“Who leads those lads?” said the King of Scots, “Thou herald, tell thou me.” The herald said, “The Bishop of Durham Is captain of that companye; For the Bishop hath spread the King’s banner, And to battell he buskes him boune.”[14] “I sweare by St. Andrewe’s bones,” saies the King, “I’ll rapp that priest on the crowne!” But presently a very different tale is told in PART II. The King looked towards litle Durham, & that hee well beheld, that the Earle Percy was well armed, with his battell axe entred the feild. the King looket againe towards litle Durham, 4 ancyents[15] there see hee; there were to[16] standards, 6 in a valley, he cold not see them with his eye. My Lord of yorke was one of them, my lord of Carlile was the other; & my Lord ffluwilliams, the one came with the other. the Bishopp of Durham commanded his men, & shortlye he them bade, ‘that never a man shold goe to the feild to fight til he had served his god.’ 500 priests said masse that day in durham in the feild; & afterwards, as I hard say, they bare both speare & sheeld. the Bishopp of Durham orders himselfe to fight with his battell axe in hand; he said, “this day now I will fight as long as I can stand!” “& soe will I,” sayd my Lord of Carlile, “in this faire morning gay;” “& soe will I,” said my Lord ffluwilliams, “for Mary, that myld may.”[17] our English archers bent their bowes shortlye and anon, they shott over the Scottish oast & scantlye toucht a man. “hold downe your hands,” sayd the Bishopp of Durham, “my archers good & true.” the 2ᵈ shoote that thé[18] shott full sore the Scottes itt rue. the Bishopp of Durham spoke on hye that both partyes might heare, “be of good cheere, my merrymen all, the Scotts flyen,[19] & changen there cheere!” but as thé saidden, soe thé didden, they fell on heapes hye; our Englishmen laid on with their bowes as fast as they might dree. The King of Scotts in a studye stood amongst his companye, an arrow stoke him thorrow the nose & thorrow his armorye. The King went to a marsh side & light beside his steede, and leaned him down on his sword hilt, to let his nose bleede. there followed him a yeoman of merry England, his name was John of Coplande; “yeeld thee Traytor!” saies Coplande then, “thy liffe lyes in my hand.” “how shold I yeeld me?” sayes the King, “& thou art noe gentleman.” “noe, by my troth,” sayes Copland there, “I am but a poore yeoman;” “what art thou better then I, Sir King? tell me if that thou can! what art thou better then I, Sir King, now we be but man to man?”