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AGAINST THE BARONS' ENEMIES, by                    
First Line: "richard, thah thou be ever trichard"
Last Line: Forsoke thine eme's lore
Subject(s): Enemies


Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,
Tricchen shalt thou nevermore.
Sitteth alle stille and herkneth to me!
The King of Alemaigne, by my leaute,
Thritty thousand pound askede he
For to make the pees in the countre --
And so he dude more.
Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes king,
He spende all his tresour upon swiving.
Haveth he nout of Walingford o ferling!
Let him habbe ase he brew -- bale to dring --
Maugre Windesore.
The King of Alemaigne wende do full well:
He saisede the mulne for a castel;
With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel --
He wende that the sailes were mangonel
To helpe Windesore.
The king of Alemaigne gederede his host,
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,
Wende with his prude and his muchele bost,
Broghte from Alemaigne mony sory ghost
To store Windesore.
By God that is aboven ous, he dude muche sin
That lette passen over see the Erl of Warin:
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores and the fen,
The gold and the selver, and iboren henne,
For love of Windesore.
Sire Simon de Montfort hath swore by his chin,
Hevede he now here the Erl of Warin,
Shulde he never more come to his inn,
Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with other gin,
To help of Windesore.
Sire Simon de Montfort hath swore by his top,
Hevede he now here Sire Hue de Bigot,
All he shulde quite here twelfmoneth scot --
Shulde he never more with his fot pot
To helpe Windesore.
Be thee luef, be thee loth, Sire Edward,
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy liard
All the righte way to Dovereward --
Shalt thou nevermore breke foreward,
And that reweth sore.
Edward, thou dudest ase a shreward,
Forsoke thine eme's lore.





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