Then stepp'd a gallant 'squire forth,
Of visage thin and pale;
Lloyd was his name, and of Gang-hall,
Fast by the river Swale.
Who said he would not have it told,
Where Eden river ran,
That unconcern'd he should sit by—
"So, Sheriff, I'm your man."
Now when these tidings reach'd the room
Where the duke lay in bed,
How that the squire suddenly
Upon the floor was laid—
"O, heavy tidings!" quoth the duke,
"Cumberland witness be,
I have not any toper more,
Of such account as he."
Like tidings to Earl Thanet came,
Within as short a space,
How that the under sheriff too,
Was fallen from his place.
"Now God be with him," said the earl,
"Sith 'twill no better be;
I trust I have within my town,
As drunken knights as he."
Of all the number that was there,
Sir Bains he scorn'd to yield,
But, with a bumper in his hand,
He staggered o'er the field.
Thus did this dire contention end,
And each man of the slain
Was quickly carried off to bed,
His senses to regain.
God bless the king, the duchess fat,
And keep the land in peace!
And grant that drunkenness henceforth,
'Mong noblemen may cease.
And likewise bless our royal prince,
The nation's other hope,
And give us grace for to defy
The devil and the pope.