Straitway on his fine bugle-horn.
The eccho of which through the vallies did fly,
At which his stout bowmen appeard,
All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen;
So up to their master they steerd.
“O what’s the matter?” quoth William Stutely;
“Good master, you are wet to the skin:”
“No matter,” quoth he; “the lad which you see,
In fighting, hath tumbld me in.”