A Warning to King Henry
Ye that have the kyng to demene,
And ffrauncheses gif theyme ageyne,
Or els I rede ye fle;
Ffor ye have made the kyng so pore,
That now he beggeth fro dore to dore;
Alas, hit shuld so be.
Tome of Say and Danielle bothe,
To begyn be not to lothe;
Then shalle ye have no shame.
Who wille not, he shalle not chese,
And his life he shalle lese,
No resoun wille us blame.
Trowthe and pore men ben appressede,
And myscheff is nothyng redressede;
The kyng knowith not alle.
Thorowout alle Englonde,
On tho that holdene the fals bonde
Vengeaunce wille cry and calle.
The traytours wene they bene so sly,
That no mane can hem aspy;
We cane do theme no griffe.
We swere by hym that hairwede helle
They shalle no lenger in eresy dwelle,
Ne in ther fals beleve.
So pore a kyng was never seene,
Nor richere lordes alle bydene;
The communes may no more.
The lorde Say biddeth holde hem downe,
That worthy dastarde of renowne,
He techithe a fals loore.
Suffolk Normandy hath swolde,
To gete hyt agayne he is bolde,
How acordeth these to in one;
And he wenythe, withouten drede,
To make the kyng to avowe his dede,
And calle hit no tresoun.
We trow the kyng be to leere,
To selle bothe menne and lond in feere;
Hit is agayne resoun.
But yef the commyns of Englonde
Helpe the kynge in his fonde,
Suffolk wolle bere the crowne.
Be ware, kynge Henré, how thou doos;
Let no lenger thy traitours go loos;
They wille never be trewe.
The traytours are sworne alle togedere
To holde fast as they were brether;
Let hem drynk as they hanne brewe.
The chaunselere that last was hath staffes take,
Blanke charters, to done us wrake,
No nombre of them, hit is ferde.
He wolle not suffre the clerkes preche;
Trowthe in no wise he wille not teche;
He is the devels sheparde.
This bille is trewe; who wille say nay,
In Smythfelde synge he a day,
And the helpe of the rode;
That traitours shalle provide;
More resoun canne not be mevide;
Ther shalle hit be made goode.
O rex, si rex es, rege te, vel eris sine re rex;
Nomen habes sine re, nisi te recte regas.
And ffrauncheses gif theyme ageyne,
Or els I rede ye fle;
Ffor ye have made the kyng so pore,
That now he beggeth fro dore to dore;
Alas, hit shuld so be.
Tome of Say and Danielle bothe,
To begyn be not to lothe;
Then shalle ye have no shame.
Who wille not, he shalle not chese,
And his life he shalle lese,
No resoun wille us blame.
Trowthe and pore men ben appressede,
And myscheff is nothyng redressede;
The kyng knowith not alle.
Thorowout alle Englonde,
On tho that holdene the fals bonde
Vengeaunce wille cry and calle.
The traytours wene they bene so sly,
That no mane can hem aspy;
We cane do theme no griffe.
We swere by hym that hairwede helle
They shalle no lenger in eresy dwelle,
Ne in ther fals beleve.
So pore a kyng was never seene,
Nor richere lordes alle bydene;
The communes may no more.
The lorde Say biddeth holde hem downe,
That worthy dastarde of renowne,
He techithe a fals loore.
Suffolk Normandy hath swolde,
To gete hyt agayne he is bolde,
How acordeth these to in one;
And he wenythe, withouten drede,
To make the kyng to avowe his dede,
And calle hit no tresoun.
We trow the kyng be to leere,
To selle bothe menne and lond in feere;
Hit is agayne resoun.
But yef the commyns of Englonde
Helpe the kynge in his fonde,
Suffolk wolle bere the crowne.
Be ware, kynge Henré, how thou doos;
Let no lenger thy traitours go loos;
They wille never be trewe.
The traytours are sworne alle togedere
To holde fast as they were brether;
Let hem drynk as they hanne brewe.
The chaunselere that last was hath staffes take,
Blanke charters, to done us wrake,
No nombre of them, hit is ferde.
He wolle not suffre the clerkes preche;
Trowthe in no wise he wille not teche;
He is the devels sheparde.
This bille is trewe; who wille say nay,
In Smythfelde synge he a day,
And the helpe of the rode;
That traitours shalle provide;
More resoun canne not be mevide;
Ther shalle hit be made goode.
O rex, si rex es, rege te, vel eris sine re rex;
Nomen habes sine re, nisi te recte regas.
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