And the stone at thy feete sall melte, love,
Ere I will thee forget."
And when the newes cam to merrye Englande
Of the battle in the northe;
Oh then kynge Stephen and hys nobles
So merrylie marched forthe.
And theye have had justes and tournamentes,
And have feasted o'er and o'er;
And merrylie merrylie have they rejoic'd,
For the victorye of Cuton Moore.