Classic Poem

Prenegard, prenegard!
Thus bere I myn baselard.

Listeneth, lordinges, I you beseke:
Ther is none man worth a leke,
Be he sturdy, be he meke,
But he bere a baselard.

Myn baselard hath a shede of red
And a clene loket of led;
Me thinketh I may bere up myn hed
For I bere myn baselard.

My baselard hath a writhen haft;
When I am ful of ale caght
It is gret dred of manslaght,
For then I bere my baselard.

My baselard hath a silver chape;
Therfore I may both gaspe and gape.
Me thinketh I go like none knape
For I bere a baselard.

My baselard hath a trencher kene,
Fair as rasour, sharp and shene.
Ever me thinketh I may be kene
For I bere a baselard.

As I yede up in the strete
With a cartere I gan mete.
‘Felaw’, he saide, ‘so mot I thee,
Thou shalt forgo thy baselard.’

The cartere his whippe began to take,
And al myn flesh began to quake,
And I was leef for to escape,
And there I left myn baselard.

When I cam forth unto myn damme
Myn hed was broken to the panne;
She saide I was a prety manne
And wel coude bere myn baselard!