“The fryday next before assumpcioun of oure lady, King Edeward mette Robert the Brus bisides seynt Johns toune in Scotland and with his companye, of whiche companye King Edewarde quelde sevene thowsand. When Robert the Brus saw this myschif, and gan to flee, and hovd hym that men mygte nougt hym fynde, but Sr Simond Frisell pursuede hym socore, so that he turnede ayen and abode bataille, for he was a worthy knyght and a bolde of body, and the Englisshe men pursuede hym sore yn every syde, and quelde the stede that Sr Symond Frisell rood uppon, and ther toke hym and lad hym to the host. And Sr Symond began for to flater and speke faire, and saide, Lordys, I shall yeve you iiij thousand marke of sylver, and myne hors and harneys, and all my armure and vicome. Tho answerd Theobaude of Pevenes, that was the Kinge’s archer, Now God me so helpe hit is for nougt that thou spexte, for alle the gold of Engelonde I wold the noght lete gone withoute commaundement of King Edeward. And tho was he lad to the King. And the King wolde not see hym, but commaunded to lede hym awey to his dome to London on our Ladyes even nativite, and he was honge and drawe, & his heede smyten of, and honged ayene with chynes of jren oppon the galwes, and his hede was sette oppon London brug on a sper. And ayens Cristesmasse the body was brent, for enchesoun that the men that kepte the body by nyghte sawe menye devellis rampande with jren crokes, rennynge uppon the gallews, and horribliche tormented the body; and meny that ham sawe, anoon after thei deied for dred, or woxen mad, or sore sykenesse thei had.”
In one of the Harleian manuscripts,[102] there is a ballad written on the subject, a few years after the circumstance took place, and which was published by Ritson.[103] The following stanzas are so extremely interesting, from the manner in which Frazer is alluded to, that, notwithstanding the length to which they extend, it is impossible to avoid inserting them. After noticing the capture and the fate of his unfortunate companions, the poet says:
“Thenne saide the iustice that gentil is ant fre,
Sire Simond Frysel, the Kynges traytour hast thou be,
In water ant in londe that monie myhten se,
What sayst thou thareto, how wolt thou quite the?
Do say.
Sa foul he him wiste,
Nede waron truste
Forto segge nay.
Ther he was ydemed, so hit wes londes lawe,
For that he wes lordswyk furst he wes to drawe,
Upon a retheres hude forth he wes ytuht,
Sum while in ys time he wes a modi knycht,
In huerte.
Wickednesse and sunne
Hit is lutel wunne,
That maketh the body smerte.
For al is grete poer yet he wes ylaht,
Falsnesse and swykedom al hit g’eth to nacht,
Tho he wes in Scotlond lutel wes ys thoht,
Of the harde iugement that him wes bysocht
In stounde.
He wes foursithe forswore
To the King ther bifore,
And that him brohte to grounde.
With feteres and with gyves ichot he wes to drowe,
From the tour of Londone, that monie myhte knowe,
In a curtel of burel aselkethe wyse,
Ant a gerland on ys heued of the newe gwyse,
Thurh Cheepe
Moni mon of Engelonde,
For to se Symond,
Thideward con lepe.
Tho he come to galewes furst he wes an honge,
Al quick byheueded, thah him thohte longe,
Seth the he wes yopened, is boweles ybrend,
The heued to Londone brugge wes send,
To shonde:
So ich ever mote the
Sum while wende he
Thes lutel to stonde.
He rideth thourh the site as y telle may,
With gomen and wyth solas, that wes here play,
To Londone brugge hee nome the way,
Moni wes the wyves chil that ther on laketh a day,
Ant seide alas
That he was ibore,
And so villiche forlore,
So feir mon ase he was.