Sum tyme an Englis schip we had,
Nobel hit was, and heih of tour;
Thorw al Christendom hit was drad,
And stif wold stonde in uch a stour,
And best dorst byde a scharp schour,
And other stormes smale and grete;
Nou is that schip, that bar the flour,
Selden seige and sone forgete.

The rother was nouther ok ne elm,
Hit was Edward the thridde the noble kniht;
The prince his sone bar up his helm,
That never scoumfited was in fiht.
The king him rod and rouwed ariht,
The prince dredde nouther stok nor streete.
Nou of hem we lete ful liht;
That selden is seige is sone forgete.