As a man that had be wode :
“Buske you, my mery younge men,
For hym that dyed on a rode ; {61}
And he that this sorowe forsaketh,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
And by him that al thinges maketh,
No lenger shall dwell with me.” [192]
Sone there were good bowes ibent,
Mo than seven score,
Hedge ne dyche spared they none,