That durst have wrought England such unright.’ But ever they sighed, and said, alas! Unto King Harry this answere againe: ‘He is a proud Scott that will robb us all If wee were twenty shipps and hee but one.’ The king looket over his left shoulder, Amongst his lords and barrons soe ffree: ‘Have I never lord in all my realme Will ffeitch yond traitor unto mee?’ ‘Yes, that dare I!’ sayes my lord Chareles Howard, Neere to the king wheras hee did stand; ‘If that Your Grace will give me leave, My selfe wilbe the only man.’ ‘Thou shalt have six hundred men,’ saith our king ‘And chuse them out of my realme soe ffree; Besids marriners and boyes, To guide the great shipp on the sea.’